Tag Archives: pain

One Pain for Another

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I have been thinking a lot lately about pain.

Okay, that came off REALLY wrong.

Is it possible to think about pain in a good way? To analyze, as a submissive, why I need (not want, need) a good spanking to get my head on straight, or a flogging to make me fly? Why anal sex is my favorite because of that pleasure/pain line that pushes my body so?

I am a psych major..and I forget that most of the time. When I am how I’ve been lately, covered in clay and plaster along with the crazy cat next to me (also covered in clay and plaster…), pushing myself to sketch out new pieces, search for kilns to fire in, get the courage to approach galleries.. I forget that I went to Lesley originally for psychology. Art is in my blood, but there is a part of me that loves picking things apart. Figuring out why people react the way they do. Why they love what they do and do what they do…

I do this with myself, often. Most of the time it’s in a healthy way, to stop myself from harmful behavior, from spiraling or over-eating or getting angry without reason. I stop, analyze what I’m about to do and why, what led me there, and what I should do next.

Kinda weird from someone who so often exists in the moment, and functions on emotions and action I know, but it happens.

I’ve been doing this lately with my relationship with pain; physical pain. Where it started. Why I put myself through it. In starting off this journey I wouldn’t have said I enjoyed pain at all. I was afraid of it. I still wouldn’t call myself a masochist. I’m a tenderfoot. Even when I was playing on a regular basis (and I mean REGULAR, 3-4 times a week at least) I could never take too much pain. I would cry and shake when Kane would spank me, gritting my teeth and willing myself to make it to the end, to show I could do it. It was to please him, to show him how tough I was..

Where did that start?

I’ve always been into body modification. I see the body as a canvas made to be decorated. My tattoos are my road map, showing my journey through life. What mattered to me so much that I put it on my body for all to see forever. I have 9 tattoos now, want more, and 17 piercings (I had 18 but a cartilage piercing in my ear closed.. must re-pierce that.. I don’t like not being symmetrical). I’ve always gotten the endorphin rush that follows the pain of a needle going through me… But I’ve been poking holes through my ears since I was 12 years old. I never thought anything of it. I loved the product of the pain, the piercing that I got to wear. The pretty jewelry. The feel of the rings in my ears. It made me happy.

My parents, as open minded as they are, were always against tattoos. I didn’t get my first until I was 19, though it was one I had planned for years. A pentagram on my back, with representations of the five elements inside of it (earth, air, fire, water, spirit). Tattoos are different.. They’re not the quick, endorphin rush pain of piercings. It’s a slow, painful burn that slowly wears you down. I max out at 4 hours of sitting.. I know people who can go longer. My older sister can sit for 5+, though she curses like a sailor the entire time.

I did these things because the result was pretty, or the symbols tattooed on me meant something, enough for me to sit through the pain. I didn’t enjoy the pain. I just knew that it came part and parcel with the things that would decorate my body.

The exception to this rule is a set of tattoos I got on Valentine’s Day 2013. My aunt had died on January 27th, and I wasn’t dealing with the pain. I was single, alone, trying to keep my head afloat and finish my senior year of college. I wanted to graduate, not for myself but for her. She was why I had gone to school to start with and not gone rogue, running to New York to be an artist. She had paid for my first semester of college, and given me money for every single semester so that my loans weren’t too horrific. I wouldn’t let her down.

I have always identified as Pagan, for as long as I can remember. I have never been able to read the Runes for divination, but I have always respected them and the mythology around them. I chose two runes, Uruz and Tiwaz. Uruz, for internal healing and strength, Tiwaz for the ability to persevere, to survive battle know matter what. I didn’t want to look at the symbols, I didn’t even really want others to see them. I wanted them to lead the way. To keep me going.

I got Uruz on the arch of my left foot, the bottom. Tiwaz on the right in the same spot. The tattoo artist told me that it would ink out, that in a few years the tattoos wouldn’t exist. I didn’t care. I wanted the symbols to be with me with every step. And I wanted the pain that came with the tattoos.

