I’m crawling downhill, my arms so tense, spiderlike fingers searching for the bit of rock to grab, red soil filling my shoes, the Sun burning my face and the wind drying my tears. I am so ready to give up. I am so... ready... to... give up.
I am eight years old, descending the Valley Of Castles in Kazakhstan and my dad is ahead of me, effortlessly making his way down. He knows we’ll get to the water and it’s going to be glorious. But I am eight years old and I want to make him proud but this canyon is just as big as the void in my soul and I can’t keep up. I freeze and just sit there and think I am going to die.
I am not screaming for help, I’m just sitting there, silently, I feel like a failure and yet I pray for him to rescue me.
I am standing in the spotlight, my hands above my head, holding the bar. I am scared. I want to make Hoss proud of me. I don’t have much will to fight for my life but whatever is left always comes out with him around. The light is so intense I can barely see him. But I know he’s there, so I can close my eyes.
And there goes the cane.
And it’s not even started but I’m already sobbing. I am sobbing because I feel like I am trapped up that canyon, although the man I love is not facing away this time. Every hit of his cane is a reminder that I can make it and I am in control and I need no one. It hurts like hell, it’s my first proper caning and I can spot some people watching but I don’t feel them, I can only feel my body until I don’t. And it stops. Everything stops. My thoughts stop. The pain is everything and I know I can still make it. I like it. I love it. It’s like being home, somewhere I can scream, somewhere I don’t have to be ashamed of my own pleasure.
The reason I don’t want to be tied up is because I can make it, not because I know I can let go but because I know I won’t. It’s like being in that canyon again; grabbing the rocks like they’re the last thing I’ll touch in my life, because I am fighting for life. I give up control in my mind, because if a man can get hold of that, I become infinite. And Hoss definitely can, with so much grace and elegance, reading me so well, anticipating my emotions, creating a safe space, giving me a home...
I am still crying, and the Sun is still shining, so careless... My eyes are shut and I am sure I’m going to die alone. I can smell my dad’s flannel shirt now, I feel his arms wrap around me; I hear his voice, he’s telling me that my fear is bigger than my eyes; he’s giving me the instructions on how to keep going.
And so... I keep climbing down. My dad is just a touch ahead of me this time, I am not alone. I feel the sweat in my hands and it’s quickly absorbed by the rocks, or by the Sun. I just need to make sure I am slow, and I am breathing.
I wish I could stop crying but I can’t because this loneliness is just pouring out of me in the form of physical pain and it needs more time, just a little bit more time to become my will power. Just a bit more... Just a little bit more. My hands are sweaty, slipping off the bar but I won’t let go, I will never let go. I am fighting for my life.
“Breathe”, Hoss is telling me. So I do and I realise that my whole life is a fucking apnoea.
Dad and I are in front of the river now; it’s so blue it hurts my brain. The descent is just a blurry memory and the Sun is behind the edge of the mountain now. Nothing matters. I made it. No one tells me I did well so I think it’s only normal that an eight years old kid climbs a fucking canyon. And I spend the rest of my life climbing, never really appreciating my achievements because I take my success for granted; not because I am spoiled or lucky, but because I never learned to stop to appreciate the very fact that I am alive and that that in itself is amazing.
Kink is teaching me to take that moment for myself and share it with my top, someone who tells me that I did well and it’s not taken for granted. I know BDSM is not therapy but when I look at the signs on my body I see beauty, intimacy, pleasure, and I breathe in and only then can decide if to take someone in or just leave them on the surface. Pain is healing me and I only now know why I hurt myself for the first time when I was eighteen. I just needed to prove to myself that I could make it, I needed control and I just didn’t know there was a safe way to channel that energy.
I went back to the Valley Of Castles in 2013 the last time. I stood on top of the canyon and just felt the fire in me getting bigger. I would breathe in the wind and breathe out the fire and fill up the mountains with my essence. I could have died right there and regret nothing. That’s how I feel at the end of a bottoming session and why I cannot have sex during or afterwards, everything is linked to my childhood too much and there is still a lot to process.
It also has a lot to do with my gender identity. Pain allows me to neutralise my gender to zero, it happens through my body but it doesn’t have to be sexual, it’s above and beyond sex. My breasts and pussy are a hard limit, apparently... for now. I’d love to explore that side of my sexuality but I need to make space first. One step at a time and I will be climbing that canyon all the way up by myself and my dad will be out of the picture and I will have my sexuality back. And I will stop to appreciate it.
I am so ready to fight.
