Everyone needs a love tap now and then

…and it may just be good for what ails you.

…and now for something completely different…

Posted by Týr on September 30, 2007

Enough with the entries that consist solely of me linking to something else: In recent weeks I’ve started bottomming to Maja again. I don’t really know when the last time that I bottommed to her previously was, but I would put it in the area of 12 months. It was actually getting to the point where I debated with myself whether I was still a switch. After all, as my relationship with Maja has progressed, I’ve taken a more dominant role in my or her bedroom.

Then, suddenly, a couple weeks ago I noticed I wanted to be hurt. ‘Where did this come from?’ I asked myself. ‘This doesn’t match what you’ve been thinking of yourself as lately.’ But the feeling and desire to be hurt stayed. I’m still not sure where it came from, but I just chalk that one up to the interesting course that life takes in all of us.

And so for the past two or three weekends, Maja has been more than happy to oblige, though at first she was somewhat surprised by witnessing me asking her to hurt me. Hell, I was confused (see above). However, it all made sense after yesterday morning. At some point in time, Maja pulls me over into a lovely hug, at which point I start to come to.

Aside: Why does it take me longer to join the world of the living when I am woken up by a beautiful lady with amorous intentions than any other method. Seriously, doesn’t that seem a little off?

Eventually, after she climbs on top of me, I realize that she is in a state in which I have rarely seen her: In control of the scene. Not acting like she is in control, but actually in the driver’s seat. This morning is hers, and I am (along for) the ride.

Again, I ask her “hurt me”, so she digs her fingers into my rib cage. “Hurt me.” She slaps me in the face. “Hurt me.” She pulls my hair.

What I realized that morning is that when I bottom, I don’t actually drop into sub-space, not even close. When I first realized my like for BDSM, I thought that the masochist in a scene must also by definition be the submissive partner. Clearly this is not the case, but it does explain why Maja’s and mine early scenes with her on top didn’t go the according to plan – I just simply didn’t like giving up control. So that just means that I didn’t. ‘But Týr, didn’t you just say that she was in control just 8 or so lines above?’ Well, yes, but that does not imply that I was accepting a lesser stature in the scene. For example, if I had kept my mouth shut, I probably wouldn’t have been hurt as much. We were still equals, she was simply guiding the course of the scene more than I was.

All I added was “Hurt me.”


5 Responses to “…and now for something completely different…”

  1. Maja said

    Silly man. I distinctly recall making you say please.

    And I’m pleased to say that, as of yesterday morning, I know precisely what mad scientists feel like when they discover the magical elixir that will enable then to take over the world.

    I suspect that the rest of the weekend has been one slow top-drop. That’s fucking teamwork.

  2. Maja said

    Also, let me just chuck the term “power bottom” onto the table.

  3. Eileen said

    Really, every time I see Maja now I wonder if she’s just had the best sex of her life ever. Again. :).

  4. […] squeals of delight and occasional yelps of pain « Vadging Out Vadging Out, part II December 2, 2007 I’m not quite done with my Eve Ensler impression. So now, hair.The way I think about my body hair can accurately pinpoint the dates of my puberty, from the sick feeling in the pit of my 5th-grade stomach when Adam Van Buren looked at my arms and called me a gorilla, to my second nude beach trip when I eventually abandoned the idea of trying to hide my tampon string, because who cared? In between, there was strife, and in a weirdly spoiled move, I convinced my mom to let me get electrolysis at my bikini line so that it wouldn’t hurt so much when I shaved. I still sort of don’t get how this was an okay thing for me to ask. “Mom, I’m disgusted with my own body – can we change that by expensive and painful means?” “Sure, honey.”Every week or so, I’d slather my upper thighs with lidocaine gel and encase them with saran wrap. In the car, I’d try desperately not to touch the seat. I’d take off my pants and wipe off the gel at the doctor’s office, and a couple of clinicians would pinpoint each hair with their zappers, burning it to the root. It hurt a lot, and I’d invariably cry and beg them to stop. Sometimes the hair grows back after treatment and it’s best to cover as much territory as possible in a session, so the clinicians would urge me to try and take just a little more.I forgot that I had done this for a long time, until I remembered why the hair where my legs meet meet my torso is artificially sparse. Thinking back on the experience, half of me wonders how sick is that? and splutters about shame and self-mutilation. Why did I need to suffer, not even to be beautiful, but just acceptable? And the other half of me smugly notes that this, this is an incredibly hot scene that I never knew I had.I want to reclaim the hotness, for its own sake and to banish the disgust. I don’t have much experience with Violet Wands, but I imagine that it could be used to mimic the feeling of a zapper very easily. As I’ve been writing, I’ve been conjuring up the scene in my head – being spreadeagled on a table, a clinical touch, the smell of burning hair. I’ve never had a whiff of interest in medical play until maybe three minutes ago, but I just smiled at the thought of the crackling paper that covers exam tables. I’d be a delightful, gibbering mess when confronted with these things in person, and I had better stop thinking about it now because I have a tendency to over-imagine scenes and Tyr isn’t even in the country. So…Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day!Oddly enough, I’ve always been a little political about shaving my pussy. (Linguistic note: in my head, it’s called a pussy if it doesn’t have hair on it. I’m weird.) It doesn’t add up: please zap the fuck out of my legs to get rid of that unsightly mess, but if you dare suggest that I shave my actual vulva, go to hell. A couple of weeks ago, though, I shaved it bare for the first time. I accidentally trimmed it very short and thought, why the hell not? But afterwards, I hated it. Aesthetically, it felt like a sad effort to look twelve years old. It felt raw and it hurt to touch it, and where was the fun in that? I realized that I had treated this like an act of self-mutilation, something I’ve done before on a small scale. And I was glad to understand that I didn’t need that crap anymore, that the only pain that I’m interested in is transformative, alchemical. Not this destructive bullshit.My plug-in to kink for a long time was an unconscious self-hatred. I could not be more pleased that that’s phasing out, and it’s moving more towards that hippie self-awareness that I’ve always envied in the enlightened. Keep rooting for me; it’s a weird road to be on (and to stay on, rather than slip back into grudging bitterness). But when it’s good, it’s amazing. […]

  5. Goose said

    “power bottom” I like that. I too find it to be a very odd realization that bottoming and being masochistic doesn’t automatically mean submissive. But for me, I like being masochistic when I’m topping even.
    I guess all the combinations exist.

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