In Defence of Masochism elevates sexuality far too much for my liking. It also bangs on about Catholicism more than I'm comfortable with, and while I understand that as a Defence it's not likely that the book would have consisted of "pain = endorphins = happiness, get over yourselves", there was far too much focus on the emotional heroism of masochists.
Personally I don't see myself as an emotional hero or a particularly loving or big-hearted person. I'm a cunt. A very selfish one accustomed to finding some way to get her own way, be it through manipulation, threats, flat-out bribery, or simply altering what it is she wants in order to make it more attainable.
However, there were a few points illustrated in the book which I was extremely happy about, as they articulated effortlessly issues that I hadn't been able to drag to the surface of my mind without swearing a lot.
Masochists implant ideas and fire the imaginations of others to draw them into their own visions of eroticism, so there is a strong capacity to formulate and plot and characterize - elements essential to the writing of novels.
This I can well believe. I'm a life-long fantasiser, a pathological user of narrative and, according to some, an accomplished liar. According to others, I'm "a writer". The idea that it's a masochistic trait is intriguing but I'm not sure how fully I subscribe to the concept, because I know plenty of people who can regurgitate a little pornography and claim it as their own. I'm not sure imagination is inherent in all submissives. Judging by the language of "the scene", I'm guessing that it's in fact missing from most D/s couples.Giving equal roles in life to displeasure or suffering and to pleasure means that you can no longer dress up your addictions with high moral terminology. Heroism and self-sacrifice are no longer simply admirable, because every possible role involves some erotic satisfaction.
That would certainly explain some of the distaste displayed towards the masochistic leanings when displayed; there's a dividing line in many minds (mine included) that says that sacrifice for the sake of others is noble and saintly, whereas suffering for the sake of pleasure is sexual and therefore dirty. In mind, however, the value is in dirt and selfishness and hedonism, not in nobility and saintliness, especially as saintliness can only be so if there's an audience, whereas one can be depraved all on one's own. This is probably a control-freak style reversal intended to make me feel better about the fact that I can't possibly have the strength of character or warmth of heart required to be a truly Good Person.There are many underlinings in this book, but there are two which I feel desperately need reproducing on this blog:
When in Western Society people mutilate themselves individually, it could be interpreted, for example, as a wish to concretize an emotion or to let out bad blood or to mark a particular event on the body, none of which would be pathological. Indeed, demonization of such activities testifies a fear of physical experience, a generalized uptightness.
As I mentioned in a previous entry, I don't feel there's so much a line between self-harm in the psychological, Oh Dear Get Her Counselling Because That Always Helps way, and self-harm in the I Get Off On Bloodshed way, as there is a blur or a shading scale. It's an accurate observation - Western Society, especially the part of it that I live in (Ye Olde England), is fucked up about physical contact, about sex, about pain, about emotions, about everything. England in particular has a stick up its arse. I'm pretty sure it's why we're so kinky as a nation - shame, internalisation, and self-loathing. And I went to boarding school, which is essentially a pervert-factory. It is impossible to emerge from such a fine institution not screwed up about sex (and also food, and trust, and various other things).For example, because of the contempt that masochism can evoke, it may be difficult for a person who is extroverted and bossy in their usual persona to admit that they like nothing better than to be tied to the bed and forced into sexual submission.
And there we have my issue in a nutshell. How on earth do I square my tendency to be a bullying steamroller of an aggressive, noisy, bossy, boisterous and butch(ish) bitch in company with the frank and bare fact that I like being pinned down, choked, hit, cut, bitten, burnt with cigarettes, having my hair pulled, and generally abused? I don't know how. I don't square it terribly well. I can't bring myself to do the things, to say the things, that I see and hear other submissive women saying and doing in fetish clubs. I would not be able to keep a straight face while saying "please come on my slut ass, Master", and my response to "fetch me a drink, slave" would be roughly equatable with "fetch it your fucking self". Culture informs me that this means I am a "bratty sub".
I think Culture, or rather Sub-Culture (see what I did there?) thinks I'm there for someone's pleasure other than my own, which goes to show that Sub-Culture doesn't understand submission half as well as it thinks it does.
In my next post: Why I find the business of contracts, which Anita Philips regards as "essential" to be tedious, pretentious, boring, unsexy claptrap, and why I wish J. Bean would stop boring on about SS&C.
