Most days I’m okay with my sadistic desires. I’m more than okay – I enjoy the happiness and pleasure I feel when I’m being sadistic. Sometimes I laugh gleefully when I smack or whip my masochistic girlfriend and sometimes I can feel my breath catch while I watch her take the pain I give her. Her reaction to the pain plays havoc with my own feelings and reactions and it is all part of the fun.
But not all days are most days. From time to time I experience doubt and guilt because of my sadistic tendencies; or needs – which is what they feel like at times. I know that I’m not fully reconciled with my sadistic side. I have come a long way, but aren’t completely there. Or I’m not there all the time; now and again I take a step or two backwards and I let the doubt in.
Not on purpose, mind you.
Last time it happened was after I had played with my girlfriend. I had felt particularly hungry for her pain this time and I had gotten my fill. We were both happy and satisfied. We didn’t do anything new or big or dangerous of any kind, that wasn’t the problematic part. What was different this time was the fact that I had been made very, very aware how much pure pleasure I get out of giving her pain. I have long been aware of the fact that I like it, but not to this degree. At some point during this playtime it scared me a bit, but at that stage I savored it too much to stop.
Afterwards it was time to pay up. It started small, almost like an irritation in the back of my thoughts. The more I thought about it, the more it prickled, and I wasn’t able to stop thinking about it. In the end it was like someone shouting at me:
“What the hell is wrong with you?! You can’t like that! You can’t get pleasure from that; you are a sick, sick bastard!”
The main reason this angry, hateful voice didn’t – and probably never will – do any lasting damage to my peace of mind and self-esteem was the very vivid and very pleasant memories of the play time I just had had with my girlfriend. She enjoyed receiving pain as much as I enjoyed giving it, which makes her as sick – or as healthy – as me, and that I can live with. Curling up with her and talking to her soothed my doubts and the angry and shocked voice in my head slowly retreated. When I told her I had gotten scared by my own feelings of satisfaction and delight, she hurried to reassure me that I was safe with her. I hadn’t done anything to her that she hadn’t liked and she wouldn’t let me do it either. There was nothing wrong and nothing to be afraid of. I was safe with her.
And the door closed behind the doubt and guilt.
I’m not sick or otherwise wrong for being sadistic. My girlfriend is not sick or otherwise wrong for being masochistic.
My sadism fits her masochism like a hand in a glove and there is nothing wrong with either of us, or with anyone else that partake in consensual BDSM. I’m fully aware of this, but sometimes my thoughts and feelings take a turn to the worse and I have to be reminded – and remind myself – of this, once again.
Most days I enjoy being a sadist and getting my satisfaction from my girlfriend’s moans of pain and pleasure. Most days I can pinch, bite, slap and claw at her and then cuddle up with her without a second thought – just a mind and body full of bliss. Most days being a sadist only makes things more interesting.
And some days I need to remind myself what a respectful, caring and kind human being I am. Sadist or no, it doesn’t change that fact.