REDIRECTED TO MAYBEMAIMED.COM: Maybe Maimed but Never Harmed

Where do I start? Do I begin with the retelling of the stories from years now long past, or with this weekend? It's hard to tell what would be more effective. This weekend, while filled with spectacularly virginal experiences for most people in the realms of play, pain, pleasure, and of course sex, was actually somewhat old news to me. After all, unlike for most of my friends, this was not my first BDSM convention.

So what was new for me? Some play was new, like participating in a friend's gangbang fisting along with seven other people, getting suspended in rope bondage by two switches, and getting jumped by I don't even know how many people for a "forced" sex scene. Those things were new for me, but after the fact I am finding that my mind is reflecting on quite another element of this past weekend that is new to me.

For the first time in my life and the first time in all the (more than five) years I've spent in the public BDSM community, I felt that other people who are not necessarily friends actually respect me for more than just my pain tolerance, that they began to actually see some things about me that don't have to do with how hard I like to be hit.

As a person who primarily bottoms, I've often felt that people in general only listen to me when I talk about what it's like to get hurt. It's as if, in their minds, all I am is a punching bag. For some reason, it's hard for people—even other bottoms—to see bottoms as anything else.

The awful phrase "take it like a man" rings loudly in my ears whenever I see this because more than anything else I see it cause self-doubt in men who bottom, and makes them afraid they won't be able to "take enough pain." I will instantly confess that I, too, once felt and sometimes still feel this pressure. I think this is stupid.

Mind you, I have little trouble playing the part of a punching bag. In fact, I rather like it, I think I'm very good at it, and wish I had more opportunities for it sometimes. But after more than five years of interacting with people at large, being a punching bag is a very unsatisfying, frustrating social existence. It's made even worse by the fact that I'm a rather picky punching bag to begin with—I don't let just anyone hit me. You have to earn it first.

On the first night of the three-day weekend, as a kind of appetizer scene, I got whipped 'til I bled and that night the white hotel sheets were speckled red. Shortly after the whipping scene was over, Anita Velez, the official event photographer, asked if she had permission to take a photo of my back (I said yes). After that, Eileen and I found her again and asked her for a photograph of our own.

On the second night, after I fisted my friend along with seven other people, I got suspended in a rope bondage scene, and then after that I got jumped by I don't even know how many people who all beat my arms, ass, thighs, and chest 'til they were bruised using a rubber nightstick, an acrylic cane, and some other heavy objects I couldn't identify due to the spandex hood they put over my head. They pushed an NJoy wand into my ass and then made me go down on some of them while beating my already-whipped back with what I'm pretty sure was a rubber tire tread flogger. (I had felt that particular rubber flogger before.)

On the third night I got bound in a hog-tie with my hands behind my back and my legs kept bent with thick leather belts. Once secured, I was again beaten on my back and ass, this time with what I could identify as a (probably deerskin) flogger, a flat paddle-like object (but it was small, so I'm guessing a kitchen implement), and a heavy rubber taws, among other things. The rubber taws hurt the most, especially when it struck my already-bruised ass.

So like I said, I rather enjoy playing the part of a capable punching bag.

Of course, I got the usual, "Wow, great job," awed comments from all sorts of people who had seen us play (and who I didn't even know were watching the scenes). I also eventually overheard from second-hand accounts that others had more negative remarks, such as things like "That's wrong; you should never crack a whip on someone's back." (Fuck that, whoever you are, by the way. I'll play the way I want, thank you very much.)

Of course, this wasn't really the hardest Eileen and I have ever played with a single-tail. I even have another picture of more marks taken some time ago, for example. I have been beaten much worse before, like the week before that previous photo was taken; Eileen gave me my first caning which an inch-wide acrylic artist's cylinder, which resulted in purple and yellow bruises that lasted well over a week and a half. Another time, my friend who made the tire-tread flogger brought over a wooden table leg and bruised my thighs so badly that they swelled to the point where I could no longer fit into my jeans.

Nevertheless, people were still impressed by the intensity of my play this weekend and they still expressed their respect in the form of an appreciation for my personal preferences for pain. Misguided as I think this expression is, I did (and still do) enjoy the recognition.

This kind of misplaced respect happens to me all the time. It's happened many times in the past, when "heavy" single-tail scenes have earned me the respect of someone who prior to witnessing it didn't seem to think very much about me.

In 2003 I was a fixture of the New York BDSM scene among the ranks of TES members, quickly earning a reputation as the quiet, shy boy in the corner who watched but never played. Reminiscent of all my school years, most people treated me with an uninterested attitude evidenced by their neglect to acknowledge my words or my presence. Later that year at TES-Fest I had my first single-tail scene that ended with band-aids and a giddy if somewhat worried pair of tops who relished in retelling the story of how the waifish, quiet boy took the hardest whipping either of them had ever given. I'll admit to being very surprised at my own enjoyment and what I interpreted back then as "stamina" and now simply call my usual preference. All of a sudden people were coming up to me and remarking on how impressed they were with me.