For the first time, I wanted physical pain to dull the emotional pain raging inside of me. My aunt was gone. My indestructible, strong, always there for me, force of nature aunt had died, and I needed to survive.

I say often that play makes my brain stop. When I’m in sub space, when I’m flying, I’m not thinking about money or stress or partners or.. anything. I’m blitzed out on the endorphins, in a place past pain that I can only get to if I go through the pain.

Is that the same as all my other tattoos, where I sat through the pain for the pleasure of the adornment? Or is this like that first exception, where I traded one pain for another?

Why do I need to fly?

Yours, thoughtful

-Rena

Waiting..and Hoping…

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It has been twelve days since I’ve seen my Dom… Twelve very long days.

Once again, I’m back in New Jersey. It’s great to see my family, as usual..but my chest is so tight.

I don’t know where we are..what we are… I miss him so much I ache.

It’s not a simple matter of communicating through technology while he is gone, filling the void how he can. He has horrible reception where he is, and he dislikes talking on the phone. I am an incredibly tactile person. I close my eyes at night and I crave his touch, the way he traces his finger around my face as if he’s trying to memorize it. I crave his scent… I miss the security of curling up right in my spot next to him, our bodies wrapping around one another. I miss his voice, and his face… I just miss everything about him.

He’s been so busy, getting everything that needs to be done, done. I understand.. I’m trying so hard to, but I feel such a distance between the two of us… He and I had a falling out about communication before I left for home, and then again once I got here just two days ago.

The weekend before I had done something I hadn’t in so long. I went and I played with others. I went to Dark Odyssey’s Surrender event and actually connected with a dominant man for the first time since Kane and I got more serious. I partially went out of my own loneliness, and partially went because he had tasked me with getting back to that place while he was gone, the one where I could have fun with others without feeling this knot of guilt, as if I was betraying him. I played, sort of.. I couldn’t do full on, intense scenes.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. One of my best friends in the kink community was there, someone who can be very paternal with me. Before the weekend was over I asked something of him that I have never asked of anyone. I asked if he would beat me. I am not a pain slut, far from it. I have a very low pain tolerance compared to most submissives out there…but I was in so much pain. I wanted Kane there… All these intimate scenes, people connecting around me, and I just wanted my Dominant to take me and put me on the cross, flog me with the red and black flogger we both love..

He flogged me, and I felt nothing. Spanked me..paddled me… I started laughing. As odd is this sounds, that’s a bad sign for me. When I actually get into sub space I become very quiet. I sigh a bit, let out little noises, but I never laugh. I broke down about a minute later and was sobbing so hard my friend refused to continue. He flipped me around, hugged me, and ended up helping me with a different sort of aftercare. He took me over to the side, sat me down, and had me list all the reasons I am thankful Kane is my Dom. Then list all the negatives of him being gone for so long, and see if the pros outweighed the cons. They did, by a long shot..

The other day I found out just how much my outside play bothered him, and just what insecure thoughts he had floating around in his head. Since then… I don’t know. He’s been texting me from time to time, and I’ve been texting him, but nothing D/s has been discussed. Nothing deep and emotional has been discussed. It’s been light, cute.. friend like.

I’m hoping I”m just emotional..reading too much into something when I’m far away and can’t fully connect…but I can tell you straight out that I would give quite a lot to hear him tell me he loved me right now. I haven’t heard the phrase in so long..I think that’s what shakes me.

Photos are hard for me..especially of my lower body. I don’t like my stomach, don’t like my pudge. In an attempt to connect after an awkward day I made a video for him, something that I don’t do… I sent it to him. He mentioned being excited to watch it… and then he was gone for the night. I hope he watched it.. hope he liked it..but I don’t know. I don’t know if it was right to do, if he wants me submitting to him now or to wait until he sees me in person.

I don’t know anything right now, and I don’t know whether or not he has the time to reassure me and calm the frantic thoughts in my mind.

