Feelings.
I'm agitated today. My days are filled with busy work, longing to find time to slip away and spend a few moments with the ones I love. My nights are filled with feeling not quite adequate - not able to spend as much quality time with my daughter as I'd like, not being the best person for me, not being able to do as much for him as I'd like. It's as if I'm the "almost" girl; the girl who drives herself to be perfect when she knows she just can't measure up.
Self-reflection is a wonderful thing if you can temper that with the ability to stop your own bullshit. Change takes time, years perhaps. Nothing is overnight, everything is temporary. You can't say that anything will last forever - even permanent hair colors grows out. It's the adjustment to the temporary nature of life that makes people sane and rational.
My reaction to pain is one of the things that gets me through those rough times. The name of this blog is beautiful pain, because it really is beautiful to me. Some people experience pain as pleasure - their neurocenter processes it as orgasmic, delicious, soft and kind. I'm quite the opposite, and that's why pain is so precious to me.
Let's use the example of spanking. With every stroke, my ass reddens further. It hurts more, it stings, it burns, it welts. None of that feels "good," none of that makes me smile that passionate smile of a girl satisfied. I'm not. It fucking hurts, and I want it to be over with. The beauty of pain, for me, is finding something transcendental. I can overcome the pain, I can win over the savage nature of being spanked and push through to the other side. It hurts, but I'm stronger. This is hardly a submissive perspective, I know. Most of the time, besides doing it to remind myself I'm alive and that I feel, I also do it for him. I know he enjoys it, and I want to please him.
Yesterday, before we went to the hospital, we had sex at his apartment. Neither one of us were (is) sure that everything will be ok, the old cliche has worn both of us out at this point. Nevermind all that though. He pulled my pants down, pressed me against the cold, hard, unforgiving cherrywood of his bed frame and fucked me. My hips rammed into the bed with every stroke. His cock felt good inside me, but my hips screamed with pain after every thrust. But I continued on. I continued because it felt good, because it made him happy to fuck me like an animal (like the wonderfully slutty little girl that I am), because it felt good to remind myself that I did still have control of something (even if that meant letting go of something else).
Submission is a complex thing. I hope, through this outlet, to be able to explain more to myself why I feel the way and things that I do. It feels good to finally write for myself.
Self-reflection is a wonderful thing if you can temper that with the ability to stop your own bullshit. Change takes time, years perhaps. Nothing is overnight, everything is temporary. You can't say that anything will last forever - even permanent hair colors grows out. It's the adjustment to the temporary nature of life that makes people sane and rational.
My reaction to pain is one of the things that gets me through those rough times. The name of this blog is beautiful pain, because it really is beautiful to me. Some people experience pain as pleasure - their neurocenter processes it as orgasmic, delicious, soft and kind. I'm quite the opposite, and that's why pain is so precious to me.
Let's use the example of spanking. With every stroke, my ass reddens further. It hurts more, it stings, it burns, it welts. None of that feels "good," none of that makes me smile that passionate smile of a girl satisfied. I'm not. It fucking hurts, and I want it to be over with. The beauty of pain, for me, is finding something transcendental. I can overcome the pain, I can win over the savage nature of being spanked and push through to the other side. It hurts, but I'm stronger. This is hardly a submissive perspective, I know. Most of the time, besides doing it to remind myself I'm alive and that I feel, I also do it for him. I know he enjoys it, and I want to please him.
Yesterday, before we went to the hospital, we had sex at his apartment. Neither one of us were (is) sure that everything will be ok, the old cliche has worn both of us out at this point. Nevermind all that though. He pulled my pants down, pressed me against the cold, hard, unforgiving cherrywood of his bed frame and fucked me. My hips rammed into the bed with every stroke. His cock felt good inside me, but my hips screamed with pain after every thrust. But I continued on. I continued because it felt good, because it made him happy to fuck me like an animal (like the wonderfully slutty little girl that I am), because it felt good to remind myself that I did still have control of something (even if that meant letting go of something else).
Submission is a complex thing. I hope, through this outlet, to be able to explain more to myself why I feel the way and things that I do. It feels good to finally write for myself.
This entry was posted by Mellie, on
Tuesday, May 24, 2005.
