Monday, December 21, 2009

Pleasure and Pain

Monday, December 21, 2009
I realize that admitting I like being slapped across the face or spanked with a belt and/or riding crop might strike some as strange. Physical pain isn't something most people want to experience -- that is, they don't ask others to intentionally hurt them. Pain, well, hurts.

But is there a such thing as a "good" kind of pain?

I know what I feel when I'm being slapped or spanked is pain. However, I can say that all pain isn't created equal. The best way I can try and articulate this is by saying that "good" pain is like a hot, tingling sensation that slowly burns across the skin. Like stepping into a hot bath, it's shocking at first, but soon one adjusts the temperature, until they're so relaxed they can lay in the tub for quite some time.

Now, the "bad" kind of pain usually results in a deep throbbing and/or aching. This is the kind of stuff that will usually leave a dark bruise instead of any light redness. Though I'm no expert on BDSM (and quite frankly, most of the spanking and slapping I partake in is fairly lightweight in the grand scheme of things), safe words are essential for alerting one's partner to any true discomfort.

Experiencing the "good" kind of pain can be profoundly euphoric. I'm not quite sure if pain releases endorphins (those feel-good chemicals) or not, but I wouldn't be surprised if it did. In addition, the idea of surrendering myself to another is deeply erotic. During my working hours, I'm usually the one who takes the lead. So, on my own time, I enjoy a more passive role.

And let me just say something right here and now: Neither one of my parents EVER laid a hand on me. Just as many people are convinced that every escort is a victim of childhood sexual abuse, many assume that BDSM-enthusiasts were beaten by their parents as children.

Well, I hate to burst anyone's bubble, but neither of my parents is violent, and I was so quiet and docile as a child the most I ever got was a 10-minute timeout in the kitchen. Hardly a horror story. That, and I was taller than my dad by my 14th birthday.

So, there it is -- my best effort to describe why I loved it when Rebecca slapped my face or spanked my ass. I'm not sure how much I'll be blogging during the next week or so, though I'll do my best to keep things up-to-date. In all likelihood I'll be bored at my parents' house rather quickly. Cheers!
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