Pleasure, Pain & Purification
Le petite morte. The little death. Orgasm. A moment of both seemingly infinite sensation and solitude. No matter how much one loves their partner – if one chooses to have a partner during sex – the actual moment of orgasm is uniquely personal, like love, like death, like the kiss of a whip on bare flesh.
I sat quietly inside of Hollywood’s Gemini Manor (http://www.geminimanor.com), still dazed from the intensity of Felix’s leather on my skin, collecting myself, feeling the calm and well-being that comes from pushing the body toward its boundaries and coming back alive and alert to life. Lips bitten, chest dotted faintly red from knife tip pinpoints, ass and back lightly striped from the caress of his leather single tail.
An S/M newbie approached me. “I didn’t see you flinch once,” he observed in amazement. “How did you do it?”
Indeed, how did I do it? After all, I don’t like pain. Pain is nature’s way of telling you to knock off whatever the hell it is that you’re doing. I’ve had enough pain to last a lifetime, thank you. But I like focus, I like precision, I like attention, I like the hot words that men whisper while my hair is in their hands and their lips are close to my ear, I like to feel their amazement, their gratitude, their pleasure, and their delight. I like the control, knowing that a word from me and everything stops – but not saying the word, not wanting to say the word; instead, choosing to let the sensations wash over me and through me, exfoliating my spirit like no Act of Contrition ever did in my youth.
How did I do it? I reminded myself that my breath is the center of my being — and then I directed my attention toward that center. I relaxed into the moment, allowed it to unfold like arms preparing for an embrace, wings preparing to soar. I closed my eyes and let the waves of immediacy wash over me. I did not resist the lightening strikes of passion. Instead, I trusted that my partner in this pain that is not pain would guide me through the storm with a firm and fair hand, like a masterful dancer.
I did it by going to the same infinite place within myself that I go to when I experience intense or overwhelming passion of any kind. I went to where all touch is the same, where all touch is pure sensation that rides on varied wavelengths. When things became too profound, I opened myself up to a multiplicity of sensory experiences and put my trust in the hand, heart, and eyes of the man who stood behind me, making my nerves dance with a flick of his wrist. I felt the creeping sting but also felt the verbal caress, the fingers on my shoulder, the press of his body against mine, the weight of my boots upon the floor. I diffused the energy that poured into my body from the snaking leather by diverting it throughout my entirety, for I was more than a point of impact, more than a woman who didn’t flinch. I was lost and found in that petite morte, that little death, that moment of infinite sensation and solitude.
Thus purified, I returned home to host my 3rd Annual Masturbate-a-Thon (http://www.masturbate-a-thon.org), an entirely different way of becoming lost in the moment.
– Originally published in Playtime Magazine –