please... hurt me

welcome to the opposite land in which this noodle lives.

on a relationship forum i used to frequent more often, there were countless cyclical threads that all essentially began, "please, don't hurt me." the heart, the soul, the psyche as precious candy glass and the lover (most often the female making the plea, so the hapless dude) was left to tread on always shifting eggshells.

these women had been hurt before and wanted no more of it. it always struck me as an impossible burden and then secondly, a terrible projection. what man or woman could possibly meet that expectation? to *never* hurt you? few wake up in the morning intending to hurt their beloved, ya know? so she always held the other at arm's length -- waiting. what a horrible set-up for failure. for both.

then there is noodle.

this is not the post to delve into the black dark of the why.

recently, i dared to posit aloud that the owner is less angry in general, so perhaps less inclined to hurt me and engage my masochism. he agreed. he said he "doesn't carry it like he used to."

it made me so happy for him. truly. the mantle under which he struggled for years is coming undone. :) yet, it was a lingua verum of our own and something i treasured. how do i now explain that i *need* to be hurt when it's something he no longer feels compelled to do?

the other day (and night before) i got used hard. like most women would never want. the kind that makes you bleed and cry. the kind that makes you not want to sit down. the kind that makes you want to crawl inside the man who knows he can do that to you. the kind that makes you weep with pain and relief and joy on the way home.

i remained woozy and stoopid for a nice while.

allowing/wanting myself to be hurt opens me to a vulnerability i don't know how to get to elsewise. the welts, the weals, the tear-stains, the submitting to the power of *you* brings me to a place i feel should be for you.

will you allow me that?