This Kink Thing [Oct.12]

When I started doing this kink-thing (as I shall put it) five years ago, I felt a sense of freedom in finally being able to do and enact the fantasies that had been in my head since I was about four years old. Back then, it was all about what I've come to term 'missionary position kink': bending over, receiving pain. A spanking, a caning. I soon came to extend my knowledge of pain to other hitty things, the tawse, the crop, the flogger. I adored my first experiences with the single tail whip, the sting on my back, I loved the thrill of being wrapped by the whip, especially around the neck. Back then I didn't identify as a submissive so much as a masochist, or what some might call a bottom, happily playing casually with friends, in clubs or more privately. Whilst it was always a sexual experience for me, sex was hardly ever on the agenda. (Sex usually is on the agenda, now, although it does depend whom I'm playing with).

I started to add new experiences, less missionary, more & different sensations. The dance of rope bondage, the cocoon of mummification, the burn of wax, the beautiful sensuality of a scalpel cutting my flesh, the intense throbbing of the staples, piercing my skin. Needles, they were too much for me, or so far they have been (I've learnt that what once seems like a hard limit can be turned into something uncomfortable, and then even, into something craved and desired). Breast play used to be off the agenda, but I've learned to love to hate the intensity of the clamps, or the cups, on my nipples, or my clit, to adore the release when they are removed and the increased sensation following. I crave the hand at my neck, or over my mouth, the knowledge that even whether I breathe is dependent on the will of the person in whom I place my trust.

I called myself a submissive; from the newbie perspective, browsing the boards, masochist seemed to be a bad word, there was an undercurrent that I picked up on that the masochist was selfishly in it only for their own pleasure, and so I distanced myself from that label, at the beginning. But I learned to become more comfortable with it, because what I was doing, what I was enjoying, wasn't submission. I became submissive through pain, wanting to please the person inflicting the pain, but my motivation was never to serve for service sake and I have rarely understood pure submission. Labelling myself submissive started to feel fraudulent, not me. But masochism as a label never really fit me either; yes, I am sexually aroused through pain, or the expectation of pain. But I don't enjoy pain. I enjoy the feeling immediately after pain, the endorphin rush, the release. I absolutely hate the pain, as much (and sometimes more) than I crave it.

I did start to understand submission through a relationship, but soon learned that I couldn't adapt to a version of submission that required me to always submit. I am by nature fiercely independent, I crave release from that, but submission makes me lose my sense of self, and that I can't afford to do. But there was nothing more relaxing than kneeling at his feet, his hand stroking my hair, being kitten. It was a safe place to be, but it needed to exist only in moments.

Since then, and since the beginning, my kink has started to evolve into areas which I am less comfortable with, areas which make me question why I am made this way, and make me wish I could be fixed and un-kink myself. But, there is no turning from the abyss. My childhood and early adult fantasies may only have involved a caning from the headmaster, but now they feature scenes of intense degradation, humiliation and sexual use. Most of these fantasies should stay that way; fantasies. In the world we live in, it is in our gift to bring our fantasies to life, they don't need to be locked away. Most of mine, I feel should stay locked.

But I am drawn to them, even as I fear the psychological impact of what living through them might bring. Earlier this year I experienced true consensual non-consent, which I am still trying to make sense of. I think it only worked because of the deep bond of trust, friendship and respect I had with the person concerned. But, it still worries me, as I know it does him. We were so close to the line, we probably crossed it and crossed back, over and over, so that we weren't sure where the line was anymore.

I think humiliation is even more dangerous. It's one thing to be made to piss in a bucket, or to drink your own piss from a baby's bottle. That's humiliating, but it's still a physical act. To be made to feel worthless, nothing, despised, to be broken down so that there is nothing but hate for oneself, that is a dangerous thing to crave. That takes CNC beyond the physical, beyond the sexual, and into the sphere of psychological torture. I've got enough psychological problems of my own in real life without creating more through my kink life. I guess that's why it's called edge play, and I know enough to know that one person's edge is another's every day, and another's worst nightmare. I will see where my abyss takes me, when (and if) I jump into it.

I don't know how to label what I like, what pigeon-hole to put myself in. I used to be a submissive masochist, I guess, sometimes a bottom. Now, I just identify as kinky. Sometimes I like to switch, to top. I used to be a married, monogamous, heterosexual. These days, I'm a bisexual, poly type, enjoying the delights of relationships with men and with women. I've learned that labels don't stick, that labels that once worked, no longer apply. I'm me, and who I am is changing, evolving, growing (sometimes that growth is backwards….). What I want today, I probably won't want tomorrow. Who I love today, I will no doubt learn not to love one day. Life itself is the abyss, but there are pockets of good on the journey down, and at the bottom, there's all you lot. <3