Pain

The title of this post is almost enough for me.  The sound of that word in my mouth is just lovely.  The only thing more intoxicating than the sound and thought of it, is the actual experience.  It’s a hard thing to explain, in a way.  The feeling of it makes so much sense to me, but it is so anti-normal.  Pain hurts, right?  Of course it does.  So why would I want to feel it?  This is something that I have been trying to really understand for many years now.

I have always been hurt.  I don’t just mean in a, “Woe is me, he dumped me again,” kinda way.  I mean in a, “I was born with a hole inside me that was bigger than I was for many years,” kinda way.  I don’t ever really remember being happy or content, even as a child.  I remember the thoughts racing even then too.  I was born broken, and stayed broken for many years.  That story is a long one, and one that I will eventually tell, but not in this post.  This isn’t a sob story or a pity inducer.  But, suffice it to say, my childhood sucked, I was a sad and angry child and adolescent, and when I was in my early teen years, I found something that made all the hurt and noise and bad go away.

I accidentally turned the hot water knob in the shower too far one time.  The scalding water hit my skin and I remember how much it hurt.  It burned my skin, reddening it almost instantly.  I of course then reached for the knob to make it stop.  But in the few seconds that elapsed between the mistake and the correction, I had found magic, and didn’t even realize it.  It took me a while to figure it out and make the connection, years went by before I realized how calming and soothing the heat was.  There was the occasional accidental burn here and there over the next few years, but it wasn’t until I was about 15 that I would make the water hot on purpose.

I had been fighting the thoughts and racing mind for so long at that point, that one day I didn’t turn the water down when I reached my hand in to check the temperature.  I held my hand there, and let the water sting my skin.  I moved my arm so that the water could cover more of me.  I held my arm under the way-too-hot water for what couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, and closed my eyes.  It was quieter.  The best way to describe it is a busy New York street in the day time versus at night.  During the day, there are cars everywhere, going every direction, honking and screaming at each other.  At night the traffic is still there, but the cars move at a more steady pace and there are far less of them.  I stood there with my eyes closed, the screaming in my head quieted down to just below a yell, and I breathed.  With each breath, one of the cars on the street disappeared.  I was calm and peaceful for a few moments.

I didn’t keep my concentration very long that first time, a few seconds at best.  But in those few moments, a simple masochist was born.  I say simple because it never evolved past the sting of the scalding water.  It was enough.  When I got overwhelmed, I would go in the bathroom, lock the door, pull the drawer out in front of it, and turn the hot water knob to the right, moving it an notch or two every few moments.  I eventually stood under the water, letting the heat hit me and I would just close my eyes and breathe.  I never could stand more than ten minutes of it, and probably not even that.  I never timed it.  It became a once, sometimes twice, a week ritual for me.

And then my parents turned down the water heater.  The water barely got above warm, and even on full blast didn’t even get half as hot as I needed.  I didn’t know what to do.  I asked why the water wasn’t as hot, and my mom pointed out that the steam was peeling off the wallpaper.  And rather than having to ask over and over for us to take cooler showers, she just had my dad turn it down.  I still don’t know if this was the real reason, or if she had figured out my escape.  I freaked out a little.  I had finally figured it out, finally found something that made me feel better, and now it was gone.

Okay, I freaked out a lot.  I am just now realizing the time line of a lot of the events of my teenage years, and I can clearly see how removing that crutch set a lot of other things into motion.  This is another place where I will skip over some details and save them for another post, and then fast forward a few years to when I was in control of the temperature of the water again.  It was a few weeks after I had my first apartment before I purposely set out to feel the heat again.  A couple of years had passed since this had been my ritual.  And while I had found a hot enough shower here and there in that time, it was never enough to do any good really.  It was the consistancy that I needed.  The expectation of the pain.

I settled back into my routine, and then someone noticed.  She pointed it out, and made me feel awful.  She questioned my sanity and reduced me to nothing more than a freak who needed to grow up and deal.  I tried to explain, but I couldn’t.  All I could ever say was, “It just feels so good.”  I retreated back into my head with the thoughts of something being wrong with me, and I quit with the hot showers.  I still had to cope, so I created a world in my head where I could live and predict and change.

It took me a long time to get past her.  She was poison to me.  And once I was, I washed her away in the hottest shower possible.  It was therapeutic and finalizing for me.  But the world in my head still existed, and the guilt was still there.  So I just kinda mulled around for a while, not really feeling anything and never getting too close to anything or anyone.  Speed it up a little more to when He tugged on my hair for the first time.  (I know I’m leaving out a lot…but this post is about pain)

I had had little experiences with the rougher side of sex in the past, but never anything outside of that.  But His touch was different in every way.  I felt myself pulled to my knees around Him, I felt myself aching to be at His feet.  He would tug my hair a little bit while fucking me, and it sent waves of electricity all through me.  He would lightly spank my ass, and I would moan to match the pulsing inside of me.  I realized the connection a lot quicker this time.

It was the pain.  I started to think about it outside of sexual scenarios.  Would it work?  Would Him spanking me or gripping my hair really help me focus and calm down?  I didn’t know, because those things had been only sexual so far.  And that wasn’t what I was after.  I didn’t want to get off.  I wanted to relax.  And then He spanked me while I was just laying in bed.  No sexual activity or expectation, just His hand hitting my skin over and over.  I felt my body melt into the bed.  I was calm and peaceful.  I wanted more.  I wanted Him to help me relax.  When He left that time, I asked Him to hold my hair and talk to me.  I was a smiling, focused girl as He left, not th clingy, pouty little brat that I usually am.  I thought and thought about it.  I talked to Dellah and got her opinion.  She mostly nodded at my realization that pain is centering for me.

It took me a while to work up the courage to talk to Him about it, but when I did, His response was perfection.  He promised the firm touch that I needed to focus me, but vowed to never hit me too hard.  I was ecstatic.  I need the pain.  I am starting to not even be bothered by the need.  I struggled for a long time with whether or not is was okay to feel that way.  Whether or not the strong desire and need to hurt really did make me a freak.  I still have little quabbles with myself about it, but for the most part I am okay with it.

The hurt, the sting, the sharpness of His hands.  It puts my head in a place where nothing matters.  No responsibility, no worries, no thoughts, no traffic.  And having Him there with it makes it even better.  Because He talks to me.  He grabs my hair and holds me still while He whispers that He loves me and that I am His.  He tugs my hair when He can see the stress in my eyes, and He calms me down when He knows I’m overwhelmed.  He spanks me so that I can have a moment of quiet and peace of mind.

I still take hot showers.  But now I focus on Him while I breathe.  I feel so much healthier now.  Maybe she was right.  Maybe the showers were bad.  But He makes me talk to Him.  I don’t have to just drown out the hurt anymore.  I get the pain in controlled doses that focues me, but I have to let the words out too.  I feel so wholly His at those times.  So completely His possession.  I know He will take care of me absolutely in those moments.  I drop the distractions and rushing around in my head, and I get to just be His girl, His love, His precious little pet that He will protect and keep and love forever.  *sigh*

Advertisements

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Cricket
    Sep 16, 2010 @ 16:26:42

    Still taking the time to read through your older posts. They all scream things to me that I have felt over the years, that I never knew how to handle ’till recently. I like the words you find to explain what you are thinking and feeling, I can feel the emotions behind them.

    Keep up the wonderful writing. I’m so happy to have found your blog hon.

    xo cricket

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: