Recoil, but not Retreat [Oct.11]

Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a pain slut. I do not enjoy pain. Pain hurts, it hurts like hell, and when it is happening, I want it to stop. Certain factors collude to make certain people believe I am a pain slut: my desire to please, my inner competitive demon, and my stubbornness. And of course the very undeniable fact that pain gets me very wet.

Pain doesn't always have to be painful. Sometimes pain can be administered in such a way that it builds up the intensity slowly, lulling me into an exquisite stinging numbness to the point that I'm purring like a kitten, having a soothing massage.

Just like sex is better with time, tenderness and foreplay, so is the delivery of pain.

And just like I am going through a phase of missing the tenderness of sex with someone who loves you, not the kind of punitive sex that just hurts, I am going through a phase of missing the tenderness of pain, where I am transported to a cocooned world where pain is numbed.

I think this is because the people I am playing with think they have to just hit me really hard to mark me (which will rarely work anyway, however hard they hit), that they have to hit me really hard to break me (but I can cry easily anyway), or they have to hit me really hard because that is what I want. Of course I want it. I am a masochist. But I also don't. (Sometimes it's just because they want to hit me really hard. The perils of playing with sadists).

Certain things I've been doing, that have been done to me, the breaking of soft limits, hard limits, the breaking of the imagined limits of my imagination. I have succeeded in shocking myself, what I am prepared to do, what I am prepared to put my body through, what I am prepared to make my mind handle. I think I may have gone too far, further than I wanted. But those factors I mentioned before, they keep me going back: I want to please, I want to be the best, I won't give in, and it makes me really sopping wet.

This has been the pattern for a while now. Since before kitten, during kitten, and after kitten. I'm not talking about now, I'm talking about my whole kink journey, a story where I have just continually stretched and challenged my preconceptions of what kink was, is, will be for me.

I will continue to play with people who frighten me, who force me to willingly cross boundaries I thought I never would cross. I will continue to play with people who hit me really hard, just because they can. I can't retreat from kink, it is a part of me that I have always known to be there, and I am all of me. But I will continue to recoil sometimes from that part of me, to not fully understand it, to want to hide from it. And I hope to sometimes be able (allowed) to retreat in play, to be transported in a cottonwool ship of sharp nothings into a place called space...