The Voices in Our Head

Photo by Jonathan Beckley

Today I responded to an individual seeking connection and advice in a forum I participate in. It occurred to me while I was writing that I was speaking to multiple people who are or who have been in my life and thought, perhaps, my writing would be helpful to others.

For a little context (though I think these particulars may not be the most important part of my response): this person is young. They grew up in a home experiencing physical, mental, emotional, sexual, and spiritual abuse. They got out at a young age and in the few years since seem to have pursued a fair amount of therapy and are good at self-reflection (judging by how they write). The crux of their angst and the reason for reaching out is a common one: fear that their urge to be sadistic, and harboring “extreme fantasies” (their terminology) is problematic, or somehow that these things define a broken or irreparable spirit. It’s common for people with sadistic tendencies and desires to worry about them—I’d even say healthy that we do so. When the negative voices take over our thoughts, how do we re-find or truly know who we are, how do we heal, how do we become better and safer in our own skins and with others? These are some of my thoughts…

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It sounds like you have a really good understanding of your situation and yourself. In my experience intellectual understanding is not the same thing as “being ok”, and being ok is a lifelong process… you have probably started examining your behaviors, reactions, thoughts, and coping mechanisms at a younger age than most people do. That’s great. It’s also not the whole picture of what will be. I find that the cycles we go on in our lives are spirals, repeating the loop over and over again, familiar and not entirely always the same. The best part of that cyclical-spiral is when we’re onto ourselves, we’re given the opportunity to create space around the experience of trauma. We may never be able to lift ourselves completely from the center of our emotions, but if we can see it coming, or recognize it as it’s happening, we can choose a kind of softness to surround the negative moments with, knowing they’ll pass when they’re ready to: they are not the truth. I hope that’s an experience you can have.

To address (what I hear as) a certain amount of guilt surrounding the fantasies you have and potential play activities you engage in which you deem to be “sadistic”, I hope you know somewhere inside that having those turn-ons doesn’t make you a terrible person. It’s wonderful that you have connection to kink communities who can teach you safety, negotiation, and consent. Your explanation of how you associate with your sadistic thoughts and desires seems to be a healthy one (based on what you wrote).

Pain is part of a continuum with pleasure. I often think of “pain” as “extreme sensation”, as opposed to something inherently destructive. My masochism has taught me a lot about the resiliency of my body, my mind, my emotions, and my spirit—a true gift, as an individual with the need to do a lot of work around trusting the core of who I am, and better know what I am capable of. As a sadistic person (also), I’ve had the experience of witnessing the transformation of worry and fear, of tension and stress within my masochistic subs into voice, sound, movement, processing… much needed release.

The human mind is capable of incredible things, and I think one of the most brilliant aspects of this is our capacity to turn bad experiences, fear, and trauma into opportunities for pleasure via fantasy and sexualization. Of course it is on every individual to keep checking in with themselves to make sure that what we are up to is, indeed, not destructive to ourselves or others; however the impulse to press into what seems depraved or “wrong” is also an impulse to rewalk/redefine a path inside—a path that has been laid down harmfully, alchemizing it into one which might end in safety and pleasure for all. Without release such as these fantasies and adult-playground games, we hold on too tightly to what has been, at forfeiture of who we could be today.

It sounds to me like you’re on the long path of healing. Healing is messy and ill defined. We experience it at our individual paces, and sometimes the places we think we’ve long healed from will burst open again, or never fully come together as we wish… This life is full of opportunity to tend to ourselves, and learn to tend to ourselves we must. You did a good thing by reaching out. Know that you are not alone. You are not awful or wrong for thinking the things you think. You are on a road to somewhere else: somewhere where pain is chosen, survived gratefully and with intention, and accepted as the the gift it is to those who need it. Keep yourself questioning as you walk your path, stay skilled in your endeavors, and be as safe as your know how to be. Communicate. Those you love, those you play with, those who meet you in the place of your wants and needs are matches for you in this life. Walk beside them as you’re able to, and know that in the very conversation about what’s to be done, there’s more than healing: there’s light.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

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The Messiness

“Don’t let my tits stop you from calling me “Sir””

My dudes, life is messy.  This has been a public service announcement.

The only thing we can do to stay circling around our borderlines buoyantly is embrace the messiness. Finding balance is an active state, not an accomplishment. Sometimes life asks you to be there for others until you’re so stressed out you need others in the ways you’ve been holding space. Sometimes it feels as though you don’t exist. Sometimes everything you do is wrong and the paranoia that you’re unloveable comes crashing down all around. Sometimes you need to create the space for yourself that you so desperately want someone else to create on your behalf. Sometimes you need to be left. the. fuck. alone.

It seems like most of the time people are miscommunicating or ignorant of one another’s complicated and distinctly meaningful lives. Stepping on toes. Lashing back. We put our feet directly in our mouths — astounding considering society’s loss of flexibility these days. We look back in shock at what we’ve said/done/thought in the past and flush, hoping those memories are carried only inside our own brains, forgotten by others.

We live in this fucked up computerized place where everything is recorded and there’s no escape from bumbles or mistakes, learning situations, or outright shitty behavior. Growth isn’t pretty. We “other” others immediately upon unearthing disapproved content, rather than ask questions and try to understand the behaviors or actions we don’t enjoy. Do we think distancing ourselves from someone else’s bad behavior indicates we won’t ever have to undertake their same fate? This impulse is not only incorrect in my esteem, it’s not gracious (not that anyone owes anyone grace).

While distancing ourselves from the undesirable “other” we undercut communal progress ever further. This is especially true when there’s no end to excommunication, or understood process for rehabilitation. When no friends are willing to help growth occur.

