…And nothing hurt: Masochist Musings
The first time I ever touched them I was wearing more clothes than I’d ever worn to do aerial before, and when I eventually performed on the chains it was with as much bare skin as possible. I was obsessed with the dichotomy of flesh and metal, of dancing with something so fraught with harm.
This week I’ve been finding other fun things to do in my hotel room whilst I’m not allowed to touch […]
Apart from my masochism and love of pain, it’s one of the reason I tend to gravitate towards sadists, as even if someone isn’t physically stronger than me they can easily overpower me if they are willing and eager to hurt me.
A year ago I was on the exact same holiday – the same dates, even – unable to sleep for the entire trip, because I was beginning to realise that the feelings I had for the man I’d started seeing were a lot more serious than I’d bargained for.
It wasn’t the first time I had kissed a girl but it was the first time I had been kissed by a woman. Soft and firm all at once. She felt so different to the men I usually kissed – they were rough, insistent, pushy. Men with all their endless wanting. This felt so different.
I’ve never slept well, even as a young child. Insomnia and sleeplessness is a theme woven through my life, from as far back as I can remember, to my teen years, to becoming an adult – and at this point it seems unlikely that it’s something that will change. Sleep therefore has become a signifier of the mystical and the precious, the most intimate of acts.
I never feel more like a doll than when I’m with him. He likes to dress me up, pose me, restrain me in elaborate ways so I can barely react or move when he fucks me.
Being “outed” has never held that much concern for me. But now that I’m writing about my very personal life – especially because what I like to write is often dark or difficult – that’s started to change.