Reader Mailbag: What Happens to Old Masochists?

     First: yesterday was lucrative and fun, but also a total marathon.  I had THREE SESSIONS in a row!  Two of them were sub sessions and I went to the second one still red with the whip marks from the first.  I made $800 just in time to pay my rent, which was nice.

      Blog post about picking up sailors is forthcoming.  I thought I scored with an officer, but I was wrong.  His rank was “Master Chief,” and with a job title like that, I assumed he was practically an admiral!  I just looked it up on the internet, though, and it seems that he is an enlisted man.  

       My friend and I met him at The Campbell Apartment at Grand Central.  We went there on the assumption that the sailors would congregate near major public transportation hubs after a long day of sight-seeing.   

      In the meantime, here’s a question from the mailbag!

Hi Miss Margo,
I’m probably old enough to your father and never practiced BDSM. One thing I’ve noticed as I get older is that old pains resurface. For example, broken bones hurt even though they have been healed for years. Have you ever asked any old masochists if they ever suffer for the “pleasure” of their youth? 


       Well, this question is sort of weird, but you seem sincere, so I’ll do my best.

       (I’m always amused by what vanilla people think kinky people actually DO.  They seem to think that we actually torture each other FOR REAL.)

       Nope, I’ve never asked.

        Most of what even the heaviest masochists (and I include myself in that designation) do causes only superficial tissue damage, specifically welts and bruising.  Bruises heal.   The worst beating I ever took came from the Attorney.  The marks lasted over a month, but they faded.

        I have met one old masochist whose butt was hard and rough like alligator hide.  I suppose it was just callused.  He was compulsive, though, and had been spanked/beaten several times a week for decades.  He was an unusual case.  

        Guys who are heavily into nipple play can get crusty, dry, gross nipples.  I don’t let men touch my breasts, so I don’t have to worry about that.

        The most catastrophic injury I’ve ever heard of happened during a heavy CBT and ball-busting session.  A man’s scrotum ruptured and his testicle came out.  The domme drove him to the hospital and left him at the ER.  I thought this was an urban (or dungeon) legend, but I recently talked to the domme who did it, and I think she’s telling the truth.

        In general, though, masochists don’t do anything more physically dangerous than people who play sports.  Actually, BDSM is probably safer than most sports.   Physically, at least.

       How it affects a person mentally…well, that’s another essay.  Just speaking for myself, it defines my sexuality almost completely.  It is the only sex that I fantasize about and practically the only sex that I am interested in having. 

        It is also toxic to me.  My analyst believes that I will have to give it up in order to having a loving relationship with a healthy man.  I don’t know if I want that, or even if it’s possible.  It seems like a tremendous sacrifice.  But then, I’m probably looking at it like a junkie.   


2 thoughts on “Reader Mailbag: What Happens to Old Masochists?”

  1. Hi Margo

    He was probably a Master Chief Petty Oficier (CPO). It is a non-commissioned officier rank or NCO. Kinda, sorta like being a sergeant in the army or marines. For what it is worth CPO’s are the ones who actually run the Navy. Officiers get enough perks as it is, so better to pick up an enlisted man,

    Mike

    1. loooolllll that’s exactly what the men in my family would say! They hated officers (father) or at least spoke of them with eyerolls (uncle).

      My CPO was a fine specimen of a man! Not the sort of man I’m usually attracted to–I tend to like hopeless intellectuals, such as myself–but he had a very deliberate “let’s-get-shit-done” masculinity about him that was very appealing. He bought me a case of Diet Pepsi at the bodega and changed two burned-out lightbulbs before he left entirely of his own volition. He also folded the bath towel in a neat little square.

      I also noted that he took care not to swear in my presence. Profanity doesn’t offend me, but I found the good manners touching.

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