And so I wait..and I hope… I will see him sometime around December 1st, hopefully…

Until then, I stare at my phone. I send him what I can. I try to keep him involved without spamming him when he can’t respond. I try not to beg when I know he is tired and stressed and busy. I love, fully and completely, and try to tell him so at least once a day, support how I can when it’s a world I don’t know.

I pray the pit in my stomach is wrong.

Yours, waiting

-Rena

Recluse

Oh boy. Oh boy… ohhh boy.

This will be a long post. I apologize for this.

I got back to San Francisco about two weeks ago from a FANTASTIC trip home. The only thing missing was Kane.

It was an odd feeling for me, missing someone as much as I did when I was only away for a week and a half. It just..felt like he should be there for everything. Like he belong there, and would have enjoyed it. I wanted to share my old haunts with him; my childhood hideaways and my loves. I sent videos and photos of my childhood home to him, showing more to him than I have to anyone in a long time, sharing pieces of myself that I have held tight and guarded for way too long.

Regardless, I had to returned. I returned to a week without him and two weeks of hell at work.

I very rarely discuss my work on this blog because it involves childcare..and childcare and BDSM rarely mix well. I had been hired as one thing, and gradually throughout the months I had watched my position slowly crumble to a mere shadow of itself and began dreading going to work. My duties were never the same day to day. They began to change radically, drifting into a realm that were not at all involved in my job description.

Poor Kane. The man had the patience of a saint with me this week. He got double whammied with a girlfriend/submissive that had her period AND severe work problems. The anxiety was so bad that I found myself unable to get into the submissive mindset at all.

I have not gone to a play party in a month and a half. A month was because of other commitments. Two weeks have been by my choice. Last night I could have gone with Kane if I had truly wanted to. He would have happily taken me to the Citadel and put me on one of the crosses that I love. He would have used the purple suede flogger on me first, to warm up, and perhaps teased me with the rabbit fur flogger so much that I fantasize about curling up in bed and snuggling it like a stuffed animal… Then the thud and sting of the red leather flogger would have started, with an added weight that the other two pieces lack… In an idea world he would have hit me in a steady rhythm that I count in my mind like a dance count, getting lost in the strikes until I’m pushed so high I’m flying… Mmmm…

A shiver of pleasure just went up my spine. I miss that. I crave that. But for the past couple weeks it’s almost like my submissive side has been hibernating…and it is a large part of who I am as a person. A large part that has been missing. I was shocked when I came back from my trip and Kane bent me over for a spanking for the first time..because it HURT. I cried. My pain tolerance was gone, pathetic to a point that made my heart sink. I had built it up quite a bit before I left, and I wasn’t gone long.. around ten days. Kane and I had been playing in private and public on a regular basis, almost nightly, and I was shocked when the thing that had given me so much pleasure caused me actual pain. Not the buzzed pain.. the bad pain. THE FUCK???

What was I doing wrong? Why couldn’t I get there? I thought part of it was Kane and I playing at my place. My little in law apartment is always in a state of chaos. I’m there maybe one week out of the month on average, mostly just spending the weekend. The rest of the time I’m at Kane’s with him…and so I’ve never actually fully unpacked. It’s not a home, it’s a resting place in chaos. When I’m with him there it feels like home. I thought that playing at my place, a place that I normally don’t associate with BDSM, coupled with he and I not spending the night together was making it harder for me to slip back into the submissive mindset. I was definitely his horny little girlfriend, and the sex was fantastic… but I just couldn’t get there.

This surprising week of short play was the prelude to the week from hell of work.. combine the two and it was a recipe for disaster. The FLOGGER hurt me when Kane put it to my skin. I found my mind wandering and had to constantly bring myself back. I didn’t want to strip. Didn’t want to see myself naked. I spent way too much time crying, which is something I absolutely hate doing.

Kane is an incredible boyfriend, I will say that frankly. His ability to comfort me, to make me feel safe and have me believe that everything will actually work out. I have my spot as a girlfriend, curled up on the couch with him. I lean into his side and put my head on the nook in his shoulder and he drapes his arm around me. There is my safety spot, where nothing can touch me. And there is where I’ve been hiding.

