This is an old post, written for some time ago but not published for some reason. I still want to post it because it is about something that is of great importance to me as a person.
Touch me, touch me. I long to live forever. Touch me, touch me, I am just as human as a human can be.
As I was in my room last night, resting after a particularly busy weekend, I had my new bondagebelt strapped to my ankles. Sometimes I forgot about it while lying in my bed writing and it was an awkward moment when trying to get up and for a second not being able to. But it was, above all, a good wrap up of a weekend that was exactly what I’ve been needing for such a long time. I started to think about touch. A lot of what I do in bed and outside, within the realm of my sexual practices, etc, etc, is about touch. Trying to explain BDSM for people, or especially SM, I usually ask them to imagine their hands and how they can use their hands to touch a person in different ways. Then I ask them to imagine how they would change that touch, adding a glove, or maybe just by stroking against the direction of the hairgrowth instead of, as usually done, in the same direction. And I personally think that when I use a tool of any sorts, most of the time I aim it to be an extension of my hands. Rope is where this is most clearly manifested, or when I actually use my hands or have hands used on me. Or you can explain it as one of my partners; he is basically saying that if one combines adrenaline sport and sex, you have BDSM, which can be true on quite many levels, at least when it comes to the SM-part of it. Anyhow, this weekend consisted of of night out with pervy and gorgeus friends in Soho, sleeping a couple of hours, getting up at 4 in the morning to stand in a queue from 5 until 830, shop at a costume sales, laugh at weird costumes and get slightly terrified by all frantic shoppers. A couple of hours later with rest and food, then prep for a night out. As so happened, it became a great night. The flogging together with a rope suspension made me float so heavily that I was a shivering wreck afterward. Crying, laughing, not being able to speak. One of those katharsic feelings that I’ve been craving. The following sunday was spent again with truly amazing people, and all in all, it did not feel to bad waking up this morning. One of the reasons for that is touch. I’m a physical person and certain physicality that I crave is of the nature of BDSM. When I say crave, I quite literally mean crave. If there is a longer period of time and there is no play, I get into a weird headspace. A headspace that is pretty much a feeling of disassociation and loss. Cranky, moody and antisocial, hard to focus on studies or work. God, I surely sound like a high-maintenance bitch! Of course there can be rough and fun sex, or cuddles (cuddles are sometimes better than sex) but I always finding myself wanting to go back to that point in which I’m broken but still strong. Worst case scenario is of course being completely deprived from human touch. Although I’m at times quite asexual, the need for human contact, skin to skin contact is always there.
As to an explanation to why this is, I need to go back to my non-kink days. I did not really have sex tat I enjoyed, I was physically lonely and quite lonely socially as well. Everytime I hugged a person, I’d cling on to them for just a second longer. (It made me into be spoken of as ‘one of those who hug properly) And I caught myself always wanting someone to grab me, hold me until I could not move and then move me around, against my will. I did not want a fleeting sensation, I craved it to go deeper into the flesh, feeling a body that I, since I was a teenager, have disassociated. As I walked through my teens, there was weeks that I was pretending that the body I inhabited was not mine, it was someone else’s body. That of course made me quite lost, but also question the very gender that my biological body signaled. It was confusing for a very long time, but with a little soulsearching it dawned on me that it was not the gender/sex of my biological body that was the problem but the body itself. And since, I’ve struggled to reclaim it, and still do. But when engaging in BDSM, not only do I get horny and happy and filled with energy, I also feel my body, can recognize it and connect with it. And it is an ongoing process, that is very important to me. It may sound to you that I do some sort of therapy, and maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But if I do, and if it seems like it is one of those things that do actually work in a positive manner, is there any harm in that? Of course all of the play that I’m engaged in is not of therapeutic value, au contraire, since it mostly is much more personal than casual club play. But even that holds value. So, sitting here, still some red marks on my back after ropes and fingernails, thinking about the belt at home and still wanting skin, it does feel quite good. How are you feeling?