trust, abuse, and pleasure.

I was reading Essin Em’s post on trust and her personal issues surrounding it, and I couldn’t help but apply it to my own life. She was working through some thoughts about a recent encounter she had where her limits (sexually, physically, emotionally and mentally) were pushed. She didn’t know the person overly well, but, from her postings, it seems it was one of her favorite sexual experiences to date.

And I started thinking about how I’ve been learning my limits lately, and who’s been teaching me those things. I’ve been exploring my limits – we’ll just deal with those regarding sex and sexuality, since that’s what this blog is supposed to be about. I’ve discovered a few things, like my sincere enjoyment of bondage and domination. I’ve found out how much I like being submissive sexually, which is funny, because I’m not submissive in my personal relationships or in life itself very much. (Which, on a side note, reminds me of that stereotype of the power-hungry executive who’s a total asshole, but sexually wants nothing more than to be dominated.) But the way I’ve been learning these things about myself hasn’t been with people I especially trust. They aren’t people I necessarily distrust, but they aren’t the people who I’ve been with for years, or even people who know me especially well. And here’s the kicker – and the part where my liberal-minded-socially-conscious-feminist brain screams at me that I know better – all of those limits that have been pushed, none of them have been discussed before. Which seems like I’m really putting myself in dangerous situation. But is that part of the rush? Do I get off on that? And if I do, what does that say about me? (Does that even matter?)

It all started with someone who I have known for quite a while, but still have no reason to trust. Actually, I make it a point not to trust him… He deserves it, trust me. But we went out on a really surprisingly pleasant date last year, that ended up back at my house, where I was pretty quickly stripped naked (which is fine with me). He put his hands in my hair, and pulled my head down on his cock. He absolutely took control, physically and verbally, and I ate it up (figuratively and literally, heh). We hadn’t spoken about it earlier, there had been no discussion of my burgeoning interest in being dommed, let alone discussion of a safeword. (Granted, the situation probably didn’t really require one, as it wasn’t a long encounter and, all things considered, was pretty tame.) Nevertheless, I loved it. And perhaps it seems silly or unimportant that basically hair-pulling started my interest in getting my ass kicked in the bedroom, but that’s how it went. And maybe I do trust him more than I think I do, if nothing else because we’ve known each other for more than 10 years. I guess there HAS to be some kind of trust that builds there.

But to kind of put the whole thing in perspective, let’s take last night’s encounter. (And can I just for a second talk about how truly bizarre it is that I went out to a gay bar, and ended up going home with a man? WHAT? Anyways.) I met this guy… who’s name was Clark, I think... as my friends and I were leaving the bar. We all stopped to chat right outside the bar, and I must have been drunk, because I remember suddenly holding hands with his friend. I didn’t know any of them. And then I decided I was going to go back to their house. Which isn’t totally uncharacteristic of me, but it was a little strange. Again, we’ll blame the 5 drinks I’d finished in the previous 30 minutes.

So, long(ish) story short, the boy I’d been flirting with ended up going home (he didn’t live with the other two in the group), and I ended up making out with his friend. Who, I should probably mention, is not so much my type. But he was a really good kisser. Which, I suppose, makes him my type. Again, once everyone else was asleep, I was very quickly undressed – in that classic, trail-of-clothes-on-the-floor kind of way. And I very distinctly remember him saying “Oh, don’t worry… I’m not gonna fuck you – I don’t have protection.” And then I laughed, because I don’t know what this trend is towards men saying they don’t have protection with them (dude, we were at HIS house…I sincerely doubt there were no condoms in the house). Anyway, that’s why I carry condoms with me. All. The. Time. Which is good, because we definitely ended up fucking. Several times. And here’s where the trust thing comes in. Once we moved into his bedroom, I guess I said something about liking being held down, or something (I don’t remember what, exactly), because he pinned my hands above my head. No ropes or anything, just with his hands. And he started talking. Ordering me around. And I started being a little shit and not doing what he told me to, trying to push to see how far he’d go. I tried to bite at him – and then he slapped me. Across the face. Hard enough to sting, not hard enough to leave a mark. And to my surprise, I kept being a shit, basically begging him to do it again. He’d slap me, grab my face by the chin and pull me up to him, spit orders at me, and not back down until I gave him a “yes, sir.” At which point, he’d let go of my face and move his hand back down to my clit. Later, he’d pull my hair and make me suck him off, and I’d be a good sub and do as I was told.

And it’s a really hard thing to wrap my head around how much I enjoyed all of it. For one, random hookups are usually just awkward as you try and figure each other out in the inevitably drunken stooper. But more than anything, the fact that I could trust a relative stranger to treat me like that and still respect my limits (which he did – oddly enough, I never once felt unsafe or pressured, as ironic as that sounds) seems so counterintuitive to everything I’ve been taught, everything I advocate in terms of ending sexual violence. How could I get enjoyment out of that, out of giving up control like that, especially when I’ve been raped? I can’t wrap my head around it, I really can’t. And what’s maybe one of the weirdest parts of all, is that a few nights ago, I hooked up with an old friend, and I just flipped my shit. He wasn’t mistreating me, we weren’t even playing a dom/sub scenario (although I have with him before… see here) but I just freaked out. Like ended up naked crying on the floor kind of flipped out. So what was the difference? Why didn’t anything like that happen with this person I’d known for a few hours, but instead with someone I’ve known for years?

And most importantly, what does all this say about me? Not so much that I’m into being dominated, and maybe even a little abused, but even down to things like the only people I’ve had orgasms with lately (in the past year) don’t treat me well in our relationships. Am I just a masochist (but maybe more of an emotional masochist, since I’m not especially a pain slut)? And if that’s the case, why is it so difficult for me to accept?