Day 1: Dom, sub, switch? What parts of BDSM interest you? Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.
I’m a horrible procrastinator and can be easily distracted in the midst of productivity, much like the rest of my ADHD generation and, of course, with the help of some really good pot. We put off the next line of a piece or the errand we have to run or the laundry we have to do by allowing ourselves just five more clicks – no, ten clicks – no, ten minutes – okay, fuck it, I’ll just do it tomorrow.
Today it took me two hours to clean my room. My deviance from this task didn’t come from the usual glow of my MacBook Pro screen, though; the white whisper that begs me to update my stupid fucking Facebook status. No, today I was distracted by my full-length mirror. Every time I passed it I was compelled to check my reflection. I’d stand, my back directly to the mirror before taking six steps – the precise distance in order to achieve the perfect view of my entire body. I don’t turn around after the last step, though. Instead, I leave my back facing its reflection, turning only my head to see my chubby fingers grip the skirt of a shoplifted black cotton dress. The bottom of my bare ass reps for those of us who get off by going commando. It peeks from the skirt as I raise it a little higher until I can see about an inch or two of my crack. My lips break apart into a smile at the site of the purple bruises on either cheek. These broken blood vessels appeared on my ass just a few days prior, left by the kiss of a hard wood paddle. I stopped to witness the marks about five times during those two hours of “cleaning”, reminiscing about the slick tan wood against sheer black nylon against pale soft flesh. A crowd of strangers watches as I inhale, grinning with anticipation. WHACK.
This is just a glimpse into the pleasure I feel while I or a partner consensually inflicts pain onto the other. Pain is the most general term I can use to define what I like about BDSM, whether it be
the pain caused from a spank;
the rigid edges of a pair of tight metal cuffs;
the swift crack of a whip;
the firm grip of your hand around my neck;
the first gasp of air once the grip is released;
the constriction of my soft belly rolls into the bones of a corset;
my lack of control when I’m shoved into a restraint contraption, my body forced open for you;
the sense of power I feel while gripping your hair as I invade you with a counterfeit cock;
the red lines and torn skin left by my sharp purple finger nails.
But to answer that question in short: I’m a switch that defines BDSM by finding pleasure through pain, who prefers spanking, restraints, and general roughness in bed.
I opened the document to start this piece at 4:43pm. I checked the marks on my ass only three times in the duration of writing it, but checked Twitter and Facebook and Tumblr countless fucking times while watching Short Bus, smoking the last of my weed, and dancing around to Best Coast’s album “Crazy for You” three times all the way through. It is now 10:38pm.