It’s not about sex, he said. His body pinned mine close,
my hair curled around his fists like so many coils of rope.
It’s about possession. Ownership.
Fists tightened with each statement. My scalp burned.
It’s not about sex, he repeated.
No. I agreed weakly. Weak with relief. I stared back,
saw myself reflected within the depths of his eyes.
Saw myself embedded there, as deeply as he was embedded inside me.
Fingers stretching around my heart, around my lungs, my ribcage.
In his eyes, I saw kindness, and a fierce joy, and exultation.
They only deepened in fullness with each welt,
his pleasure fueled with each guttural scream torn from my throat.
Not. About. Sex.
With his body wrapped around mine, he told me – ordered me – to cry. To let myself go. Even now, weeks later, the memory inflames me. I remember his continuous dialog in my ear, of how I so desperately needed this submission; of how clear that was to him; of how I was strong for everyone else but needed to be vulnerable, be open, for him.
That this was not about distance.
“When was the last time,” he asked, “you cried into someone’s arms?”
Up until then, I’d been shaking my head, incredulous, at this repeated request to cry for him. And a part of me still wishes I had reared back then, pushed away, eyes wide open, to protest this. How could he? How dare he? How could he make that assumption of me, someone he barely knew?
How could he just ask a question like that?
Instead, I scoured recent memory and found that I could not answer, either to him or to myself. When, indeed, had been the last time I’d made myself that vulnerable to someone else? More to the point: why would I want to? Rather than feel indignant or infuriated, however, I instead broke down, feeling like something had been torn away from me.
I fell asleep that way, clutching him, completely drained and disoriented. He continued to hold me, whisper in my ear, and comfort me.
I hated that night. I hated that I broke so easily – as if he’d taken one look at me and seen right through to my weaknesses.
The rest of the night would continue in the same vein: being awakened abruptly by his fist in my hair and his words tirelessly working their way into my head. By morning I awoke exhausted, both physically and psychologically. And yet he continued his instruction, with my body pinned under his and his voice in my ears. But, now, with fresh doubts concerning my self-control – as well as my entire time with him – dominating my mind, I could not focus.
I’ve found myself constantly replaying this particular night in my head the past few days. I think it is in part because I am still left feeling a bit raw and fragile – understandable aftereffects of such an intensely escalating experience – and in part due to the moodiness of the past week.
I have no reason to feel this gloomy. I think I need more exercise, and more sun.
October had been a busy busy month indeed, and there are still 10 more days left! I’m really excited to celebrate Halloween in San Francisco, although I still have no clue what my costume will be. And, to be honest, I am neither much of a party-er nor a trick-or-treater. But I love the holiday nonetheless. It will be weird to celebrate it in an area where the change in seasons is not as distinct, and there is none of the bite of upcoming frost in the wind, nor the crisp, spicy scent of apple, cinnamon, and pumpkin.
I guess I am just a little nostalgic. In any case, I’ve had quite a month: battling the flu for a week, having my car broken into (and, once I got the car cleaned up, I discovered the GPS cord hadn’t been taken at all, just flung into the backseat), starting to work morning shifts at Wicked Grounds, attending a Tom Petty cover band concert, spending the weekend with T, shoe-shopping, and attending the monthly rope peer workshop at Edges. I seem to be spending very little time at home.
I’m not complaining. It makes the time I do spend at home all the more valuable and appreciable.
So, let’s see. I think the real highlight was spending this past weekend in San José with T and 3 of his other lady friends and sometimes play partners. I went as his pet again, complete with the same collar I wore for our IKEA outing. It was quite fun! I met T after my work shift at the café, and we drove to Edges for a kinky yard sale/swap. I found a couple of old books for free, including one dictionary and atlas from 1939. T bought a ball gag from the table across from us, complete with alternate gags and attachments, which he insisted I try out.
Afterward we met up with the others for dinner and the concert. I thoroughly enjoyed the company I was with, as well as the concert, though by the time it finished at 1am, I was pretty well spent. I think even T was pretty tired, because after we’d dropped everyone else off and gone home, we went to bed after I gave him a brief foot rub. I luckily got to sleep on the guest bed, albeit with my ankle chained to it. It’s a very curious feeling and did wake me up a few times throughout the night, as I would move my foot and cause the chain to rustle around and sometimes slide against my other leg.
Sunday…ah, Sunday. The morning was rather a delirious blur of orgasm after orgasm. I was fucked into a mindless puddle with a metal dildo that has a large rounded ball at one end. It was painful going in, but my God did I want to keep it in. It got to the point where he was more or less forcing orgasms out of me with the dildo and his fingers. Complete sensory overload.
And then we showered and it was time to go help a friend of his unload a truckload of furniture and belongings into a storage unit.
Then Monday I drove down again to go shoe-shopping with a mutual friend of T’s – I’m going to call her Jewel – and we managed to spend 3 hours in two stores trying on shoes. I finally decided on two pairs of fairly tall high heels, which is a little ambitious given my inexperience with heels. But after the post-Folsom dinner I attended with Max – in a restaurant with business casual dress code, and where I wore a more formal dress but only had my black Teva flip flops to wear with it – I decided I really did need at least one pair of decent heels for the occasional formal event. Considering I never went to any formal events at college (I was more or less a social recluse), I’d never previously felt the need to own nice shoes.
