Anguissette

“There was no pleasure in this, at least not in the way that anyone but an anguissette would understand it. Pain strung my body like a plucked harpstring and behind closed eyes my vision was washed in red. I was in it and of it; at once the taut, quivering string and the high, sustained note of it – a note of purest beauty uttered in the depths of torment.” Phedre “Kushiel’s Dart” ~Jacqueline Carey

(Taken from a science fiction/fantasy book, of all places. Not a genre I prefer but this series was good.)

Anguissette. What a beautiful term for masochist. I think I’m going to start using it all the time, bring it into mainstream BDSM just like the bloody stupid Gor terms have been. My new mission in life. Lol.

Seriously, though…
I’ve been doing a lot of pondering on the whole masochism thing and how it effects me.
I’ve been going thru phases of total dissatisfaction and anger lately. I’ve found myself snapping out and behaving almost wildly at times or laying around in a funk. It’s like I’ve been going thru this manic/depressive cycle and I’m not even bi-polar!
After our recent trip to Thorn House I’ve started to realize that it’s most likely because my masochistic needs aren’t being fully met. They aren’t as strong as they used to be. Much of the reason I crave pain is because I crave emotional and physical intensity and my relationship with Taylor provides a lot of that in ways other than thru pain. He makes me laugh like a hyena, scream like a shrew, bawl like a baby, and steam from the ears when I get mad. Sex alone is usually so purely physically and emotionally intetense that I don’t need the physcial pain so much just to FEEL something.
But that doesn’t mean I never need it. I do. I always will. And our apartment is simply too small to do much playing in. (having a twelve year old doesn’t help, either.) There is, literally, no room to swing a flogger or a whip in here. A cane or paddle maybe – but those aren’t Taylor’s “thing”. And hand spankings only go so far.
So every time we play lately it’s in public.
And while I enjoy it from an exhibitionist standing – and even get a good dose of pain out of it – public play can never, ever take me where I want to go. (Well, okay, once…. almost… ) It cannot put me in and of the pain, it cannot consume me….
And I don’t know how to fix the problem. Tayor doesn’t, either. Renting a hotel room wouldn’t work cuz we’re far too noisy. Borrow a friend’s home? Find ways to make due with the space we have?

I don’t know.

All I know is I’m getting antsy and crabby and strung out because I ache for something I’m not getting.
I start to feel let down – particularly when we do manage to play in public cuz it’s just not enough. I don’t like to feel let down cuz I usually, unreasonably, feel that it’s Taylor who let me down rather than circumstances. Intellectually I know better but emotionally … well… emotions are hard to control with intellect.

“The first touch was the most exquisite, the fine thongs laying rivulets of pain coursing across my skin, awakening a fiery shudder at the base of my spine. Once, twice, thrice; I might have thrilled for days at the ecstatic pain, nursing the memory of it. But [he] kept on and the rivulets swelled to streams, rivers, a flood of pain, overwhelming and drownging me. It was then that I began to beg. I wept and pleaded and the blows fell like rain, until a warm languor suffused my body and I sagged, humiliated and beaten. Only then was I released and taken away and my weals tended, whilst I felt fine and sore and drowsy in all of my parts, grieviously punished.” Phedre Kushiel’s Dart

That is what I want to feel. What I need to feel.

*sigh*

If only I could turn the pain of not getting it into a pain that fed my needs. But emotional masochism only goes so far.