break my body; hold my bones

I’ve always been my own sadist.

..and it’s ironic, because I’ve been told that I’m a great bottom1 but an unenthusiastic masochist2, since my excursions into the realm of pain usually begin and end with some intense nipple twisting, paddling, and the deliciously sore ache that follows a brutal anal reaming.
Make no mistake; I’m no one’s pain slut. Tops eager to dispense cunt torture make me gag, and hook suspension squicks me; but leave me alone with fresh wounds and hard instruments to grind into my tenderest spots, and I’ll end up reeling in my own sweet agony for hours.

I remember being six or seven and pressing sewing needles under my fingernails, waiting for the little rivulets of crimson to trail down my fingertips; wanting to be left alone with my bumps & bruises to greedily poke sharp objects into them. My body and its myriad fluids & solids simultaneously disgust and fascinate me; and one emotion is hopelessly entangled with the other – I want to dig deep into the raw gristle and sinew; break the skin to see the bruises swell with fluid & watch hideous dark crusts form as my body stubbornly heals itself anew.

Sometimes it’s sexual, but often it’s nothing more than testing my body’s limits – How long can I hold a hot light bulb? How long can I go without food? How would it feel to scrape my fingernails across flesh mottled with bruises?
Blood and sharp pain has some appeal, but I’m mostly interested in sadistically nursing the dull aches of bruises and goose egg-like swellings, which is why cutting and blood play don’t interest me so much.

Self injury isn’t usually explored from an autoerotic3 angle; ordinarily, it’s simply the stuff of simplistic high school health curricula and sappy Lifetime movies4. But for me, it’s always been a sensual (though not always sexual), private indulgence.

As a matter of fact, I recall seeing photos of fire cupping on fetlife a few weeks ago and being awed by the hot, rose pink imprints left behind, imagining the sharp pain that would come when I pressed my fingers into them, digging in my nails and testing the tender flesh. I thought, “Gee, I want to do that. Now.”

..to myself, that is. If someone else wanted to do it to me, they would just end up sorely (ha!) disappointed.

So, to everyone else in the world except myself, I’m happy to continue being a shitty masochist, taking my sweet kisses and cuddles from everyone else while dishing out the pain for myself afterward.

1. Yep, folks, it’s completely possible, in case anyone still buys into the idea that “bottom” = “motionless pillow princess”.

2. I feel like lots of people assume way too much overlap between the two, especially if the bottom/sub happens to be female. Some amount of pain can sharpen the pleasure; but for me, there’s still a clear distinction between the former & the latter. Pain in itself doesn’t get me wet.

3. ..which isn’t to say that my interest in self injury is solely (or even largely) sexual. It’s primarily about pushing my body’s limits (e.g. fasting, digging at a bruise), reveling in its nastiness (e.g. cutting myself to watch the wound crust over), or poking & prodding at the lumpen mass to mold something new (e.g. marathon treadmill sessions). This is where it gets complicated – remove the sexual element, and to many people, the difference between me and a lonely teenager crying in her room while slicing away at her wrists isn’t a big one.

4. A disclaimer: Yes, I know that there are people who self injure for unhealthy reasons. And yes, I have immense compassion. That comment wasn’t a jab at them, but an observation/gripe about one-dimensional views of self injury in general. People who can’t distinguish between problematic self injury and simple bodily exploration/curiosity aren’t so different from the vanilla pearl-clutchers who can’t distinguish between BDSM and abuse. In either case, I have little patience for either group.

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~ by fistfulofsunshine on June 5, 2009.

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