Hello loyal readers, and welcome back to Blue Balls, your favorite bi-weekly sex column. This week I'm going to talk a little bit about boundaries. There are many kinds of things we might call boundaries; take, for example, the wafer-thin membranes in our bodies (you know, the ones that keep our precious bodily fluids from mixing and that keep you a hair away from spontaneous combustion). There are other kinds of boundaries ?— the mental ones, the brickwork in our heads that keep ideas themselves apart. You know what I'm talking about - the bright yellow lines that delineate "us" from "them"; "right" from "wrong"; "author" from "audience."
Sometimes we forget these boundaries. Sometimes the bright line between "appropriate behavior for Aunt Glenda's second wedding with elderly relatives present" from "inappropriate behavior in front of my family" ?— well, sometimes that line goes a bit blurry. As might the line between "moments when pouring a two full bottles of scotch into the chocolate fondue fountain at Aunt Glenda's wedding is A-OK, even encouraged" from "times when this is somewhat frowned upon."
That we are made to forget some of these boundaries through the measured application of drugs and rock-'n-roll, this much has been established (turn to this week's N-L Arts section for details). Sex, I believe, can make us forget these boundaries with equal zest.
There are so many ways in which sex does away with boundaries — overcoming them (think of the class boundaries overstepped in Titanic by way of raunchy boinking in a carriage), parting them (must I illustrate this? the labia, folks) or even downright destroying them (hymen, I'm looking at you).
While there are certainly some boundaries that should remain unchallenged, there are others, however — one in particular — that I want you to reconsider.
I speak of the thin line between pleasure and pain.
The distinction between the two P's is not universal and has been the source of some controversy. In one school we find the followers of Jeremy Bentham, a philosopher of the 19th century who consecrated much of his career to the study of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. Bentham considered any pleasureful sensation impure if it came mixed with pain. Pain gave Bentham the jibblies. It was a quite different sensation from pleasure in his opinion.
In the opposite corner is the scandalous libertine, Donatien Alphonse-François de Sade, also known as the Marquis de Sade. It's from this guy that we get the word "sadism," which, for lack of a more technical definition, is when you like it when other people say, "Spank me hard." The Marquis de Sade liked this sort of request very, very much. For him, pain was essential to pleasure and dishing it out was how he got his kicks.
So how exactly does pain figure into the pleasure equation? How could pain be good, even wonderful, sensual and fantastic?
The answer lies in part of the reason that sex itself feels good, which is that the body releases several "pleasure molecules" when aroused. These include endogenous morphine or "endorphin" (endogenous means "made in the body" and morphine is a really delicious painkiller). Another class of pleasure molecules is the endocannabinoids, which are chemically similar to marijuana (yep, everybody's got a bit of homegrown in their nervous system).
Now the money shot: the sensation of pain is also, partly, a result of the release of certain neurotransmitters, including natural painkillers like endogenous "happy happy joy joy" morphine. People vary quite widely in how much morphine is triggered when they feel pain. Some people get a lot.
The big question for you and your sex partner(s) is: how can we find out we're into this, and if we are, how can allow each other to experience this without hurting each other or going to far?
The first thing you need to know is that there is a wealth of literature on how to figure this out and what exactly to do when you do. While you could start with the Kama Sutra, an ancient Sanskrit text on sex that details various ways how to lovingly bite and strike your partner, I recommend a more modern guide, Come Hither: A Commonsense Guide to Kinky Sex (2000) by Dr. Gloria G. Brame.
To get you started, chew on these tips:
First listen carefully to your partner's feelings. It's okay to try out the basic stuff — a bite here, a scratch down the back there, the occasional light spank — just to see if they're into it. If they tell you to stop, don't push it. If you discover that you're both a little bit kinky, experiment slowly, with things that aren't dangerous.
Second, be aware that although injuries during kinky sex are extremely rare, this is only because the people involved are intelligent about it. Have a "safe word" that either of you will use to indicate that you want to stop immediately. Just make sure that it's not "no" or "stop," because your partner may misinterpret this as playful resistance rather than a legitimate need. Pick something sufficiently unusual that it carries no ambiguity, but make sure it's easy to say — "transubstantiation" might not be ideal. (Mine is "butterfingers," if anyone was interested.)
There's no doubt that kinky sex can be risky, but as long as you are aware of these risks and take adequate precautions, you can have a lot more fun. You might even discover something new about yourself. People who are submissive in their daily lives often discover that they really like to dish it out in bed, and people who have powerful jobs frequently uncover that in their kinky sex lives all they really want is to be laid over their partner's knee and given a good spanking.
