Weekend in review

I am just rereading an e-mail I sent to a friend describing my weekend.  One part of it really sticks out for me.  It reads:

He used a hand on my throat.  Sometimes he covered my nose and mouth.  He told me that I wasn’t done until he was.  It was true.

A lot of the things that I experienced this past weekend makes me squirm to remember, but that statement just causes me to shudder.  I’ve realized that those words hold the culmination of desires and wants that started in my early childhood.  It is the same shudder of fear/thrill I feel when I read of evil, sadistic villains in fictional stories, and of the utter helplessness of their victims.

I had never really felt that before – that fine, razor-thin line between fear and lust, amplified by helplessness, and it captured my imagination very early on in my life.  The idea of a person who enjoyed causing physical pain to another for the pure pleasure of it – well, that both aroused and terrified me.  And now, I’ve finally experienced a brief taste of that kind of personality.  Just thinking back, remembering, leaves me heady.

How can I adequately describe the events of the past weekend?  Should I concentrate on the workshop, where I was tied in my first suspension, a horizontal tie that left my legs free to swing and kick and maneuver within the suspension rig?  Should I go into detail on the evening, which found my back pressed hard against the far wall of a hotel bathroom, my shirt rolled up to my collarbone as I was first whipped, then punched and pinched until I had to cross my arms over my chest and slide down to the floor?

Or perhaps the evening before, when I found myself sitting between two sadists as they used my body to show each other their favorite pressure points for causing pain or for take downs.  Or when a latex Theraband was stretched across my face, over my mouth and nose, so that each increasingly short breath caused my body to shake and spasm.  Or the caning, the biting, the struggling to get out of rope as it was being tied around me.

Or, even, the awe and privilege of getting to climb up the limbs of a majestic, 200-year-old beech tree in the yard of my gracious host.  Eating Thai food with a bunch of kinksters and geeking out about chromatin looping and computers.  The first night when I started dozing off in a stairwell while the above two sadists chatted about sci-fi/fantasy novels.

Already so much of those three days has become a fuzzy blur of sensations.  I wish that I could fully articulate how thrilling it was, or that I could pin down every detail of each scene and event that happened.  But it’s already taken me this long to process everything enough to write anything at all.  And now the last few marks on my body from rope are fading, and the bruises are healing.  I am no longer so sore and stiff that I have a difficult time removing my bra.  Amazing how it all so quickly dissipates into memory, isn’t it?

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