Then Tuesday was the monthly rope peer workshop at Edges, which is always a good time. I got to tie a couple people up, and everyone had fun doing microbondage with twine, yarn, string, and crochet hooks. I also wore one of the shoes I’d bought the day before. By the end of the night my feet were definitely throbbing, but it was fun clopping around in them for the evening. And I even got treated to a foot rub by T when we went back to his place! More rope play ensued, and some foot play as well.
Needless to say, I went to work this morning with lots of rope blisters. But considering my current place of employment also sells bondage rope, I was not quite as worried about the marks showing.
And then there’s this upcoming weekend. Jewel invited a bunch of people to a comedian’s show this Friday and has planned afterward to have a big slumber party at T’s place. Yes, I have actually regressed 15 years at the thought. I am thoroughly enjoying this mental picture I have of a bunch of giggling girls surrounding one hapless guy (yeah right). Who doesn’t love a sleepover?
Sometimes, sometimes, I sit back a little, review these events and relationships I have become a part of, and wonder: Is this really my life? How did a person like me end up so…happy?
On my second day with Max, I revealed to him a long-term dislike and fear – one might say phobia, as it is pretty irrational and mostly a mental and psychological fear – of needles and piercings. I pointed out my lack of earring piercings and emphatically declined Max’s offer to stick needles in Blondie for me to watch, to see if I would be interested in doing it as well.
Well, little did I know, but Doms and sadists are constantly taking notes regarding things like this. Sure enough, a little later in the week – I don’t remember when exactly, probably because my mind has been busy blocking that part away to keep me sane – Max began insinuating his desire to pierce me. Not only that, but he specifically wanted me to ask him to pierce me.
This is not unlike asking someone with a fear of electrocution (Oh hey! That’s me as well) to grab onto the end of an active cattle prod.
For his pleasure.
And that really is the kicker. It was his pleasure that I give this to him, despite this overwhelming fear. And so, despite all my self-preservation screaming and railing against it, I desperately wanted to be able to do this for him.
Throughout the rest of the week, Max would punctuate our sessions with reminders of that request and desire. He would tell me that I will say to him, when the time came, “Please, Sir, I want to give this to you.” Then he would make me repeat it, and repeat it, until he was convinced I meant it.
And so it continued, until the fear of needles, and the arousal from the utter submission, and the intensity of the pain he dealt me at the same time, all merged and coalesced into a singular, seething mass of nerves and adrenaline.
The weight of the question and of whether or not I would be able to give him the answer he desired remained on my mind for the duration of my time with Max. Up until the last night, I tried to convince myself that it would be fine, that the fear was entirely irrational anyway, that it would not hurt all that much, that there was no reason that thinking about piercing should make me flush and start to hyperventilate…
(The odd thing is that I have no problem with getting shots at the doctor’s – never have – and my calm with hypodermic needles has gotten to the point that a nurse administering a shot once had to ask me if I was okay, if I had felt anything, because I hadn’t reacted at all.)
So I tried to rationalize my fear of needle play so that I could, when or if Max asked, say with conviction that, yes, I wanted him to pierce me. At a certain point over the weekend, I thought, I can do this! It’s really not that big a deal. I can totally get over this. It’ll be fine!
And then, Wednesday night, as I sat between his knees on the floor of a friend’s personal dungeon, Max took my face between his hands, lifting it so that I was looking straight at him, and told me, very calmly and softly, that he wanted to put needles in me.
I instinctively shrank away, my eyes widened, and I sank back on my knees, my breath quickening. Max told me to think about my answer, assured me that there was no wrong response, that I was strong and brave regardless of my answer.
I bowed my head, closed my eyes, and tried hard to formulate the phrase he wanted me to say. All my internal assurances vanished, and I knew I couldn’t do it. I sat there, disappointment already churning through my gut, and Max could see clearly what my answer was. He again assured me that it was okay to say no, that being able to say no was just as important as saying yes, because it made the yeses all the more valuable. And relief flooded through my body at that acceptance.
Still, still. It was difficult knowing I had refused him something he wanted to do and, further, something he wanted me to experience. I was disappointed for not being able to get over an irrational fear for him. I wonder what it would take to be able to overcome something like this.
Overall, I am glad I didn’t do it. I’m not ready. I don’t know why, and I don’t know when or if I ever will be ready, but having now had the experience of reaching such a hard, unyielding boundary, I’m glad that I was able to say no. In past reflections on my various phobias – electricity and needles being the two prevalent ones I’ve come face to face with because of my proximity to the kink community – I’ve believed I would be able to overcome them at the behest of another. I see now that it will take more than that – and, to be sure, even my closeness and intense bonding with Max doesn’t hide the fact that I really have only known him for 8 days. For something like this, I’m sure it will take a much longer-term relationship: of building closeness, trust, and intimacy over time.
And then, perhaps, when that question is asked, I will be able to give a different response.