From pain to pleasure, or a story of a pull.
I LET THE PAIN PASS THROUGH ME AND I SMILE
It's been a long, very emotional weekend. Starting with a mid-day train ride to the wrong place and finishing with one last train ride, this time to the right destination. Between these two crucial train rides lies a whirlpool of experiences, pain, and emotions. The pain throughout this weekend was immense, sometimes too much to bear. Excruciating, breaking, forging pain that passes through the body and the spirit, wrecking all in it's path. After the pain there is nothing, nothing but a place to build over. It has been indeed a long weekend.
I have done a lot this last weekend, at the Body Evolution meet. I'm positive I will be writing about those experiences, when time, and will, permit. For now, suffice to say that emotionally, and on all levels of a normal humans apprehension, physically, I have been thoroughly beaten and exhausted. Copious amounts of substances, that you should not ingest while planning on letting hooks rip through your skin, certainly didn't do any good to my well being, though they did make for some very pleasant time. Overall, it would be safe to say that by the time I've reached that moment in time, when the desire to do another pull hit me, I was worn out and tired, in a good way.
Like most things in life, that decision didn't come out of the blue. I was inspired, you see. I was inspired by Poppie's second suspension of the meet, forearms, no less. Seeing that lovely, albeit from the looks of it, not so comfortable, suspension has stirred something within me, and the beast was awaken once more. It was a spur of the moment decision. One moment I was standing in the garden taking photographs and thinking how lovely that suspension looks, and the other I was standing at the door telling Vampy I wanted hooks thrown in me, now.
It had to be my chest. I cannot tell you why now, I'm not sure I could've told you back then, it just had to be. Unfortunately, or fortunately enough, depends on how you look at it, I knew I couldn't suspend from my chest. Not so soon after my resurrection, that happened just the day before. And so, it was decided, if it can't be a suspension, then it'll be a pull. So rash was that decision that my fears, anticipation, and excitement had no time to develop. Those butterflies that were quick enough to wake, had no time to settle comfortably in my stomach, because soon enough I was lying on that infamous piercing bench, with two gloved ladies standing over me with needles in their hands.
Breath in, breath out, relax. It all happened so fast, I haven't had time for pain. Oh don't get me wrong, it hurt, but not in that way. That special way that hurts so bad, and yet so good. It was just pain, just needles going through. I shouldn't be complaining, though, the best is still to come. Out to the garden, with shining hooks sticking through my chest, to get myself tied to the scaffolding, next to Poppie, who by this time, has come back to the ground. I think I failed to mention it before, but night has already set at that time, which gave both a dreary and a dreamy look and feel to the whole affair. And so, the stage was set.
My memory of the first moments of the pull is not as vibrant as what came after them. It might be the fault of those infamous substances I mentioned earlier, but I believe it is because the intensity of the beginning came no where near the vividness of what had followed. Nevertheless, I think it's vital that this part of the proceedings be told, as it sets the ground for, let's call it, the main course, if you will. And what is a story with just a peak? A peak without a story, and where is the fun in that?..
It is important, I believe, that we mention the small detail that this was my first pull. With the grand repertoire of two suspensions behind, one of which was done the day before, if you recall, I finally found the time to do a pull. Like with all new experiences in life, I didn't really know what to expect. I had a vague idea of what sensations would come, but I had no real way of knowing. The sensations during my resurrection were so intense, I had no real way of telling what they were back then, or even now I think. On top of that, I had a somewhat vague idea, as to what should I expect of hooks pulling at my body up, until that liftoff from the ground, but what should I expect from my own body pulling on those dreaded hooks itself? As new experiences go, this was a special one.
After that short digression, and before I go on talking about things that, even though related to the subject, have nothing to look for in this essay, it's time we get back on track. Those first few moments were, for lack of a more suitable word, painful. I know, what did I expect? To tell the truth, not much. Like mentioned earlier, if you recall, such a hasty decision it was that I had no time to expect. At that same moment my body started tugging on the hooks, and pain soared through the system, my body screamed enough, but I thought that I knew best, and that my body was a fool. I believe that I was right, because what came next was worth the pain my body feared.
Before we go on to the good bits, I'd like to seize this opportunity and say, that while it is natural for our bodies to fear pain, we must not succumb to that primal fear. Unlike our body, that works on pure instinct, and tries to make the best of any given moment, not looking beyond the next few short stages of it's life, our minds must not succumb to that deceitful trap. While pain is an instinctive and important tool, we must not fear it like we've grown accustomed to. We must embrace it, as it is natural, and in it's essence good, even if it doesn't seem so. That does not mean we must enjoy pain, to each his own, but we must not fear and avoid it at all cost, like we so often do. We must let it flow through us, accept it, and use for our own advantage.
