Archive for May, 2008

Binding and boundaries

I relate to my submissive and masochistic sides on a number of levels.

First up, there’s a basic physical relationship. Getting hit gets me hot, in that I respond well to intense sensations. Then there is a secondary physical level, based around the big ole endorphin release – getting hit gets me high (I crack myself up).

Then come all the much more complex psychological reasons, which I struggle to define. Submitting myself to someone else’s whim, letting go, feels really good, but I couldn’t tell you why. Ditto feeling humiliated. It’s kinda mental foreplay, but I can’t describe it any better than that.

(Aside: masochism, submission and humiliation don’t have to go hand in hand, you can cheerfully have one without either of the others. They do tend to converge in me at times though.)

Then there are two more esoteric/less obtainable (perhaps?) psychological responses. One is feeling powerful, the other is feeling purged.

The ‘less obtainable’ is because to achieve these things I need to be playing at my limits, and that isn’t always easy to do. Sometimes I hold back, sometimes the Boy does, but once in a while every thing is perfect.

We had one of those days at the weekend, and reached a new and exciting milestone. For the first time Jonty carried on until I cried. I’ve been really interested to find out where that point was, and passing it felt amazing.

The feeling of being purged is easy to explain – you have to let go of a lot once you get to that point – and the feeling of power came from the fact that I was pushed as far as I thought I could go and still managed to go further.

Have been dancing on endorphins ever since.


Revisiting Buddha


Feeling sorry for myself – depressed – is fucking arbitrary but then so is feeling fucking happy. One is celebrated and held up as an example of every thing being right and good with the world, one is “self-indulgent” and something I should work to change. Something I end up feeling guilty about. It’s all fucking bullshit.

All I want is some fucking space. Some time to think. Some no voices. Some no meaningless work. Some no wallpaper-pasted smile. I am just trying too hard. Trying to mould things that should flow. Need to let go. Need the wu wei wu, dude. Need to yield.

Tuesday tick-list of happy

Last night (in this order) I:

•Finally put the wedding itch into words that made sense – think all the ants have gone now, everything feels good
•Had crazy monkey sex – think I have jogger’s nipple
•Finished the wedding ceremony – think we’ve nailed it, and only draft five
•Had yummy scrummy food for dinner – think of it! Jonty liked carbonara all along
•Watched some great crap telly – think Gil Grissom has a submissive side?

All these things made me happy.

All aboard the hell-bus

I went to church yesterday. I’m surprised I didn’t burst into flames when I walked through the door, but there you go.

I like going to church. There’s something comforting about it, I think because it reminds me of my childhood. It also makes me feel intellectually superior, sitting in my atheist tower watching the superstitious rituals of the noble savages.

Apparently being atheist could mean I actually am smarter, rather than just feeling smarter: clicky yon. I learned this from Dawkins in the God Delusion, but he rather naughtily doesn’t mention that this study (I think there is a Danish one too) was self-published and non-peer-reviewed, so make of it what you will.

The service yesterday was long – nearly two hours – because Jonty’s family are evangelist-flavoured so there’s a lot of singing. I got a bit bored, although one of the kids in the band looked something between Daniel Radcliffe and Elijah Wood, so I entertained myself for the last half hour contemplating the ways one might initiate a young and pious boy into a life beyond the lord.

Blasphemy makes me horny as hell.

My first sexual fantasy

There has been far too much wedding navel gazing lately. I was tempted to write some more, re. a sudden spate of friend kissing that I think might be marriage-related, but really, I’m bored of myself now, so everyone else must be even more fed up.

Instead here’s something silly:

I started fantasising when I was about 14 (the same time my periods became regular – hormonal association?), and can remember my first fantasy very clearly.

In it I was naked and tied spread-eagled to a big, cold, stone block. A faceless guy in a long black coat, leather gloves and a surgeon’s mask loomed over me in a menacing fashion…

And that’s it.

That was enough to make my 14-year-old self come. I had a vague idea that the man was about to do painful things to me, but at that stage I didn’t have the imagination to furnish any details, but I simply didn’t need them – the expectation was enough.

I’ve always been comfortable with my fantasies being kinky or gay (or kinky and gay), but there is one aspect of that first little vignette I’m quite embarrassed to recall – the reference material.

Would make a lovely rug

The big stone block was inspired by The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe – the part when Aslan is sacrificed by the White Witch. And the black-coated faceless man was inspired by *cough, mumble* Herr Flick from ‘Allo ‘Allo!

What was I thinking?

More on soap bubbles

From Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass:

Read the rest of this entry »

More on marriage

So, already feeling committed is one challenge (in the sense that I feel the wedding undermines my previous feelings).

Other thoughts, in no particular order:

• As I’ve said before, I feel like getting married might jinx us. Stupid and superstitious, I know, but why fuck with a good thing?

• I’m reading The Sexual Life of Catherine M, and it’s making me nostalgic about the days when sex was an ice-breaker. Once I’m married, am I going to be old, spent, done? Un-fuckable by any one but my husband?

• Maybe everyone feels like this in the run-up to a wedding. Maybe it’s like having a baby, and it never really feels like the right time until you finally do it. Perhaps I am seriously over-analysing normal nervousness.

Le sigh…