Adrenaline

Who will play with me?

I have an idea for a scene I want to do. I took a stab at it with my gracious host while flogging him on Saturday night. He didn't quite bite.

Bottoms tend to rely on endorphins--the bodies own opiates. That's the reason for all the deep breathing and guttural vocalizing. Endorphins bring about the high, taking you outside of yourself, making the pain more something you can observe rather than a thing that shatters you. And that's good! I love when bottoms get that goofy 'just got whipped' endorphin grin that they can't wipe from their faces no matter what.

But I have a different scene in mind. Very different. An adrenaline scene.

I'd restrain my bottom rather lightly. Just at the ankles and wrists. I'd work on him, with fists, flogger, nightstick. And words. My intent would be to provoke him to anger.

"Fuckin pussy. Shitbag. Bet that hurt, huh, pussy? Whatcha gonna do about it? Not a lot, huh? Huh, pussy?"

I don't wanna hear 'Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir, can I have another, Sir?'

I wanna hear, 'Fuck you, mutherfucker! You sonofabitch! Damn you!'

I want rage. Impotent rage. Straining against the bonds that hold him, cursing me, heart pumping, face flushed, veins bulging. And adrenaline pumping.

Adrenaline is integral to the Fight or Flight mechanism. Higher cognitive functions shut down. The bodies ability to endure pain becomes just about limitless. The sense of self-efficacy ("I can do fuckin anything!") goes off the scale. So it's a recipe for making a man into a mindless brute.

Nice, huh?

Athletes engaged in contact sports know all about adrenaline. It's what enables them to go beyond. Anger is the trigger. "Picture the face of someone you're pissed off at on the tackle dummy" is what the coach tells the football player during practice.

And afterwards? A sense of profound well-being. All is well with the world.

In our society, anger is not okay. Losing it. Blowing your cool. Count to ten before you act. Anger is dangerous. The same goes for S/M play. The bottom getting angry is usually a signal for the Top to untie those ropes and talk about what went wrong.

But I remember a scene I witnessed at the Chicago Hellfire clubhouse over IML weekend. The Top had his slave on a bondage table and was working him. I can't remember with what exactly. Here's a sampling of what the slave was saying: "Aaaaghh! Damn you! Fuck you, Sir!" That's not very slavey, is it? But it's real. Very real.

There's actually someone I have in mind for this scene. A guy I'll be seeing at Inferno. Last year at Inferno, I flogged him. He's very stoic. He goes deep deep into himself. It's very hot. We had a good time. Outside of scene space, he's the same way. Cool as a cucumber. He of the wry smile. I've never heard him raise his voice ever. And that intrigues me. I wonder what's in there? I wonder if there is a geyser building and building, waiting to unleash boiling steaming rage. What would that look like? Where would that take him?

I'm hopeful that the scene would be an incredible release for the bottom. Similar to Sullivanian psychoanalysis, where the analysand projects everything unresolved onto the analyst. In the scene, I would be your Dad whose approval was always withheld, your boss that doesn't know jack shit but by some fluke of fortune is telling you what to do, that cock tease who lead you on and then let you know that you didn't quite make the grade with him, your partner who interrupted what you were saying about how you seemed to be afraid of everything lately to let you know that he would appreciate it if you made sure there was a fresh roll of toilet paper available when you left only a few sheets, the guy at the garage who serviced your car and totally screwed you although you'll never be able to prove it.

Let it all out. Don't hold back. Unleash it.

All this is such an important part of the human experience, very near to the core of what makes us human.

And what would it be like, after I've beaten you, after you've given vent to all the rage inside that terrifies you, calling you every name in the book, if--when you've calmed down, had some water, felt your heart rate return to normal, looked up at me questioningly and maybe a little sheepishly--to hear me say, "You're beautiful, Man. I love you."

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