Mister, am I sick?

I have mentioned before that porn, which used to be an interesting way to while away the afternoon as I lived apart from the family for work reasons, has very little interest for me of late. I attribute a lot of this to my newfound dive into the BDSM shallows with my better half — two girls and a guy having sex doesn’t really hold up when what I’m doing in my free time feels so damn intense. There’s just not a lot of porn out there that compares to getting pegged, getting whipped, and then having spectacular sex.

Now, I’m warning your right now, this blog entry is going to circle a bit before it goes in for the point, so bear with me. My birthday is in a scant few days, and my darling has asked me what I want for it. Now, under normal circumstances, I’d ask for some books or some video games or some shows on DVD — I still don’t have “Arrested Development,” which is an oversight that shocks me every time I walk the blighted aisles of the Best Buys which lurk on every corner in the little part of Florida I call my temporary home. But this year, I decided to ask for that bit and reins I talked about a few weeks ago. I went toy shopping the other night at all our favorite online sites, but the wife had wisely put a cap on my profligate nature, and so the bit and reins were left off the shopping cart.

Now, the wife is just a teensy bit freaked out about the bit and reins, because pony play freaks her out a bit, and she associates the former with the latter. Both of us being newcomers to the world of BDSM and its offshoot fetishes, I have no idea which came first, reins and bits in bondage or people pretending to be little ponies, but I want the bit and reins to be used on me playing me, not me playing a pony. The idea of my wife pounding away at me with a strap-on in a set of leather boots while “pulling on me,” the idea of pressure in the front and the back, the idea of that restraint in her hands while she penetrates me — that is insanely hot. I get giddy at the thought of it. My head forced up, my eyes forward, as she batters me with her cock — wow. I have no idea what the reality is going to be like, but the theory is perfect.

And despite being a tiny bit freaked out, my wife is in. She admits the idea may turn out to be really hot, and besides, it’s my birthday, and I should get to have a treat. If we don’t like it, we’re out $50 or so, but we’ve blown more on far stupider ideas, so, what the hell? Happy birthday, slave. Thank you, Mistress.

But the reason why I’m talking about the new toys in the same post I began with a discussion of porn is this:

Porn is beginning to freak me out.

Back in the day, I could buy a pornographic DVD and reliably expect, you know, sex. The last five or so I’ve bought, though, have all had at least one scene where I had to do a spit-take — you know, the classic “What the fuck are they doing?” gasp. A movie that lures me in with something like, “Sexy MILFs” will have stuff that I would only expect to see in what a friend of mine — who was a connoisseur of this kind of thing — would call “specialty” films. A purchase I made a year ago had pretty brutal gangbangs, medical implements, and stress positions that make Abu Graib look like a day at the park, and the movie was supposedly a mainstream production with a big name star.

Which is fine. People get jaded, they need new shit, thanks to the Internet and DVD stores, I can buy the kind of porn I grew up with in the ‘80s and ‘90s easily enough, so long as I can live with big hair. And, frankly, in a choice between seeing some double-vaginal penetration and big hair, I choose big hair.

My problem is two-fold: First, what the hell am I complaining about? I allow welts to be raised on my skin with a belt. I take a strap-on up the ass while getting smacked around. I enjoy my wife giving me a golden shower. Do I have the right to be puritanical? Since when am I the blushing virgin? I can only guess that the difference is the emotion involved.

The thing that worries me and forms the second part of my problem is the idea that porn got to this point out of a kind of jaded, “So what do we do now?” problem. And then I look at my wife and I, hopping from spanking to belts to floggers, from simple D/s to golden showers and strap-on play to reins and a bit and ball-gags. Are we doing the same thing? Where are we going to stop? Or is our situation different — I mean, it’s pretty obvious that if you play with hitting with your hand, the next step is a belt, and the step after that is a dedicated “hitting implement.” Are we moving forward because we’re jaded or because this is just the natural progression for people into BDSM?

Admittedly, we’re probably not at the point the average couple into BDSM is, so maybe our additions to the toychest and our exploration are all natural, and we won’t come near to the jaded, “What do we do next?” point for many years. But the situation does give me pause — are we just getting up to speed or are we numb and looking for new experiences?

The answer to that, for me, is that my wife and I aren’t jaded. Or at least, we don’t feel jaded to me. We didn’t come to this because we were bored with straight vanilla sex, we came to this because I’ve been wired for submission since I was little and because she’s wired for dominance. We feel like we’re in love and we’ve discovered something that brings us even closer, and we’re drunk on it and eager and happy. It’s all new, so experimentation is natural. And what we’re doing, we’re doing because it feels good and it makes us happy and it brings us closer together. Maybe someday we’ll be jaded and looking for the next experience — we’re certainly doing more exploration than we’ve done since our first year together a decade ago when we were 21 or so — but right now, it’s good and it’s positive and it’s happy, despite — or because of — the pee and the pegging and the pain and the obedience training, we’re on the right track for us.