SMack!

On Being Cruel

by Tyn - 29.04.2003

I've been called cruel and wicked most of my adult life, mostly by lovers. Women were attracted to my dark nature, my sardonic wit, my moodiness and my tendency to hurt them during our lovemaking.
Oh, not permanently. Just bruises and scratches. And hideous bite-marks.

I've never been 'careful' with my lovers, didn't treat them like 'goddesses' or succumbed to the failed belief that they were the 'weaker sex'.

The physicality of sex is a great turn-on for me. I like to put my hands around a throat, feel the pulse quicken in my palms as I squeeze. If your neck or shoulders happen to be close to my mouth during my climax, chances are you'll be sporting a purple-black bite-mark for days, if not weeks. Turn your buttocks my way and I'll color your cheeks. Give me a nipple and I'll squeeze it.

My enjoyment in being cruel didn't strike me as strange, but that my lovers succumbed to my cruelty was a mystery to me.

At first I began to think I was a magnet for screwed-up women, but this soon changed when virtually every lover I found in my bed liked to be manhandled.
From the inexperienced nineteen-year-old virgin to the thirty-eight-year-old mother of three, they all wanted to be tied up and made powerless.
They wanted me to be rough. To slap their buttocks, pinch their flesh, squeeze their nipples, pull their hair, strangle them while they were in the throes of ecstasy.
Some wanted me to go even further - to the point where permanent scars were imminent.
And I did. I cut girlfriends with knives, razors and shards of glass. Burned them with hot wax and stuck them with needles. Bit until the skin broke.

Well, yes, of course I'd heard of Sado-Masochism.
I'd even read one chapter in a book by Marquis De Sade. Halfway through the second chapter I fell asleep. And the pictures in my head, of tall Nordic women in black leather beating fat naked corporate businessmen, didn't strike a chord within.

I didn't know where my cruelty came from. I suspected my cruelty was a side effect of my violent nature. I rarely get angry, but my threshold for violence is notoriously low.

Yet I could account for my violence.

My whole life I had trouble with people who couldn't leave well enough alone. At school there was always a bully who, looking for fresh victims, turned to me. I quickly found that violence worked best to keep the wrong people at a distance. Nobody wants to be hurt. And scared of being hurt myself, I went with the premise that the best defense was attack. And the best attack is hitting someone with everything you've got.
So, after kicking three bullies into hospital and being kicked from three schools, I got a reputation for being 'crazy' and was left alone. And when I left school, my aura of violence accompanied me wherever I went.

I gravitated to working in dangerous professions, where the ability to use violence is an advantage. I worked in bars, where I became skilled in throwing bums out; as a doorman in discotheques, where I became experienced in throwing bums out; as a private security officer, where I became an expert at removing undesirable persons from the premises.

Violence had a function in my life.

As I became older I found easier jobs, got into martial arts to channel my violence, and got into shiatsu to balance my yin with my yang.

My cruelty, however, got in the way.

At Aikido practice I found it fairly easy to reach proficiency in technique, but difficult to get into the mental attitude of protecting fellow students and opponents.
And at shiatsu, I was acutely aware of how pressure points begged to be used as a means to inflict pain.

And while my violence could be tempered, my cruelty rebelled against being domesticated.

Four years ago I met my current girlfriend and after courting for months - she was a Christian virgin - she finally succumbed to my will.
Not only that, but she professed a predilection for subservience and masochism she had never been able to explore, for fear of being 'weird'.

Stemming from pre-puberty, when she fantasized about being shackled in dungeons and mistreated, and alone in her room, tied her legs and wrists; these fantasies had haunted her until now, when they could finally be realized with me.

She wants to be tied up and tortured, subdued and subjected, contorted and crushed, dominated and degraded. Loved with a lash, worshipped with a whip, honored with handcuffs, praised with a paddle.

My cruelty finally found a home.