The lesson was clear: to get noticed, play extremely hard.

Even though I was certainly getting noticed a lot more, I hardly felt respected. Perhaps that seems strange to many people because playing that way is exactly how a lot of people who bottom, such as myself, earn respect in the scene. (We would all also be wise to remember Richard's words when he reminds us that the scene is actually representative of a tiny minority of kinky people and we are, for the most part, the public exception to the normal kinky person.)

We play "hard." We can "take more." We have a "higher pain tolerance." We can "handle it." Tops respect us because we can challenge them, bottoms respect us because they'd consider themselves broken by things we consider warm ups. People think we deserve respect because of the way we play, because they are scared of how we play. And they're completely wrong.

Bottoms who don't play as hard as I do feel bad about it; they feel frightened and inadequate. What a horrible shame that is. Tops who don't want to rip open flesh or turn skin rainbow colors or emotionally batter a bottom until they sob and beg also feel bad about not wanting to do these things. Again, what a horrible shame that is.

Respect should not be accorded based on someone's preferred physical intensity of play, and yet every time I play that way in public I get at least someone coming up to me and saying, in an often dejected tone of voice, "I could never do that." I try to tell them that they don't have to, that it's silly to think they should try if they don't want to. As Eileen said cleverly before me,

And then let's talk about the fuckupery of according respect to a scene member based upon the intensity of their play. What kind of logic is that? That's like saying that you respect The Rolling Stones more than The Beatles because The Rolling Stones are louder. Respect isn't about what people do in the scene; it's about how they do it. I have young friends who have been in the scene just as long as me, who don't get the respect I do because they don't have the balancing factor of being intense players as a weapon to carve out a place for themselves. God help you if you're perfectly content with a light spanking now and then. The patrionizing smiles will probably drown you.

(Emphasis added.)

In other words, I'm not more worthy of respect than any other bottom because I have a higher pain tolerance than they do. If you respect me for that reason, I feel invisible. I'm worthy of respect because I have impeccable judgement, a razor-sharp mind, incredible intellect, a generous attitude, a commitment to my scene partner as well as myself, and because I respect these same things in others. If you respect me for that reason, I feel seen.

So this weekend I didn't feel respected when I was asked "How much were you really struggling in that take down scene?" I didn't feel respected by the people who thought I was on the Power Bottoming panel because I like to limp for days after I play. I definitely didn't feel respected by all the people who stopped me in the hallways and told me what an intense scene they saw me do (though, again, I did appreciate the kind words and enjoyed the obvious admiration and surprise—I don't look like someone who likes to scream until my throat is hoarse, but I do).

On the other hand, I did feel respected when a fellow attendee approached me and asked for my opinions regarding TES's web site (and others) because he had heard people mention my name in conversation about the topic. Likewise, I also felt respected when people came up to me privately after some of my presentations and told me that they thought I had made good points, that I articulated myself well, and that I exposed them to something new and provoked some new thought or insight inside of them.

Thanks to the transman who told Eileen and I that we had finally articulated his primary kink in our Sexual Teasing and Denial presentation. Thanks to the young woman who taught me the word cyberbalkanization in my Sex and Technology presentation. Thanks to the people who congratulated me on my bravery and willingness to get naked on the first night in front of more than thirty clothed people during the demo for the G and P Spot Stimulation presentation.

In other words, thanks for seeing underneath all the cuts and bruises and welts. Thanks for rejecting the rhetoric that to be worth a damn as a bottom you need to have a pain tolerance that rivals a super hero's. That's the kind of thing that makes most men think they need to be stoic and "strong" when they are in pain, which is stupid because the last thing a sadist wants to see when they're hurting someone is a lack of painful reaction (duh).

The people who did this with sadness and envy in their voices made me the most upset at the BDSM community's constant self-aggrandizement through what amounts to nothing more than fear mongering. The people who I think should be the most ashamed of this are the ones who call themselves teachers, who present so-called "classes" in thinly-veiled attempts to advertise themselves as "intense players" in order to earn what they think is credibility and respect, like the one Switch encountered and wrote about in her post.

Those people are spreading a culture of fear through BDSM that is damaging to people's self-esteem (both bottom's and top's), to the BDSM community's image in mass media, and—most importantly—to their own partners. Playing at a certain physical intensity is simply one very mechanical aspect of what makes a scene work. It is natural that players with more physically intense tastes would be drawn to one another. There should be no reason to fear that you're "not playing hard enough."

