Something about being home just makes me need pain…it’s really a wonder I didn’t turn to full-on self-harm early on in my childhood. Seriously. Lately, though, with the stress of work, and pretty much everything, I really need the cathartic release of pain. I also am craving the pleasure of it.
I re-read an erotic novel last night that sort of highlighted my struggles with masochism: “Hurt Me So Good” by Joely Sue Burkhart. The quick summary/snapshot, courtesy of Amazon:
Victor Connagher is no stranger to the Dallas BDSM scene. As CEO of a risqué cable channel that caters to adventurous adults, he ensures the lifestyle is portrayed in a positive light. He even supports a local bondage club. Yet behind the cool, confident mask, Victor lives in fear. Once, and only once, he lost control of his inner Dom—and it cost him his fiancée. Now, no one knows how hard he works to keep his darker appetite for pain buried. No matter how much his saucy, confident associate producer makes his fingers itch to once again take up his riding crop. Shiloh Holmes is a sub, but she’s no doormat. She’s always suspected Victor has the skills to feed her insatiable need for pain, and now she’s found the perfect way to crack his formidable control. Develop a new reality show, America’s Next Top sub…and dare him to compete. Week after week, as Shiloh fearlessly challenges the real Victor to come out of hiding, he realizes his past mistake was only a blow to his pride. If he loses Shiloh, he could lose his heart.
It’s a great novel, and I strongly recommend it. It’s hot, it’s interesting, and it gets to the heart of a lot of issues. At one point, the protagonist is describing an instance when she tried to convince a vanilla lover to experiment with her. For clarity, the protagonist is a heavy masochist. The book read:
I wanted him to hurt me. At first, he was horrified. He thought I hadn’t been enjoying our sex life at all. I told him no, it was fine. I just needed…more. … It hurt him, in a bad way that I absolutely hated. I couldn’t ask him to do that. I like pain, yes, but I want to enjoy it, and know that the man giving me that pain enjoys it too. If he’s not getting off on it, then I won’t either. My boyfriend hated it. He hated hurting me. I knew he was going to end up hating me too.
He delves into her need to suffer for him, and he struggles a lot with his sadism and a fear of losing control. She describes her love of pain so perfectly too:
I want you to hurt me like that again. I need it. When you take me to that dark, sharp place of pain, then that’s where I find myself. I’m free there, freed by the pain and the pleasure it brings.
I feel the same way. I don’t want to be hurt unless the person is getting off on it. I NEED my partner to get off on hurting me in order to relax.
I am craving pain like a crack-addict in withdrawal right now. I want the wicked gleam that promises evil things are coming my way. I want to revel in the darkness, to scream, struggle, and eventually surrender. I want to let the pain blossom inside me, curling through me and setting my nerves aflame. I want to feel the ache and bruises afterwards. I really want the tender caresses and brutal savage fucking too… Blerg.