My Touch History

Foreword

The assignment for this paper is to describe my touch history. As I wrote, I found it difficult to separate the action of touch from the intentions, feelings, and desires behind touch. To ignore these would be to write a schizophrenic work, focusing myopically on actions without understanding the underlying reasonings. Furthermore, I perceive touch as an inherently social action since it occurs between two people. Though rules for touch vary by situation and individual, they are always present, as are expectations and meanings whether written, spoken, or implied.

Synopsis

Since pre-adolescence my sexuality has defined or directed much in my life, including my professions, circles of friends, behaviors and choices, and how I perceive and provide touch. Introversion has left me with below-average social skills, and to complicate things my dynamic, sometimes whimsical nature creates attitudes toward touch that change with my mood and identity. My experience with a diverse range of people, both in identities and bodies, is to my benefit, although I do have some prejudices that I need to correct.

Analysis

When I was young, my parents, siblings, and other relatives let me know that they loved me; hugs and kisses were regular things. I don't remember spending much quality time with Mom as a child; she worked strange hours at the hospital, and when she was home she was either sleeping or doing household chores. My father, on the other hand, would take me for a walk each night, and read me bedtime stories. By my pre-teen years some of the intimacy dissolved, but evening walks were still a ritual for Dad and me.

I feel fear as the pirate holds a knife to my throat. I can feel the cold steel, the prickle of the blade. I hold myself unnaturally still so he doesn't accidentally slit my throat. He yells something unintelligible, like everything else he's said since the start of this scene. I open my eyes, he's holding some jewelry. From his motions, it becomes clear he knows my family is rich, and I am to tell him where we keep the jewels. Though it's all just an act, feelings stir inside me. He wants to steal from my family, and it's up to me to be stalwart or my family will lose everything. Afraid, I cower as I respond, "I don't know where they are."

When I was very young and in need of consolation, either because I wasn't getting my way or I'd gotten in trouble, my sister would rub baby powder and cream into my back, and we'd play touch games. As she entered her teen years, when I was five, she became self-involved and spent little time with me.

Blindfolded, naked, and cuffed to my St. Andrew's Cross, Ben is under my control for the next hour or so, or until he calls a safeword. I pause for a moment to center myself, enjoying the devious feelings coursing through my body. Beldandi, my music server, is playing Enya, so I grab my rabbit-fur flogger in one hand, a pair of barbecue skewers in the other. I struggle to coordinate my whole body as I use my tongue to tease his ear, gently stroke his breasts with the rabbit fur, and run the skewers up his back just lateral to the spinous processes. As I do, my imagination provides me with an approximation of what my client is feeling; I arch my back in response to the skewers and enjoy the sensation I imagine upon my ear.

As I entered grade school, I was a target of bullying and taunting. Whether it was because I was the sensitive one, the weak one who couldn't defend himself, or because of hand-eye coordination problems, I can't say.

Mink is unhappy with my refusal to give into his pirate self, and he's now got me bound and lying on the floor. I have a sense of pride that it took five people to hold me still enough for Mink to bind me. He grabs my hair and pulls my head up, holding the jewelry in front of my face, growling more. I'm dispensable, I must protect my family, so I say nothing. The pirate yelps in anger, and moments later I'm hit with a lash. It's my turn to yelp, but I do so in pain. Again and again the stinging pain slices up my back and my backside. I want to give in, to end the pain: but my family. It occurs to me that the pain is going to go on until I give in, and the fear I've been feeling changes - or maybe it's a chink that appears in my braveness.

Beldandi has switched to Enigma, so I'm now working Ben's back with a soft suede flogger; I can tell he's relaxing as my rhythmic strokes match the beat of the music. My notes say he reddens easily but it passes in about 20 minutes, so despite the marks I'm leaving I don't worry as I increase the intensity of my strokes.

By fifth grade, fetishistic aspects of my sexuality were in place. Desires to inflict punishments upon or receive punishments from peers were present in my daydreams, though I did not act on them. I had no idea these were sexual - they simply were, with no judgement attached.

