I’ve been speculating of late on the various things I am, both flattering and less so.
I can be selfish. I want what I want. I think I should get to have the say in how things go, I think I make good decisions, and that my decisions almost always have positive outcomes, therefore, I should get to be in charge.
I can be bitchy. Watch me arch an eyebrow sometime, or roll my eyes at someone’s foolishness. I can be a bitch.
I can be inflexible. I think of myself as stiff-necked at times. Probably were I going to change a single thing about myself it might be that. It’s hard for me to go with the flow, to let things happen around me. I should be in charge, I should make it all come out fine.
I can be a sadist, too, though that is, I think, very much an on-again, off-again part of my personality. It’s there, but it’s pretty far down and really only comes out to play in some situation, in some company.
My short definition of a sadist is someone who enjoys causing pain, and usually enjoys it in a sexual kind of way. More like you feel when you watch really hot porn rather than when you eat great chocolate cake.
Interestingly, though, I very much like the way the sadist’s presence makes me feel, which I think is interesting.
The sadist makes me feel powerful and confident. I know that I am good at it. You like pain, I can provide pain. I can provide pain in safe and ethical ways. I feel, in some ways, like a surgeon must. You can do what few can, and you can look past the trappings, past the pain, maybe past the blood, to the true nature of the procedure.
I suspect, too, that a surgeon isn’t a very good surgeon if self-doubt intrudes. It’s kind of part of the package to feel infallible, I think, even as you recognize that a mistake can have significant consequences.
Some of the best experiences I have had in scenes have been when the sadist made an appearance. That means that there was a masochist keeping me company.