It's just a matter of BDSM chemistry. No one's going to put you down for liking blondes over brunettes. Don't let people put you down for liking, or not liking, a certain kind of play.

It is still fascinating to me how differently I react to pain when it is inflicted on the buttocks versus on the back versus on the face versus some other location. So much focus is often placed on the implement causing this pain but it's always been that the location of the pain has a stronger effect on my headspace.

Years ago, I disliked getting hit on the buttocks but I adored getting hit on the back. (I still adore getting hit on my back.) Facing a wall and being whipped was and still is, for the most part, the epitome of my mental image of strength. In contrast, having my ass hurt used to piss me off. I had never really been slapped in the face.

Over time, I was able to eroticize pain delivered to my ass through canings, spankings, and paddlings. I suspect this mostly has to do with the gentle and overtly sexual introduction of my ass cheeks to my play with Eileen, for which I am now, of course, very grateful. I'd never thought it possible before, but for the first time recently I actually got turned on with a properly rhythmic caning that left bruises for several days. But hitting my back still doesn't turn me on.

There is cultural imagery associated with beating certain parts of the body. The back is where you whip the insolent. The ass is where you paddle the disobediant young. The face is where you hit any kind of victim. Certainly, these associations are not far from my mind when I experience such sensations. I wonder, do other cultures (or individuals) with different associations have different reactions because of that?

While feeling pain on my back or face doesn't translate sexually to me, feeling it on my ass does as long as there's sufficent erotic context. Certainly, the proximity of my ass to my genitals helps this, though I think more to the point is the fact that the ass is a larger erogenous zone to begin with. I suspect this is how it works for people who enjoy CBT. (I've never been much a fan of cruel attentions to my genitals. They seem made for gentler manipulations.)

I have this lovely little buddy icon of this pretty boy on the floor, leaning back wearing a sweater jacket that reads, "Protect me from the things I want." I love that icon because the boy looks so sultry and so vulnerable and so seductive and so helpless all at the same time. I want to be that boy. (I also want that boy, but that's another entry entirely.)

Why is it that I want the things I don't want to actually happen to me. And do I really want them to happen to me for real or do I just like the threat of them happening?

Mean things. (Backhand me.) Deadly things. (Suffocate me.) Bloody things. (Stab me.) Things I just don't like. (Bite me.) I fantasize about having all of these things done to me. In some cases there's a part of me that really wants it to happen because I think I'd enjoy it. I've had too many fond experiences with pain to feel bad about liking that so much.

And then there are the things I'm not really eager to have happen, but I'm so nervous or frightened about them happening that a part of me wants them to happen just to get them over with. And hell, being nervous and frightened is kind of fun too. And there are the things I just don't get off to, but I know my top likes so what the hell. I like getting my top off—doesn't quite matter how they like as much as I like doing it.

But then there are the things that, no, I really don't want them to happen and if you do them to me I'll fight and scream and cry and beg you to stop. And those are the things I want to have happen because I love the fighting, the screaming, the crying, the begging, but most of all the very fact that I'm not enjoying myself. I won't like it when you do it, but I'll love that you did it. It probably won't turn me on while it's happening (though it might), but I'll masturbate to the memories of it later. And oh, it'll be good.

I do want to be tortured. I don't want to be tortured, but I want it. I have no idea how to explain that in simpler terms because everything else about this fact in my head is just circular logic. But y'know, a lot of things about submissiveness and masochism is pretty paradoxical.

Take orgasm denial, for instance. A classic example to be sure, but an appropriate example nonetheless. The wanting to orgasm is what gets me all hot and bothered. Once I've come, well sure I'm enjoying it, but all the goodness of wanting that orgasm is sated and the replacement satisfaction just isn't the same. It's the same with the death fantasy. Dying is pretty awful but, for me, it's only awful because once I'm dead I can't be bothered to care about the dying anymore. It's like, "Oh look. Here's death. Well, the dying was fun while it lasted. So…what's the weather like in hell these days?" See? Not hot.

I want what I don't want because I don't want it, but I also want my top to want it. It's similarly not hot if I'm being pierced by someone who doesn't enjoy piercing me. The reason I do it with Eileen, despite my preference not to actually be poked with sharp things more than necessary, is because she has a great time with it. Back to the getting my top off bit again. Yes, I know I'm a total whore.

Is this service? If so, then could I conceptually extend the service theory to the point of torture, or death? And now that I'm thinking about it, doesn't that sound a lot like some very well-known cultural and religious imagery? How many times have I been reffered to as Jesus on the cross when I've been whipped in a public setting? (I bet my hair doesn't help avoid the analogy, but still.) Martyrdom is hot for tops, I guess. It's not the martyrdom that turns me on though, it's the suffering. Martyrs who don't want to be martyrs.