That is exactly what I did, I have decided to embrace the pain, and let it wash through me. Don't let me fool you, it's not an easy decision to make, and an even harder feat to do. The secret, I believe, though I'm just poking at the dark here, is to let go. Embracing pain doesn't come from wanting it, but from letting it come, but I digress, again. After some more tugging on the ropes, and slowly sinking in to the good side of the pain, and the entire experience, I, although horribly close, still wasn't completely there. My solution was to invoke a second party into my private game of tug of war. Poppie was still happily pulling at the scaffolding from her forearms, right next to me, if you recall.
Some discussion and reconfiguring the setup of the ropes, and we were connected by what some people consider to be one of the strongest and most intimate bonds between two human beings a rope, with hooks going through our skin. Me, I honestly don't know. There might have been a bond that was too deep for me to see, or maybe a selfish part of my own nature stepped forward and engulfed it all, or maybe even that there was, and I have felt it, but I can't remember now. In any case, in this specific instance it is besides the point.
I cannot tell what exactly happened next, although I do remember the order in which things happened, I can't remember what those things exactly are. Another detail that escapes me is the time, but that is understandable, since time is the least of one's concerns while a beautiful young woman is pulling on the hooks in his chest. I will try and do my best to describe the physical and, mostly, but not exclusively, emotional aspects of the experience as clearly as I can. Bear with me, please, as is it hard to put such intense and out of the ordinary feeling into words. I'll do my best, but that's all I can promise.
We pulled, as I recall now, for some unknown period of time, while standing up, before deciding that the ground would suit its purposes much better if it were closer to ourselves, and not just our feet. The transition into the next emotional state of that stage of the pull, after sitting down, seems quick, no, almost timeless now, though I have no way of telling. It was as if all time has ceased to exist. Scratch that, as if the entire outside world has gone missing. All that was left was me, the ropes, and Poppie, somewhere on the other side.
I'm far from sure that my words will give justice to the feelings, the emotional and, to some extent, physical sensations that rose within me then. Conveying such an emotional turmoil is a difficult task, and I believe it is important that it will not be misunderstood, taken out of context, and out of perspective. I can only hope that I'll be able to do so adequately, and that you, my reader, will try and understand what exactly am I trying to say, on a much deeper level.
These sensations, that I am so desperately trying to postpone describing, were, for lack of a better word, incredibly erotic. Not in any sexual context, mind you, even though there was a stunning young lady on the other side of the rope, but on a much deeper, primal, level. Although this term, this deep eroticism, is probably the best way to describe what is it that was flowing through me, do keep in mind that it must not be taken as the direct meaning of the word, but as a part of a much bigger, and much more complicated, context, that in the essence has more to do with the deeper erotic meaning than pure lust.
As the tugging on the ropes, the pulling on my skin by vicious cold metal hooks, grew stronger, as I grew bolder and pulled stronger, so did the sensations grow and pulled me into their realms increasingly stronger. It felt as if I was engulfed by a sea of raw eroticism. All senses, the entire world around me, the entire world within me, the whole of me, none of it existed. There was no pain, no lust, no hope, no cold, no sounds, no sight, all there was, was a plateau of mental eroticism, in it's purest form.
On that plateau there was nothing. It's hard to try and come up with adequate words to try and explain that nothingness, as it was not scary or lonely in any way, quite the opposite. I probably would be wrong to call it soothing, but for one reason or another it is the only word that comes to mind when thinking of that euphoric state. I might be even wrong in calling it euphoric, since it was not happy per se, but it was an incredible, if you will forgive me for using this term again, erotic high.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and Poppie's forearms, already weary and tired from suspending and pulling for much longer than I, had to have their rest. And so, we had to be untied, and her poor beaten and worn arms had to be attended to. I, not one to give in too easily, made up my mind to stay outside in the chilly night by myself, pulling from the frame of the suspension rig. And so, attached to the scaffolding once more I began to pull again, much more brazenly this time. Unfortunately, in my haste, I've not done a job as good as was required of tying the rope to the scaffold, and nearly fell flat on my backside as it came loose. Once more, I had to stop and reattach myself, but the moment had been lost, and I headed back to the warmth of the indoors.
Inside, I had to face the terrifying Nik, and accept the fate of him doing the aftercare, instead of the two lovely ladies that treated me so nicely the day before. Seeing as he was still busy mending Poppie's wounds, I entertained myself by pulling on the rope that was still attached to the two metal bringers of joy. Once more, as I was beginning to reach a state of euphoria, it was brought to an abrupt end. The aftercare, as you might have guessed, was not as pleasant as the preceding events, albeit amusing on it's own.
If I was a believer, I would've thought that I had met God, or the devil in it's most evil form, and it felt so good. It was an experience I will never forget, and I believe is only the beginning of my play. Take care, and never hesitate to play into your deepest and most secret pleasures.
PAIN IS A VIRTUE
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 09 Oct. 2006