30 Days of Kink: Day 1.

I live!  I live!  I graduated nursing school, am still waiting for a test date for my boards, and I live!

I live, and I want to write again.  I've been writing every day on my tumblr, but that's not the same.  It's a big mishmash of puppy pictures and askboxes and stuff.  The Pervocracy is my real home on the Internet.

So, to get back in the swing of long-form non-puppy blogging, I'm doing a 30 Days of Kink challenge.  You can read all the questions here.

Day 1: Dom, sub, switch?  What parts of BDSM interest you?  Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.

I'm a bottom, an occasional switch, and harbor a deeply guarded but deeply treasured capacity for submission.

The kinky thing I do most often is get hit.  I like getting hit.  It’s such an OOMPH of a feeling, a sharp snap into the physical reality of my body, the tough meatiness of my muscles and fine-grained sensitivity of my nerves.

It’s also a challenge.  Because although I like getting hit, I don’t have much pain tolerance.  Sometimes that means we keep it light, more of a manhandling than a real beating, only hitting me hard enough to make a little noise but not enough to cause serious pain.  (This kind of play usually involves a lot of giggling.)

Other times I go into a subspace trance and enter an ecstatic altered state where pain don’t hurt.  This requires a lot of trust, because once I’m in that state my communication gets either garbled or absent, and I don’t have much sense of my own limits.  Feels so good though.

And other times, more rarely… I go past my pain tolerance.  I get to a level of pain that makes me think “I can’t possibly deal with this” and I deal with it.  I look at the pain head-on and transform its image in my mind into heat, into cold, into red, into simply nerves firing.  I find a moment when I can tolerate intolerable pain and I hold myself in that moment.  It’s not as sexy-fun as the other two ways of dealing with pain, but when I’ve done it, man, I feel good about myself.  Tolerating the intolerable, even for half a second, makes me feel like the champion of the goddamn world.

I know how to hit, too, and I get a little thrill, but it’s usually much less visceral.  The best times have been when I’ve been comfortable getting really physically into the bottom’s space—hitting someone while we were skin-to-skin, pressed together so close that I could feel every gasp and flinch, every time their muscles tensed or relaxed, every deep or shallow or ragged draw of breath.

As for submission… there lurk the things that still feel wrong.  Gloriously, tantalizingly wrong.  These are the kinks, that for me, still hold the delicious flavor of taboo.  The flavor, so hard to find as an adult, of sneaking out through the woods at night, of dirty comics under the mattress, of awkwardly sincere love poems hastily passed and quickly concealed.  These are the things that don’t make me feel like “you know, it’s just another way of experiencing pleasure…”; they make me feel like a god damn pervert.  I love them.