Make me suffer. Please.

If you're tired of this topic, too bad. In fact, blame Calico this time, since she rekindled it. :P

She's been musing over pro-domming again and, as usual, generously shares a lot of her thoughts.

I happen to think my style of sex work is a fantastic deal for all involved, the best bargain (marked down from Invaluable! and Priceless!) there is, but I am biased.

I have to admit that, on a visceral level, the idea of sex being a "fantastic deal" is instantly unappealing to me. If I feel as though I am offering something invaluable, I would feel badly about providing it for a marked-down price at an hourly rate. This has nothing to do with pro-dommes specifically and everything to do with the nature of my interaction with the world, itself something different than what other people experience. I can't fault anyone for their choice of interactions.

Perhaps this is why I am so heartened by Calico's reinforcement of professional domination as sex work. It provides a much simpler to understand reason why I might dislike it so and I am eager to invite a simple explanation to anything this complicated and that causes so much internal conflict.

Lots of things Calico says in this post show me, again, that she really, truly isn't like what I've experienced to be the typical cross-section of Pro Dommes.

I can tell you what it is that I do, as best I know. It might not be dominant, and it might not be smart or correct, but it is certainly sincere.

...

I’ll freely admit that when it comes to power exchange, I play. Submission, domination: I make no pretentions.

...

D/s is not what I do as a “prodomme”. I wouldn’t consider taking on a pay-for-play relationship, period. As a whore of any sort I’m hourly. Sorry, a girl’s gotta have boundaries! The only homework I want is the stuff, like this, that I inflict on myself.
As such I doubt I’m a “proper” prodomme, and I have said as much. Not all my sessions are BDSM — they’re fetish, they’re fantasy facilitation, they’re sex work for crying out loud. I don’t make my foot fetish clients call me Mistress, and I don’t kick anyone in the balls without permission. If they want BDSM they will ask, and I’m happy that plenty do.

I imagine that this is not what you'd expect to hear coming from a proffesional dominatrix. It's certainly not what I heard from dozens of them back when they were a central part of my social circle. It is what they said but it's not what I heard. And isn't that a turn off for anything, feeling in your bones that the situation you find yourself just isn't as authentic, as sincere as you hoped an emotional experience would be? The magnetic repellant of inauthentic interation was so strong I never even got around to paying anyone, though I did have a thought or two about it a long time ago.

Perhaps the expectation of authenticity is too much to ask for a business transaction. One must remember that professional domination is actually a profession, after all.

(As a side note, I know it must be hard being different in a community of those who are different, though I think it's also cause for great celebration, and I hope Calico realizes that, too.)

I won’t stand up and tell you I’m a dominant woman. I haven’t got a line of proof to show you.

...

I like to say that when you see me, as Mistress Alena, you are paying for the time and not the inclination.

This is fair enough, and is the most oft-cited reason why professional domination may not be a disagreeable profession. It's what all my friends (and partners) have said to me when they mentioned the idea (all of them). However, I have to say in response that the fact of the matter is that any job I would have that I would be paid for my time rather than my inclination is not a job I want. In fact, I've quit 2 such jobs in the last year alone. Maybe others feel differently, and I can't begrudge them that if they do nor would I ever impose my world view as theirs, yet I feel this argument strengthened by the ex-pro dommes who concur with just this feeling and who offer just this reasoning as the reason they are no longer doing professional domination.

What does that tell me? That every pro-domme is just on a path towards burnout? No. Many are, and that's unfortunate. Perhaps the nature of the business can change to become more fulfilling. Perhaps it just wasn't for them.

But I know that when I grab a man by the handcuffs and slam him up against the wall, the startled grunt of air he gives is like the sweetest of moans.

A pro domme who enjoys her work? Why not? Good for her! Good for her clients! In fact, if a friend were to come to me tomorrow to ask for advice on seeing a pro domme, the first thing I would tell him or her would be see someone who will enjoy your session just as much as you, and I might very well point them Calico's way. But at that point, they've already made up their mind.

So maybe we're focusing on the wrong topic. What is it about my hypotehtical friend which has brought him or her to the decision to see a dominatrix? What is it about me that has brought me to the decision to not do so? Is it just those early negative (and perhaps formative) experiences? I think not, and I hope not, but maybe it is.

When you beat me, I want you to like doing it. When you hurt me, I want you to want me to hurt. When we play, I want to feel us both acting from instinct, not from expectation. I will simply make no room for spurious things in my sex.

Is a pro-domme session then necessarily mutually exclusive of these traits? I don't know. I guess neither does Calico.