A few words on sex. If you’re easily offended, tough it out! A little pain is good for the soul.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But whips and chains excite me.”
There was a time when the idea of BDSM made my skin crawl. I was first exposed to it in college when a co-ed who dressed all in black and sported one black fingernail asked me if I’d ever tried a nipple clamp. “Huh?” I said. The feeling in the pit of my gut was about the same as when I first cut into a cow’s eyeball in 5th grade biology.
20 years later and I am more understanding of the lifestyle, though “50 Shades,” still makes my skin crawl. Not the red room of pain, but the hideous quality of the writing. I’m convinced that, in addition to being a translucent plagiarist, E. L. James is also a sadist. Or maybe she’s into humiliation. Either way, she’s rich and I’m not, so there’s that.
Look, I understand the whole, “Different strokes for different folks,” concept. I abide by it. If reenacting scenes from Abu Ghraib gets your rocks off, more power to you. But it’s just not my thing. It is incomprehensible to me how the rendering of intense physical pain can be pleasurable to some people.
I get it on the physical level. Pain triggers adrenalin, which releases endorphins into the bloodstream. This results in a natural high. Ok, fine, but every high has a corresponding drop. What about the emotional side of it?
In my view, the world we live in is swimming in enough pain and violence as it is. Why bring it into the bedroom? We have emotional sadists, physical sadists, sexual sadists in abundance out there…and they’re just the Trump supporters. I’m convinced that all of the masochists are Hillary supporters who actually admire her wayward husband.
In my mind, pain and sex don’t go together. To me, sex is a very passionate, sensual act that is comprised of many physical sensations. Severe pain and punishment just ain’t on the menu in my restaurant. Does this mean that I’m not open-minded? Nah. I believe in giving my partner what she wants. If she wants me to run my fingernails down her back more vigorously than I otherwise might, no problem. If she wants me to deliver a sharp bite to the back of her neck, 10-4! Spanking. Moderate restraint. Enthusiastic or rough sex. I’m not opposed. I once had a partner who said I was, “Too nice,” and wanted me to express my dark side by dragging her into the bedroom by her long hair. You got it, hot mama!
But when we get to the point where she begs me to string her up from the ceiling and ash my lighted cigar on various parts of her bare anatomy, I’m gonna pass.
I am proudly vanilla. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla. It is one of the most complex flavors in the taste spectrum. I’m convinced that most people are vanilla to a greater or lesser degree. This doesn’t mean that I’m boring. I’ve done a few things at those grand old social room parties that…well…the only reason I got away with them is because the vast majority of the party attendees were blind. It simply means that, as Dirty Harry put it, “A man’s got to know his limitations.”
Besides, I’ve become desensitized to pain. Working with a bunch of Boulder nutjobs tends to dull my pain receptors after a point.
If any of you found this painful to read, leave possible safe words in the comments section. I will select one and leave it as a code in future posts of a sexual nature so you’ll know to avoid them.