It occurs to me that I don't like photos of bruises. It kind of feels wrong to me. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable to look at them on someone else. I don't like it at all. Not enough sadist in me to fill a teacup really.
I guess I don't mind actually having bruises that much. I'm a bit torn. I know I shouldn't like them. That it's sort of wrong. But I do like 'em. I like seeing them and knowing... it's like a little secret isn't it? He did this, he marked me. He's rough with me.
And he doesn't mark me much or often. He just doesn't. For various reasons.
But when it's happened, I like it. Mostly. In kind of a squirmy way.
I have this ongoing discomfort with pain. Umm, yeah I get how ridiculous that sentence is. What I mean is that I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea that I'm a masochist. And I'm not entirely comfortable that I'm in love with a sadist. And I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea that somehow our idea of love entails him hurting and humiliating me.
But most of the time that discomfort is buried under the desire for it. When we started I thought it to death, talked it to death, how could I be wired this way? How could he? And now, umm, I'm more comfortable with it most of the time.
But somehow less so with a physical reminder of it. I have this bruise. He hit me to hurt me. Because he likes that kind of thing. Yes, thrill. But unease too. I shouldn't be thrilled. Should I? But look. He hit me to hurt me. He loves me.
Yeah, it's messed up.
4 comments:
I hate labels too. The marks that Daddy leaves are minor really, but I find that I am like the little boy on his bike who is bragging about the stunt he performed to earn the scar. I still don't consider myself a masochist.
My word verification for this comment is "motle", and I love my mottled skin. W didn't start out liking to mark me, the exact opposite in fact. For me each bruise and mark is like a little reminder of his love for me.
I still wonder about why I am a masochist, but it doesn't bother me any more. For now I can live with "I just am". As an inveterate navel gazer I'm sure I'll get back around to being a little uncomfortable with the idea. For me most of the discomfort comes when I see it from the outside looking in. Right now, here on the inside? It works for me, and that's ok.
welllll....*grinning*.....i luff my bruises.
and i earned every single one of them, in a wild debauched romp of....perverted delights, i guess.
i always did like show n tell...
though i may tell less than i show, to me the bruises i wear are His marks to carry me through the inevitable "fall" that happens after we've been together.
i feel special, cherished wearing them.
Showing them to the world is ...hmmm...i was going to say "bragging a bit"...but closer to the truth for me? it gives me validity.
perhaps because i was vanilla for so so so long...and this darker life is relatively new...i feel a sense of having to prove my reality...to readers, and mayhap even to myself at times.
geeze, why do i keep writing books in your blog comments!?!
Perhaps because you 'strike' a chord that begs response ...*grinning*...
nilla
I love having bruises. I love that my pale skin carries reminders of Master and Mistress for days after seeing them. It reminds me of their ownership. I am new to this masochism stuff too, and the fact that being hurt turns me on is disconcerting. I think it is about accepting that part of me. I'm still trying to, anyway.
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