There's some crappy techno music playing. Ben's hands are getting cooler, so I lower them and turn him around, cuffing his hands together behind his back. I zap his nipples a bit more, pleased with his tormented-yet-pleasured expression, before I put nipple clamps on him. I grab a 2-meter rope, tie a harness around his penis, and tie that to the chain between his nipples with an adjustable knot. I'm feeling playful yet sadistic, so after adjusting the rope length for optimal pain, I break out the clothespins.

In high school, adolescence pushed sexuality and gender confusion upon me. Unfortunately, I had no sense that any of this was acceptable; I saw myself as the queer I'd always been called, and assumed that this was horrible. I hid the gender-conflicted aspects of myself, talked to no one about them. I presented myself as a motivated young lad on a quest for knowledge, and spent spare time working on my computer, neatly avoiding confusing social interaction. The men of my class I had no interest in, but of the women I didn't know what my interest was: did I want to be with them, or did I want to be them? The fear of being identified as gay, the fear of invoking more taunting than I was already receiving, and the confusion of my gender led me to simply avoid social interaction and touch with my peers altogether. Only in my senior year did I begin to open up, and even then it was timidly.

By now, Mink has broken down my stalwartness. I cry openly, begging to be released, yet I still won't tell him where to find the jewels. He tries a different tack: Mistress Delight, dressed as a pirate wench,comes to caress me, kiss me on the lips, and tell me that all will be better if only I tell where the jewels are. Such a temptation: I long to be held, safe in her arms, in her cleavage.

University was a refreshing change. Everyone was there to learn, and there were more geeks with whom I could identify. I made friends with other students sharing common interests. In second year, a friend from home joined me at RIT and my circle of friends expanded further. I had my first sexual experience, and shortly after, tried to have my second; its spectacular failure forced me to confront the issues with my gender and sexuality. I began to dismantle the façades I had created and to do intense research on homosexuality, transvestism, sadomasochism, and transsexualism.

As I use the riding crop to knock the fifth clothespin from the skin fold on the anterior of Ben's arm-pit, he doesn't flinch in pain as much as I expect. I grab the matching clothespin from his right side, giving it a good twist before detaching it. He looks almost happy, confirming my suspicion: He's now riding an endorphin high. I am pleased with myself, with this session.

Over the next 3 years, I explored various identities in a not-so-subtle manner. During this time my college friendships, initially based on superficial shared interests, grew into very close, lasting relationships which continue today. As we all grew and became our own individuals, we built bonds unlike any that I had had before, or have had since. Somewhere along the way, I became comfortable hugging, touching, and sharing back-rubs as an expression of friendship.

I also made more casual friendships attending The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which provided me with a diverse set of ideas with which to open my mind: differing attitudes toward recreational drug use, sex and sexualities, fetishes, religions, and ideologies. Acceptance by and of this ragtag crew brought upon me the realization that differing ideas aren't necessarily wrong, and that though society condemns many things it often has no business doing so.

I've removed the clothespins, clamps, and harness. Ben is bound on the floor, and I'm doing some lighter, sensual touch with the violet wand to bring him down a bit. Beldandi finishes playing a J-Pop song that tells me I'm an hour into this session; next comes some rhythmic rave. I turn off the wand and grab a flogger with narrow, square-cut falls. I begin working on his back, glutes, and thighs, allowing myself to trance out but maintaining enough consciousness to monitor his pain, pleasure, and safety.

They've tried everything, and I've kept quiet. The pirate leads me outside toward the pool, the August night air a comfortable temperature. My ankles are shackled but my arms are free; I need to be able to break a fall should I trip. At the brink of the pool, he stops me, holds a knife to my throat again: this is the final threat, I give in or I'm walking the plank, going to drown. Several thoughts pass concurrently through my mind: "I can escape him if I just jump in.' 'Will he really throw me in?' 'Can I hold my breath long enough to remove the bonds on my legs?' 'I don't want to die. Maybe I should give in and answer him." Someone runs up, talks with the pirate, and gives him a bracelet. Satisfied, he pulls me back from the edge, and removes the shackles: It's the end of our scene.