Subsets of people who have been banished from society have banded together and voted for Trump or started hate groups which plague our society further because doubling down and retribution are meals, and being left to fend for oneself alone in the cold with no timeline nor clear path forward toward rejoining the fold kills compassion for the place one used to call home…

In this day of mono-generational clusters, where we’re frequently unaware of the historical struggles we build upon, and the reasons for some limitations in the individuals we rail against,

In this day of silent segregation affording comfort for the privileged,

In this day of fear and fake news,

In this day of highrises and disappearing trees and fields,

In this day of unrest within our ever growing poverty stricken ranks,

In this day of side-eye and disgruntled daily discipline,

In this day of money over everything,

In this day of the disintegrated American Dream,

In this day of epic arguments with friends over words instead of destruction of the ideals which reinforced these boxes we feel trapped by in the first place, new code writing, or building different perspectives in exciting new ways,

In this day of unchecked sadism paired with a masochistic addiction to drama,

In this day of fuck-all refusal to see humanity over stats, and the issuance of name calling over compassion,

On this day of Empathy’s death,

I slide my stiletto heel, lubed by your own saliva and snot mixed with overwhelmed tears into the orifice you hate to embrace the most and call you “piggy”, because you are. And you aren’t. You’re afraid that if this confession, this atonement, this build of pressure doesn’t burst in the most memorable way possible, that we’ll all go down sober and wishing we’d tried to connect. I’m a clown and you’re my muse. This touch isn’t violent, though it’s wrapped in the banners of war — an illustrated history of fucking the soldiers who lost, the families who cannot afford a room at the castle, the bought and sold bodies-as-chattel of our slaves, the mothers and daughters of our friends against their will, the hated queers and perverts, all messing up The Man’s straight line to success.

We fuck when we conquer to cement the meaning of this newfound position. To mix our kinds in hopes the future will not rebel. To escape our past wrongs. To celebrate the dissipation of stress, or in hope of something happy to come. We fuck for creation. We fuck because making love is a privilege that not everyone can accomplish. We fuck to get off.

We submit when conquered to save our bodies and our families, loved ones, our lives and our homes. In submission we become a responsibility to be taken on. We submit for pleasure in downfall. We submit to acknowledge we were wrong. We submit to feel our bodies in ways our bodies have been taken from us. We submit for connection. We submit to know our strength — a promise to ourselves of survival. We submit because we want to be taken. We submit to get off.

Am I submitting or fucking in this “mr. piggy and the Dom clown” scene? Paid to alleviate something eating away at your mind. Paid to perform, as anyone who’s spent time rolling in the messiness might be able to. Or am I just “Femmeboy Sir: Friend, Councellor & Consultant” to the asses of personkind who worry and desire, afraid and entitled, searching for new perspective? Being fucked is something every one of us, outside of our million recored mistakes, greatly needs.

I believe the true place of this piggy of mine, grunting away, heeding my command and perilously close to being punctured, is where every human’s place is: on earth in the messiness — finding out through trial and error what is fucked up and what is right so that we can trust at the end of the day that we’re still allowed, with all of our faults acknowledged (though not necessarily excused), to come home.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

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~Thank you.

Surges of Love Amidst Brutality

Where I am at these days…

I updated my Fetlife profile yesterday with some new photos (@CreatureCrea if you’re interested). A couple of them are a bit on the brutal side, depicting around 90 needles as my tools of torture in a CBT scene. As scary as that looks though, the session itself was nothing but loving and kind. Brimming with surges of love and an exchange of exciting and sexy energy between my submissive masochist and his Sadistic and caring Dominants (two of us were emptying the boxes of needles that day). Honestly, the scene felt romantic and it was full of smiles mixed into moans. Pain/pleasure is a real thing, and the edges some people can get carried to are incredible. I feel lucky to work with bodies in this way.

What does it mean to take this amount of “torture” and enjoy it? Well, it’s not for everybody, that’s for sure, but I think it’s part of an internal conversation about desire which extends beyond the bounds of what we’re taught is “normal”. What do you want to do? What do you want to have done to you? What can you survive? What experiences are you curious to try? People tear their bodies apart mountain climbing, and we call it a sport, with admiration in our minds for those who persevere beyond. I think the mind and body of the BDSM masochist are wired similarly.

Reading about the brains and the visceral experiences extreme sport athletes share, I find myself nodding emphatically more frequently than not. Having been on the business end of a whip for hours on end (or any number of other intensely painful situations), there’s a certain place I get to where processing and taking the pain I’m receiving becomes a pleasure and an excitement I want to continue with. Focus, and an alignment of my body and mind takes over. The pleasure aspect to it is aided by a heightened awareness of my body. It feels a lot like “new relationship energy” to me. If I’m playing with someone who is mindful of pacing and physical cues, what we accomplish in scene can extend on and on and on, building and ebbing and building over and over again.

It isn’t just the activity though that makes this possible. It is the person on each end of the exchange, and the energy we’re willing to receive and let go of and send into one another in support of our sport. If I push a needle into someone with a specific intent, it feels remarkably different than if I push it into someone without, carelessly, or with a completely different intent in mind. If my submissive receives my needling and tenses up, or instead is breathing through it, or has the mindset of “being good” for me, or is resistant, we will both feel those effects. Energetic vampires exist and are horrible to scene with — but I’m a connection slut, so in general someone sucking all the energy out of the room and out of me without returning it for the benefit of my continued interest in play is my nightmare idea of a partner.

I’ve been lucky to find scene partner after scene partner, on this ride through BDSM, to be beautiful people who I feel lucky to jab/kick/pinch/hit and make howl. Perverted? Absolutely. Rewarding? Unendingly yes! Fulfilling and sustainable? Check! When BDSM play feels like love, paired with a giving partner, I never want to stop making my submissive feel as they’ve fantasized about wanting to feel. It works for us both.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

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