This web page was written on 24-03-2002 at 11:35am as I try and think of a plot line for tomorrows roleplay session.

BLOOD, PAIN AND THE WHOLE FETISH MALARKEY

Okay, I’m probably going to annoy or disappoint a number of people here, but I’m not massively into BDSM, physical vampirism, or, indeed, blood fetishism. Not massively; but I am into them. You see, I’m not actually into anything in a massive way, or to put it yet another way, I’m into everything, but just a little.

Hope that makes things clear for you all. No? Well I tried. The fact is, though, (and this is the main reason I singled out the above, particular, perversions) I am attracted to the people who are into this, and to the lifestyle and concept of these things. Yet, my personal facet/flaw/quirk is to mutate everything I find. I can’t accept what I find, I’ve got to change it; make it my own.

Blood, to me, is not erotic. A seriously gorgeous Goth maiden smeared in blood with a psychotic (and hungry) look in her eyes is most certainly erotic, but it isn’t the blood that swings it for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather have her with than without, but you won’t find me wanking into a bucket of fresh offal any time soon.

(I do that sort of thing behind firmly locked doors ;P)

Being cut (actually being stapled is more accurate), and letting someone drink it, is a shit load of fun. It isn’t erotic, to me, but it does give me a great rush. Similarly, drinking the blood of others gives me a high. I’m not going to lie either, if I turn someone on by doing this, then nine times out of ten I’m going to get turned on too, on the passive.

But (and this is an important distinction) punching holes in my flesh or picking my scabs and watching them bleed does not get me horny, but there is a wealth of pleasure gained from it because I am doing it, for the sensation.

This is about pain (obviously, it hurts to get a staple gun fired into your flesh) and BDSM. I, if I perform a little mental trickery beforehand, quite like pain. I turn it into pure sensation, short circuiting parts of my perception so that I do not have the standard reaction to it. Without this little Jedi mind trick, I squeal like a little stuck piggy girl. I like chains, whips, and leather, but normally draped and locked against pale, quivering, Goth flesh. The actual submissive/domination thing, no, I don’t need it. I don’t feel it anywhere nearly as strongly as the women I talk to on the net (and for some reason it is only women who talk to me about this, maybe the guys are less extravert or maybe it’s a chick thing), but I can see where they come from. I, as I mentioned above, have perverted the whole sub/dom thing so that I can play both parts, and once again, play neither totally. I guess I just can’t take anything as I find it; I just gotta fiddle.

The point (if there is one) that I am trying to make is this: pain, blood, whips, chains, intricate suspended restrictive harnesses and sexual devices are not my fetish. The people who have these fetishes, are my fetish. Splashing hot candle wax over my nipples isn’t what gives me the hard-on; it’s seeing the glint in your eyes when I do.