Having explored other variations of queer identity, and concluding I wasn't any of them, I transitioned to female and changed my name. I became more natural in my chosen gender, although to keep doctors happy I convinced myself I was going to be a happy heterosexual woman. I eventually underwent sex reassignment surgery, and promptly had a wonderful dream that destroyed my illusion of heterosexuality. I rolled with it and started to become me, which isn't always easy.

Ben is right on the edge, so I alternate three quick slaps on his ass with three slow swats from a heavy, wide-cut leather flogger. As he goes into a full-body (SM) orgasm, I focus on flogging to hold him there as long as possible.

Boundaries in my life are very unusual. In the Polyamory community, friends can be lovers, lovers may or may not have a long-term committed relationship, and all this usually happens without issue. My partners date others, and on the occasions when I feel a burst of jealousy, I remind myself I'm being greedy, and put the jealousy away. Somehow, even though there is no model for making relationships work this way, it all works smoothly and feels very natural to me. The idea of a one-on-one relationship seems very limiting, unworkable. Some would assume polyamory makes me liberal with my sexuality, but that would be untrue: my partners are not random people from the street, one-night stands picked up in bars; they are carefully chosen friends whom I trust and care for.

It's been about 20 minutes, and Ben is wrapped in a blanket and is trying to speak. I feel a sense of pride, and a little awe, that I have the power to do this to someone. Ben manages a thanks, something about time. I let him know he can take his time coming out of subspace, returning to the world. I can see the relaxation and happiness on his face. I hold him in my arms, rocking him to let him know he is safe, everything is okay.

As a dominatrix I'm considered a sex worker, yet the interaction doesn't seem sexual to me. Though I "torture" many men each month, I fear overt sexual touch from men, for they might seek to harm me. Among natural-born women, I am intimidated by exchanging sexual touch because I place them on a pedestal, higher in the gender ranks than a mere transwoman; I am fearful that they look down on me and my lack of knowledge of their kind, fearful that I might make a mistake and hurt them, fearful that I am perceived only as a poor emulation. I don't know if these feelings are a defect in me, or if my fears parallel similar emotions in others.

Mink and I lay on a blanket together, cuddling under the moonlit sky, talking. I feel tired and relaxed after the emotional release, safe in Mink's arms. Neither of us expected the scene we just finished to happen the way it did; it was beyond either of our expectations, and I feel closer to him now.

Ben pays for the session as he leaves, both of us pleased with the exchange. The boundaries of our relationship are clear, and that makes it easy, comfortable.

In my work, in the BDSM and Rocky Horror communities, and among my friends and lovers, I have encountered people of a variety of sizes, shapes, conditions, and colors. If this capacity for diversity transfers to massage, I should be well-prepared for a range of clients.

One diversity issue will challenge me: intelligence. I am above average, and have surrounded myself with similar individuals. While I've had some exposure via the workplace and social activities to people of lesser knowledge, I am still astonished by their inability or refusal to think methodically, their belief in irrational ideas, and their ability to be easily duped. Given the occasional talkings-with I've had with prior employers, I'll need to work on my tolerance for the less intellectually endowed for years to come.

Conclusion

While I've excelled at intellectual tasks, I've lagged in social skills and experience, including touch. As a result, I am still learning some of the basics that most people master in their teens. By my nature I am restless and in search of new interests and experiences - but these are often offbeat or counter-cultural interests. Thus, while I will continue to explore and grow, it will be in my rather haphazard, overly intellectual, slightly inept fashion.

It is in my interest to use my second college experience as an opportunity to expand my understanding and ability to function within traditional social standards, including when and how to use touch. While it would be optimal to integrate these abilities into my daily life, my usual behavior is to create a division within myself to distinguish separate manners to be used only at certain times. Regardless of how I go about this, I seek to treat my future clients with a humanity that is missing from many clinical professions. Failure to learn, understand, and conform to traditional social behavior and etiquette may make it difficult to find employment and/or establish a clientele because of inability to function within established standards, thereby making people feel uncomfortable with me and the touch I provide.

On the other hand, my experience with people of varying ages, body forms, genders, and political and religious ideologies provides me with an openness that some people find comforting. If I can present these characteristics to the world in a tangible way, those with fears of appraisal of their bodies or values may feel comfortable with me and my touch.