I’ve dealt with depression all of my life. Major depressive disorder runs in my family. My dad has it, my grandmother has it, etc. It’s not constant with me, it spikes when I get anxious or when the road gets rocky. Combine that with hormones of the month and…yeah. I was bad. Even in the environment of Kane’s apartment with him I just couldn’t get there. I didn’t want to go on fetlife, didn’t want to see my kinky friends, and just wanted Kane. I wanted my rock, my safety, my assurance that even though my job was miserable and the progress of our relationship meant things would get worse before they got better that everything really would be okay.

He causes old feelings to surface that I had forgotten existed.. It’s been a long time since I talked about marriage and kids with anyone. I don’t do that. Don’t trust people enough to lift up my walls and reveal the girly squishy bits of myself. Kane continually breaks down my walls. We’re in too deep at this point, and are set on a future with one another. With kids… though marriage seems to be arguable.

Last night was the culmination of KABOOM that has become my life. My work had become unbearable. My hours got changed and cut yet again, and my duties had become out right illegal. I quit, knowing that if nothing else I own a car (that was in the shop with a check engine light on. It turned out to all be fine but it was definitely an added stresser) and was halfway to starting up Lyft, which I could live off of easily if I worked the hours that Kane was at work. I love driving, and I love talking to people so the job would be easy for me. And I was sick of crying.

This turned Kane into a stress ball…which I hate seeing. He thinks of every possible outcome, and the more he thinks the more he shuts down and just doesn’t communicate. He doesn’t want to stress me out with his worries which just stresses me out and I worry more…it’s a cycle of stress that ends in both of us breaking, and that’s exactly what happened. I broke first, sobbing at something silly. He shut down because he thought I blamed him for the entire situation..when I just hated the situation in general.

It ended in he and I going for dinner and a drive and talking about some hard realities. Realities like he and his wife splitting up, but not having a time line for it. Like we want kids, but I want marriage and he will only get married if he has to. Neither of us expected to be this intense this soon, to be talking about living with each other and getting a “transition” apartment between now and his lease ending in February. But we’re here. And we’re dealing with it. And we both agree that the relationship is worth it.. which is what in the end matters.

I can hear Cal’s words echoing in my mind from time to time, advice he gave me when I first told him about Kane. Yes, fall. Yes, the relationship is worth it, but he and I will both hurt one another. And we are, we do, but we also keep each other going. We inspire one another when we’re not in mire and muck, and we come up with crazy artistic ideas that lead to other ideas that lead to amazing studio nights.

He is helping me pick up the pieces of my life, but he is not doing it while I sit on my ass. Yes, I have more financial problems than he does. Yes, he has more relationship problems than I do (that whole “I have a wife I need to hopefully separate amicably from” thing)..but we are definitely knee deep in a “we” thing. We are building a life together, piece by piece, and part of that is he and I getting our separate lives together in the ways that we must. I need a job, asap, hopefully with health insurance (which is something I lack right now..another stresser). And I need a firmer hand from Kane. I need discipline when I’m too sassy or too out of line, or don’t do what he asks me to do.

He was shocked when I mentioned this to him last night. “You don’t do what I say most of the the time. I just didn’t think you wanted that.”

“Of course I do!” I responded. “I’m a twenty four seven sub! Part of that is wanting, no, needing tasks from my dominant.” And part of that is pushing my limits. Seeing how bratty I can be before I get consequences. Kane figured that out. He set rules.

Now, after this long long LONG blog post that has followed an even longer week, progress is being made in my vanilla life and in my BDSM life. Next week I WILL go to the play party at the Citadel, and will dive back into munches again. I will reach out to friends I’ve been shunning in between applying to fifty million jobs. And most importantly I will work with my dominant. I will scene with him. I will build my pain tolerance back up and fall back into the steady rhythm and embrace of the flogger Kane wields. I will fly again, sometime soon.

Finally, I’m feeling better.

Yours coming out of hibernation

~Rena