I had lunch with a sadist today, and came back to the office in wretched pain and hardly able to breathe.
No, it's not what you're thinking. He didn't lay a hand on me. I am still owned, and I swore monogamy to the philosopher over a year ago. He didn't lay a hand on me except to put a bandage on my nose. And even then, he seemed to be doing his best not to touch me. Very strange, actually...
My little semi-poem Speak to me of spanking started life as an ad on craigslist, a few days after the philosopher tried to break up with me and I impulsively offered him 2 months of silence instead. I was grieving and angry and feeling totally unmoored. I was used to a steady diet of attention and control, as well as confidence in what we had and what we were to each other, despite the distance and long gaps between meetings. I felt safe and small and protected and happy. And now I was adrift with no land in sight and some real doubts as to whether such a thing as land even existed.
So I returned to craigslist. I needed to show how smart and clever and submissive I am. I needed doms and sadists to write back and talk to me like doms and sadists. I needed the stimulation, I needed people to remind me that I am a submissive. Thus "Talk to me about spanking" (the original subject line) was born.
Of course, I received a bunch of responses, many of whom hadn't read the directions. I've ended up corresponding with 3 of them. Two clearly have hopes, despite what I keep telling them, though one of those two is in fact very understanding of my situation and is being quite supportive. I've been learning things from all three of them, and the supportive one in fact feels like someone I would like to stay in touch with, much as I do with Dominick. (If the philosopher is reading this, I hope he understands that there is no danger here; this man is a friend and is helping me get through this difficult period. He seems to believe that my master will reclaim his kitten come September 1st.)
The third man was also an interesting correspondent, though due to his home situation I often received just a line or 2 here and there. He wanted to meet sometime and I said sure. It's partly my overall curiosity and partly an urgency to make some connection with people, face to face, from whom I don't have to hide this part of myself.
Over the course of a busy morning, we decided it could be lunch today. I suggested a place near the office and kept fielding phone calls until suddenly, less than an hour before we were to meet, I remembered that the cafe is closed on Mondays. That's what I get for multi-tasking! I sent an e-mail, but of course I was too late, so at 1:25 left the building to walk over to the cafe and suggest somewhere else.
I spotted him out front of the little building, and started explaining and apologizing for the situation and my spaciness - which meant that I was looking at him rather than down at the ground. I usually look down at the ground when I walk, because I'm such a klutzy kitten and can get tripped up on a perfectly flat surface. Both my master and my friends have to keep me from walking into cars when we cross the street.
So I wasn't looking at the ground as I walked towards him (let's call him Bob) through the empty parking space. I wasn't looking down and didn't realize that there was one of those raised concrete thingies that keep a car from pulling too far into the parking space and onto the sidewalk.
It attacked me. I fell straight forward. My face smashed into the sidewalk, as did everything else. And I could barely breathe.
I tried to say I was ok. But I wasn't. I couldn't get my breath back. I wonder if that's what it feels like to have a heart attack. It was probably from having fallen smack onto my lungs, and who knows what it did to my ribs.
Bob is not a warm person. But he was certainly worried. It didn't help that there was blood all over my nose. And I couldn't really talk. I couldn't tell him I was ok.
I had some packets of those moist towelette things in my fanny pack, and used one to clean the blood off my nose and my left palm. Bob offered me the ice in the remnants of his iced something-or-other, which I wrapped in the towelette and put on my nose, telling him about the big bag of frozen peas we keep on hand for my post-caning butt. A passer-by brought me a pile of paper towels, and eventually Bob went across to the Safeway to buy band-aids. I had to ask him to put it on my nose for me, which he did competently except for blocking both nostrils a bit. What a sadist!
And then we walked over to get lunch a couple of short blocks away.
It was a curious lunch. I was in pain and mostly thirsty (especially as I increased the lithium yesterday). And he seemed very tight, contained, stiff, dry, which was odd for me as I'm used to a lot of warmth from the people I know - including from the philosopher. Plus I am very open and warm if also open to sarcasm - hey, I'm a New Yorker, what do you want! - and am a bit of an exhibitionist. But it was interesting to be sitting there talking to someone who had been involved with BDSM for decades. There's none in his marriage now, and no sex at all, but until they had kids there was, and they even had a live-in pet for a year and a half. I'd love to be able to pry more out of him about THAT.
He said one thing which was just the sort of thing I'm always seeking from Doms. He was talking abut being a sadist, and how knowing that he wants to inflict pain makes him uncomfortable - much the same thing that Dominick has said. And then he said "It's as if all the poison is sucked out by the submissive."
Everything seemed to come together at that point. This took the symbiosis of BDSM one step further, one step beyond the Dom doing what he needs/wants to do and giving the sub what she needs/wants (apologies to those of you with other allocations of gender in this equation). It takes it to that point of catharsis, answering my repeated question of "How does it make you feel?" I do get pleasure from some of the pain I'm subjected to, and certainly am very aroused by all of it. I head down into subspace, and NOTHING compares with that. And when I come out of it all... slowly surfacing, not able to speak, I am cleansed. I am cleansed and I am cared for and I feel fresh and young and safe. And now someone on the other end of the pain is also saying it is cleansing - and in a deeper way than just coming home from a bad day at work and taking it out on her ass.
I'm curious to hear comments on this.
As for me... when I got back to the office I called my family doctor, since my whole torso hurts like hell and I'm still not breathing easily. She said no need for an x-ray - if I broke any ribs they can't do anything about it anyway. And I don't think I broke any ribs... it's more like I smashed in my lungs... and everything else... and my knees hurt and the palm of my hand and my nose is swollen and black and blue and it's a good thing I don't have any hot dates coming up.
I don't want any hot dates. I want my master. I want my lover. I want my best friend. The most awful, the hardest thing about it all was that I came back to the office and everything hurt and I'd been very very scared, worse than by the cane, and I couldn't call him. I couldn't even e-mail him. He's my BOYFRIEND, dammit! Well he had been... and all i wanted was to fire off an e-mail and tell him what had happened and that everything hurts and he would have written back "don't cry, kitten..." and asked if i had done this and this and that to take care of it and promised to call me that night.
And instead, I went to the ladies room and sat on the toilet and cried.