Masochism

For various reasons, I have 'masochism' and 'perfection' on my mind at this time and it seems they are integrally linked. I have spent a good deal of time asserting that I am not a masochist, when it fact, it seems that I am. This may not be a revelation to the reader. I rather doubt that it is a revelation. There is probably more proof in this journal that I am a masochist than that I am not. Still, it is a major revelation to me.

I have always conceded that I enjoy to be spanked. Gosh, that's how this whole experience in my life got started. But, I just wasn't willing to wear the masochistic label. I didn't care to be thrashed after all. I like not too little and not too much: just enough. Surely that meant, I figured, that I was in a whole category of my own.

Of all the conversations I have had with other people in this space, I have never really been challenged about this. I haven't had a comment about it here and no one has had the temerity to say, "Cut the crap! You're a masochist if ever I saw one." So, on I went, blithely believing my own take on the world, oblivious to my own misconceptions. Then, two things happened:

First of all, after reading my web journal of recent times, my husband decided to take the bull by the horns. If I felt I wasn't being dealt with in a manner that satisfied me, he would attend to that. I was sitting in this very chair several days ago, when he came and gave me a kiss on the cheek and asked me to come to the bedroom, whereupon I found a cane strategically placed in the middle of the bed.

Did I feel fear? I really can't say I did. Was I pleased to see it there? Ohhhh, yes I was. He undressed me and then he tied me securely to the four poster bed with my arms out front. I was not going anywhere. Of course, I hadn't been caned, really caned for ages, and it hurt. I was being very vocal. So, in the red ball went and with my mouth filled, I found that I could take quite the whipping. Was I just a little disappointed when he put the cane down? Well, just a little, yes. Hmmmmm. Why is this so?

Now, fast forward, to several days later, a noted transgression of my duties and the requisite scolding. And, a poignant question: Could it be that I rather enjoyed the scolding? Could it be that I resisted being perfect in order to receive the scolding due to perverse, masochistic tendencies? Boy, this was getting rather close to the bone! Yes...perhaps...that might be the case...

I've given all this quite a lot of thought and searched my mind for answers. It is hard for me to admit, even in this anonymous space, that I am one kinky girl. I like to feel control in any manner of ways. I adore the dance; every style, every move.

Yet, I also understand that I am being asked for as close to perfection as one can get. And perhaps my masochism is getting in the way. I'm capable of perfection, or so it is thought, if I can just find satisfaction in the attaining of that perfection, and mend my naughty ways. (And, if I can't, well let the sky fall and see how I like that!!)

I bask in praise. It's well known and probably used against me. There isn't much I won't do for high praise: the perfect meal, the perfect outfit, the perfect behaviour; the perfect speech or essay. If it leads to praise, I'll work hard to get there. Quite honestly, nobody's standards are higher than my own when I buy into the competition.

But, there is good reason, I think, to give a masochist what she craves on a regular basis; to put some distance between her masochistic needs and the pursuit of excellence/perfection; to ensure that she does not attempt to intefere with the control. And, to this end there is value, I think, in the concept of a weekly 'correction', or call it what you will; a time devoted just to attending to the masochistic need for some 'stimulus' that enables her to feel satisfied and without any desire to interfere with the steady flow of the dominant's control.