Pain Tolerance and Other Stories

I used to think pain tolerance was completely relative and subjective and there was no way to know what yours was relative to anyone else's, as it's impossible to know if someone else is experiencing it the same way you are.

Then I started going to parties and playing with other people, and it became apparent that I am, in fact, a huge wuss. While it's arguably a completely different situation than, say, accidentally cracking some ribs, it definitely puts things in perspective to get hit by someone in a way that makes you squeal and squirm and say "Oh, my God, I can't take anymore!" and then watch that same person hit your friend the same way and get almost no reaction.

One of the earliest entries I wrote in this blog was about going through a thing where I wasn't enjoying pain like I had been. Well, oh boy has that changed. Lately I've been wanting more, wanting to push myself, to see what I can take...and it's pretty awesome. There's a palpable release that I'd heard about and read about but had never really experienced firsthand until very recently. It's really an amazing feeling, and I really like that I'm not too afraid to get there anymore.

So yeah...kind of like the post I wrote about fireplay, I feel really good about trying things even though I'm scared. Trying new things, expanding boundaries. It's scary, but I like the way things are going.

Worries.

I am a worrier. I've been a worrier for about as long as I can remember, and worrying runs in my family. My mom worries, my grandma is a seriously world-class worrier. I have had two small panic attacks, mostly because of being exhausted and in crowded places. I often say I have some anxiety issues, but I've never been diagnosed with anything.

One of the attractions of BDSM for me is that I don't have to worry while I'm in the middle of a scene. Especially when playing with Jack--I get to relax and put myself completely in his hands and trust that he'll take care of the worrying. It's actually pretty awesome that it works that way.

(I'm pretty sure lots of people would tell me that this is unhealthy, that this is just an escape like drugs or alcohol, that dealing with anxiety by getting consensually beaten up is sick. I would like to point out to those people that I think it's probably more healthy than frequent binge drinking, which is how I used to deal with my worrying.)

Regardless of how I think anyone would possibly react, it is a relief for me not to have to think. I have never been much of a physical person--I never really got into sports or working out or the other things people say makes them feel connected to their body. There's a line in Christopher Durang's play Baby With the Bathwater where Daisy talks about having innumerable casual sexual encounters because of the moment during sex when you forget everything, even who you are and just feel. Pain pulls me back into my body, makes my brain shut up. And that is really just freaking awesome.

There are lots and lots and lots of other reasons why BDSM and kinky play are awesome, why submitting and surrendering to your partner can be amazing and freeing. There are lots of reasons why I find this sort of thing sexy as hell. But for me, there's a delightful side benefit to be found in not having to worry.

The Lives of the Saints

I swear, I went years without really thinking about Catholicism until I started this whole over-analytical "Why am I kinky?" quest. But now I think about Catholicism all the time. Catholicism is HOT.

People say stuff about Catholic school and kink kind of a lot - it's a cliche, the naughty Catholic schoolgirl getting disciplined. But in all honesty, I grew up in the 90s. The nuns didn't hit me - that would be abusive and illegal. Catholicism influence my kinky self on a purely mental level.

Have you ever looked at the Lives of the Saints? My mom was really into saints when I was growing up, and I read a lot of the entries in her Lives of the Saints book when I was choosing a confirmation name. And the saints are all about suffering. When you do a search for the word "suffering" on the site I linked to, you get 124 matches. There's St. Alice, who suffered greatly (though leprosy isn't very sexy) and was known for visions and ecstacies. St. Rita, who prayed to suffer like Jesus and spent her days praying, fasting, and doing penance. The whole concept behind stigmata is that of ecstatic suffering as a show of devotion to God, and there are countless other saints and martyrs who were tortured and murdered for their faith, proving their unwavering devotion.

This idea of ecstatic suffering definitely got into my head and rattled around. As a kid, I had a coloring book biography of Blessed Kateri Tekawitha which detailed her fasting and painful penances (I want to say she did some self-flagellation, but I can't find a link supporting this). And there was that movie about St. Bernadette of Lourdes (Song of Bernadette, I think it was) where Bernadette is sweet and pure and devoted and has visions and becomes a nun, and at every turn people (often people within the church) look down on her and think she's crazy. I just remember the scene where the mean old nun who never believed in Bernadette says to her "What do you know of suffering?" and it turns out that Bernadette had horribly painful cancer the whole time and never said a word about the pain, instead just smiled serenely and worked and prayed. That's devotion. And Catholic imagery definitely influenced my concept of devotion.

A girl I was sort of friends with in high school once said to me "I wish I were ignorant, so I could be Catholic, because they have such beautiful ceremonies," and because I was a teenage goth girl at a Catholic high school who'd been dragged to mass every Sunday since age 8, I think I rolled my eyes. But now I kinda know what she was talking about (though without the weird, condescending part about ignorance). I went to church with my family on Christmas, and before communion, when everyone said "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed," it struck a chord with my submissive little self. I thought "That's beautiful." And the idea of redemption through suffering, an idea I learned in church and Religion and Theology classes, is kind of an idea that I took with me into relationships.

I lost my faith, and I don't really believe in God anymore. However, I feel like suffering to prove love and devotion is a huge part of who I am. If I'm bad, if I misbehave, if I sin, I want to do penance and be forgiven, and to prove how really and truly sorry I am, I want that penance to hurt. And when it's over, and I've suffered enough, I want to be redeemed.

Missing masochism...

So firstly, I'm completely wiped out by all this holiday ridiculousness. I just slept for, like, twelve hours and I still feel kind of zombie-like.

But here's the meat of the entry - I haven't been that into pain lately. It's kind of disappointing. It happens from time to time, but I don't think I've ever really thought or talked about it much.

I'm still totally up for rough sex, for dirty talk and being called names, and for other stuff as well...but I can't take a good spanking. It's really disappointing. I like being spanked, I like the idea of it. But right now the physical like just isn't there.

It's not that spanking or otherwise being smacked around ever doesn't hurt, but it feels different when I'm in the right headspace. I know this isn't news to anyone else into this sort of thing, but I figure it's worth describing what it's like for me.

I'm not what you'd call a pain slut, even at the best of times. And it's really hard to talk about pain quantitatively - how can you ever be sure anyone else is experiencing the same level of pain you are in the same way? I can take what I'd call a "moderate amount" of pain, but for someone else that might just be the warm-up.

For me...right now, even a spanking I know I would normally take and enjoy has me squealing and trying to get away. And not in a role play sort of "Oh, no! The mean man is hitting me!" kind of way - in a way that's close to genuine panic.

Usually I don't reach a panicky place. Usually it hurts, but not in an upsetting way. And then there's a magic hit, and it doesn't hurt anymore and everything goes tingly. Sometimes after a little while, it starts to hurt again and I know I've had enough, but it's not often a scary, panicky feeling. It's just an "Okay, I'm done now."

The thing now is that I miss all that. It's really disappointing to try to get to that tingly, intense, close feeling and instead just feel like you wish it'd stop. But talking about it is a lot better than just feeling it alone in my head, and acknowledging that it's just a thing that happens sometimes is kinda nice. And eventually whatever it is will shift again and I'll be back to normal.

So yeah...talking about things is good.