Realization of a Masochist

On the outside, she was perfectly normal; perhaps well on the positive side of normal. She was a loving daughter, sister and friend. She was loyal and honest in her relationships. She had a steady part time job waiting tables at a restaurant and she also attended college, taking as many credits as possible. She always paid her bills on time and kept her promises. She was fiercely independent. She had a strong work ethic and strong morals and values. Everywhere she went people liked her and wanted to be her friend. She was always happy to oblige.

Really the only odd or seemingly abnormal thing about her, aside from her occasional urge to dress in full gothic attire, was that she had often jumped from bed to bed, never keeping a steady boyfriend. She had enjoyed herself, yes, but she always felt there was something missing; something more that she could be experiencing, but it was always just beyond her reach. Her adventurous nature made her fun and exciting to be around, for she was always willing to try new things. She spent a lot of her time seeking thrills and new experiences, from new roller coasters to bungee jumping, traveling and meeting new people. She had a deep-seated, primal affinity for danger and taking risks. This probably had to do with the fact that every sexual relationship she'd ever had had some elements of danger and risk involved. On a subconscious level, she probably associated those elements with sex. And after all, was thrill seeking not just a search for sexual feelings outside of the act itself?

Sex aside, she always made a point to face her fears head on, by doing things that scared her for no apparent reason – except she privately told herself it was to make her a better, stronger person. Strength was probably the most important thing to her. However, it was a quiet, indirect power that she craved.

One night, she got into one of her famous verbal sparring wars with one of her friends. It turned into a physical, pushing and pinching match, ending with several bites and slaps. It was fairly normal for her to play fight with her friends like that, but this particular one ended a bit more roughly than usual. When she got home and stripped down in the bathroom, she saw the light bruises blushing her skin. She examined them and lightly ran her fingers over them, just enough to coax a little pain out of her nerves. The surge of power she felt as the pain reminded her of the strength she had shown shot a wave of pleasure through her limbs, making her knees tremble. She ran her hands over the marks again and again, sighing with what even she would have described as a disturbing mix of pleasure and pain.

Her hands drifted to other parts of her body later as she lay between the cool sheets, and as she peaked she made the first all-encompassing connection between pain and pleasure. She continued this for the next couple of nights, until the pain faded with the bruises. Eventually she began to associate orgasm with small doses of pain; not just physical pain. Emotional anguish was also exciting to her, and she would unconsciously think about painful things more than was necessary, to inflict this different type of discomfort onto herself. Discomfort, she believed, was the key to expanding your own personal comfort zone, and therefore gaining strength.

She had never really thought about the term "masochist" until her uncle made a comment one day, over a bowl of his famously spicy chili. "They say that people who love spicy food and eat it all the time are expressing masochistic tendencies. They say they like the pain of it." That comment really hit home to her, and she began to look at other aspects of her life in a new light. She thought about how when she was a child, in karate lessons, she would look forward to board breaking because of how it proved your strength. She also liked the sting of the skin after breaking one with her bare hand. After working out at the gym she would experience the same type of muscle soreness as everyone else. What she hadn't realized was that most people do something about it. They take a little medicine, soak in a hot tub, take Epsom salt baths, etc. But she would just endure the dull pain, sometimes pushing herself even harder when she was sore. Even when she had a perfectly legitimate reason, she would shy away from painkillers and drugs that dulled physical and emotional feeling. However, she had somewhat of a weakness for the types that heightened these sensations.

She had a definite thing for spicy foods, and her threshold of heat rivaled those of most men. She could handle the hottest peppers, the most robust Indian and Thai cuisine. As with everything in her life, she would push herself past her limits, knowing that the more she pushed, the more she would be able to handle next time around. As far as sex was concerned, she liked to postpone her orgasms as long as possible, almost finding more pleasure in the feeling of build up and suppression than with actual orgasm.

She focused on wanting things just beyond her reach, and this concentration undoubtedly made her aim higher and forge ahead towards her goals, but were all these things just ways of expressing her masochistic tendencies? And if so, what did this mean? Was she a freak? Did she need therapy? Could she indulge herself without harming her everyday life? The one thing that excited her about the fact that she could be a masochist was the idea that if she craved pain, then she was free of one of the most paralyzing fears in humankind. This, in her mind, gave her even more power.

He seemed like a perfectly normal, sweet, gentle kind of person. But of course we know that the ones that seem this way on the outside usually make up for it once you get to know them. For some reason, of which the process is still a mystery, he caught her attention. She had a feeling there was more to him than met the eye. She had a weakness for seeking out the mysteries of men. As usually was the case, it didn't take her long to begin to uncover his.

When they made love for the first time it was rough and fast, and she had several marks on her body left from it. He seemed to really get into the aggressive aspects, so she didn't have to do much of anything. She loved that. Sometimes she got tired of pleasing herself - what she really needed was someone to do it for her, because it got exhausting. The next time around the same thing happened, and it, along with her new thoughts on the subject, got her curious. She worked up the nerve to ask if he was "into" that sort of thing. S&M, B&D, etc.

"I had a feeling you would ask me this eventually, I just didn't expect it to be so soon."

There is a certain intuition involved in finding people of like mind, across all different subcultures. S&M is no different, and somehow they recognized each other. She bared her soul to him, telling all the secrets inside her that had been dying to come out. She told him all the little things that pointed her in the direction of Masochist.

He listened quietly with a serene look in his smoldering eyes, and when she finished he kissed her passionately and said, "Don't worry. You can be comfortable with me, for I will push your limits farther than you could on your own."

The next time they saw each other, things became a little more structured. He undressed her, ran his hands through her long, raven-black hair and pulled it just hard enough to send a chill down her spine, and a twinge of excitement through her veins. He spanked her, full-handed and hard, with a firm squeeze at the end of it. The force sent her forward to the wall, where she leaned while he did it over and over again. She bit back her moans of pleasure while concentrating on his velvety voice, purring to her about the joys of needing to be possessed and dominated. She liked to rake her nails over his skin, and bite him and he tasted good, but she didn't get the same surge of excitement and pleasure that she got when he bit, scratched, slapped or squeezed her.

There were so many things she wanted to do for him, but she would only be able to enjoy doing them completely if he forced her to do that which she already desired. The idea of being bound, held down and "forced" into things during sex appealed immensely to her, and he was the first person willing to oblige these desires. The first time he tied her up she felt so vulnerable, yet she trusted him so completely that it gave her an odd sense of power. Knowing that she was in quiet control is what excited her the most. She could completely call the shots. If she wanted him to stop at any moment, he would. But he knew just how far to push her, and he knew when she really meant that she wanted more. He was able to give her everything she had always wanted, but never knew how to ask for.

She became completely addicted to their sessions, more so than any drug could have taken hold of her. She lived for each time they would see each other, and thoughts of their time together invaded her at the most inopportune times. Instead of pushing them out, she would surrender, letting her mind wander and experience him again in her daydreams. She began to lose some of her friends and other close relationships, and she started to care less and less about school. And for the first time in her life, she didn't care.

All she cared about was getting the pleasure she felt she deserved, especially after all the time of going without complete satisfaction. She was sure that others would say she had a problem that needed to be fixed, but in her mind the enjoyment she felt from it far outweighed the problems it caused. She consciously allowed it to consume her life, and eventually she lost herself in her new world of immense pleasure and pain.