Masochism is Like Learning to Fly

Before I was old enough to fill out a bra, gymnastics was my favourite sport. I couldn’t balance on a beam or vault over a pommel horse, but oh, I could fly. I was a natural tumbler. When someone is guiding you through the air, pain is a necessary evil, so I always went home after class covered in bruises. You can’t learn to fly unless you’re willing to fall, to hurt, to cry.

I fell. I fell until I was no longer afraid, and that's when I truly became airborne.

I always loved my bruises, even at 13. They were a sign of what I’d achieved, so in many ways, gymnastics was a foreshadowing of my kink life. Maybe I was born a masochist. Maybe I’ve always seen feelings as neutral rather than good or bad.

Whatever its cause, I’m drawn to the darkness of masochism. I love the bruises on the back of my throat, the swellings and the tears, and I love to fall. Consensual nonconsent gives me just what I need for that. You can’t fly until you’re willing to land hard, and offering up my right to “no” is precisely what helps me take to the air.

There's a special kind of intimacy to be found in the blackness of CNC. When things go wrong, and your dominant guides you through the air, even the bruises feel like a kind of love. When things go right, the world retreats and trust remains. You can’t not focus on what’s in front of you: a shared experience extreme enough to expose your secrets.

And secrets are what flying is for. I’m not a masochist because I translate pain as pleasure, although I do. I’m not a sub because I translate submission as lust, although I do. I am a masochistic sub because it gives away all the secrets I usually hide.

Sex has always been about exposure for me, even before I found BDSM. As a young adult, I was agonisingly shy until my clothes were off. Then sex became freedom, and I could shout my soul to the world. Experimenting with kink always left me hiding, though. Multiple sex partners, exhibitionism, and public sex didn’t quite fit. Like the beam I could never balance on, none of these things felt like home. They were not an expression of who I was, so I abandoned them. They were interesting, certainly, but they fit like a bad pair of skinny jeans. I always found myself pulling up waistlines and shifting seams

BDSM fit. Its voice resounded, and before long, I realised that voice was my own. These things fascinated me enough that I was willing to do the falling required to fly, so today, D/s is just another way to rise above the earth. I was born for that. I was born to feel that free.