“Your brain is unlike any I’ve seen before.”
I laid on a table in the middle of a study, head tied down so I would not move. TwistedView loomed over me as Neuromancer sat by his computer, watching as the data came in. An EEG helmet rested against my skin, multiple points touching through my hair, reading my brainwaves all the while.
First TwistedView punched my chest. I took in the pain and pushed it back out through my breathing. Next he struck my chest with his cane. I used my shrieks and cries to take in and release his strikes. He repeated this pattern, punching first and then caning, my thighs.
For a few last readings, Neuromancer delicately stroked my right leg.
Once complete, I sat up and we chatted.
Neuromancer marveled at how my brain worked throughout the small scene. I never went away, always staying present in the moment. For him, when he was in throws of pain, he lost himself in the sensations. Other masochists he’d previously scanned lost themselves as well, floating away during their scenes. But my brain never stopped processing as I felt each blow inflicted upon me.
He asked me to talk about my experience of the scene. I explained that my masochism was rooted, at times, in almost a sense of service. The pain the person wanted to inflict on me I took in, processed, and expelled back out into the world through my breathing, my shrieks, my cries.
Yes, I still loved it. Loved the pain. Loved experiencing it, processing it, and seeing how far my body could be pushed. But I also loved the simple act of being the vessel for the sadist’s torments, being that which the sadist used to fulfill their dark desire.
When I told my friends about Neuromancer’s findings, my Big Bro summed it up best:
“Poetic, over thinking things? Who would’ve guessed?”
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