I just had to pause to pimp up this blog. Ranat seems to be wrestling with similar stuff to me, only has reached the point of actually physically experimenting with it.
Plus, pretty pictures.
Ranat, I think I love you.
And oh! The hurting and the healing. Yes! As a child I always loved those movies and shows where the guy is flinching as the girl tends his wounds because it all hurts, but it’s also so tender. I want a big tough guy, and I want to make him cry. And then I want to kiss away the tears. And I thought perhaps then the kink police would come along and take away my dom card for that (except of course I don’t have a card because I’m only a baby wannabe dom), but clearly I’m not the only one who feels that way. And besides, screw the kink police. Stupid bastards. I’m not going to be judged by anyone who voluntarily wears rubber. And besides, isn’t the point of this stuff that we don’t judge our responses? (Yes, including the rubber. I apologise, rubber fans.) And besides, I’ve talked before about the power of interspersing cruelty with kindness.
OK, I’m waffling. I’m going to go off and look for that Wolverine clip instead.
The kink police can kiss my bamboo-fiber-clad ass. And there definitely need to be more flinching men with broken bones to set in story-telling in general. Before I admitted I was a sadist, I was always so disappointed at how short or poorly done those scenes often were. “Goddamnit, I could it do better than that…” In fact, that would be the entire movie. None of this “plot” bullshit. Who needs that when there are men covered in soot and blood making pained expressions?
Ah, you make me happy.
It’s like we’re playing comment musical chairs!
Oh, it’s totally all about causing the pain and tears and then kissing it and making it all better, trust me.
Making my boy cry gets me off like nothing else, but he takes it because he knows it gets me off and he knows I’ll make it all better in the end.