My intentions during sex and masturbation have never been to enact fantasies, encounter the moments of my own sexualities and pleasures, or graciously attend to the overwhelming desires that have stirred up within me. They've been about orgasm, for him, for her, or for me. When I'm with another body or alone with my own, my thoughts are wrapped so tightly around the tip of my clitoris that it's no wonder there's no blood getting to it. I'm terrified that I won't get off, so I usually don't, or if I do, it's stilted... numbed... scared or perhaps unaware of what will happen if it just lets (me let) go.
I suppose this metonymic substitution of clitoris-for-body arises from my opinion that no one could possibly enjoy my body... a countertransference I justify with the fact that I don't enjoy anyone else's body (therefore, how could anyone enjoy any body?). My pleasure is autoerotic; my desire is for myself. That's not to say I'm selfish, though I may be, or that I don't love and care about people, because I do. But there's something within me that doesn't want to give someone else sexual pleasure though it doesn't mind giving myself limited, controlled pleasure. I think I don't want to give others pleasure because their pleasure does not appeal to me. Thinking about people -- myself included -- in the throws of sexual passion is not a turn-on for me. I don't know what it is doing since it's not turning me on... it doesn't turn me off, it just doesn't do the work of foreplay; when I think of being and agent for someone else's pleasure, I'm... something besides turned on. I'll work on coming up with this adjective.
Perhaps I'm sadomasochistic. My mind distributes pleasure in measured sums to my body. My mind has strangled my body, nearly severing the connection between my intellect and the body that contains it. If you know me, you've seen me try myself to strangle me, to twist my head off my body -- to decapitate myself so as to separate my mind from the body that it feels bound by, and that for this same reason, it binds. My mind has sought to master my body, but my body's stubborn desires undermine the master's ability to completely enslave my body. I'm sadomasochistic because my body sends my desires to my mind in waves of pain; my body, in a last-ditch effort to communicate its needs to my mind, communicates in pain the degree to which it's been denied pleasure. Just beneath this pain my mind can't control are desires my mind can't control; I suppose my mind is doing the smarter thing: allowing the pain to remain because at least my my mind can continue to search for methods of controlling the pain... trigger-point injections, acupuncture, muscle relaxers, deep tissue massages... yes... there must be a way out there to control this thing once and for all. Given free and natural reign, however, my libido wouldn't be so decent and culturally appropriate. I'm allowing myself a safe because manageable pain to prevent a possibly unsafe and unmanageable sexuality; I fear loosing my sexual desires because I might not like what's unloosed.
Sedrick told me the other day on the phone that I'm thinking about this too much. :) Maybe I need to be strangled a little... for real.
1 comment:
I feel this way sometimes, too.
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