How Kink Changed my Life
Full transparency: I wrote the following about 5 years ago, when I was leaning in a submissive direction in my BDSM play, which is not the case now. However, some weeks when I sit down to write, there just hasn’t been any obvious thing that wants to move through me, and this is one of those times.
And, what you’re about to read is educational and interesting. If you like that sort of thing.
Trigger warning: if you tend to get upset by hearing about the use if kink (power and control play) that involves physical pain, do not read.
Again, the title, How Kink Changed my Life, is relevant:
I’m being a little facetious here, but not really. I mean, yes, adding a dimension of kink into my life several years ago as a regular thing has most definitely improved the quality of my life. I’ve decided it is an essential element for me to be truly happy, like exercise, or good food. Good kink-yesssss!
And then recently, as you may know, I’ve been riding the waves of some heavy duty grief. I’m grieving two losses at once.
You know how people say the thing: ‘how can I help’, or whatever? Well, that’s a very nice thing to say, right? And usually they mean things like bringing you over a casserole. Except when one of my kinky partners asked ME that question, what came out of my mouth (well okay, through my fingertips while I texted), was: “Well, what I really need is for you to come over and beat the crap out of me.” Again, not really kidding here.
So when our “date” came up last week, it was PERFECT timing for me. I’d had two days of being emotionally blocked, feeling depressed and miserable.
And the whole experience, start to finish, was amazing. He started me up against a wall, with my arms pinned above my head. It was kind of dark. I couldn’t see what he was about to do, since he was behind me, but I did know about ALL the toys he’d laid out on my dresser beforehand. I admitted that I was scared. He said he loved seeing that fear in my eyes.
I know, it all sounds really fucked up and twisted, right? And it’s not. Well, it IS, but only in the best possible way. It was vulnerable; so raw, for both of us.
He started using some of my least favorite toys on me- the ones that I’d normally say no to, the ones that hurt the most. The ones I needed in that moment. And the first round of pain was pretty excruciating, I’m not gonna lie, despite my very high pain tolerance. It sucked, for the first ten minutes or so. And then the pain got so bad, and things about it were reminding me of my Beloved, to the point that I started to cry. As promised, my partner started fucking me right away as soon as the first burst of tears came. And continued with the regular doses of brutal pain. Yet by this time, the dopamine from the pain and the sex was in my system, and it seemed a lot more tolerable.
But he stopped suddenly, turned me around, and lay me down on the bed, telling me it was time for an emotional break. HE needed one. Because it was too hard for him to keep hurting me that much for so long. In hindsight, I needed a break too, I just didn’t know it at the time.
He continued to have sex with me, only slowly, gently this time, all the while speaking kind, tender words. And then I burst into tears again, this time with joy and gratitude.
The rest of the session was pretty much of a rinse and repeat. Alternating between more pain, more toys, more screaming, more sobbing. Then more caresses, more kind words. His skill, my emotions, our connection, fueled our ongoing beautiful dance. He was so tuned in to every nuance of my breath and expression; I was so tuned in to his every movement, every intention.
IT, this dance, took on a life of its own. I expressed all my sadness, all my anger, all my joy, all my relief- all that was available to be expressed at that time. At one point he said: “How much can one person cry?” YOU’D BE SURPRISED.
Afterward, we did the usual aftercare, and it felt good to be held gently while my skin burnt with redness, bruises already forming, and welts. It felt so good. It feels so good now, even days later.
I am quite sure the experience healed both of us in ways we can’t even understand.
The next morning, I woke up, not having exercised for four days, and I felt good- SO good. (Note: four days of not exercising is an eternity for me.) As good as I feel on my best days! And trust me, I haven’t felt like that in months! I jumped up out of bed, excited for my day. And after my usual meditation and writing, I went for a run.
Just like that. One good beating, and I’m practically cured. 😉
Kink changed my life. It changed my experience. It enabled me to do three months of therapy in two hours. It gave me back the spring in my step- with a teensy bit of pain when moving. Totally worth it…Well, I love that part too, actually.
I know I am not all done. I know that the nature of grief is: it’s stealthy. It’s there, even when we thinks it’s gone. And that’s okay. In THIS moment, I’m grateful.