There, that was not hard to say, now was it? I am a little ashamed as I write it. But it is true.
I pay them to punch me, to slap my face, and to spit on me. And whip me. You know what kind of person I am. A customer, I guess. But a person even so. And so are the women who are kind enough to accept my money and who are willing to beat me. If they don’t want to do some particular thing, that is fine of course. Some people do not like spitting. Some don’t like punching.
And everyone does it differently. I have been beaten so many times and in so many different ways. I have been spat on so many times. Sometimes it is revolting, even to me. Sometimes it is just beautiful. I could watch a beautiful woman sniffing up, drawing the spit together, lining me, aiming, tilting her head back, and then leaning forward to land a loogie right there, right on my face.
And I can watch her ball up her fists, her punches coming in thick and fast onto my naked breast. And I see her smile, and I laugh, just for the sheer joy of it. And she laughs too, because the whole thing, as mad as it may seem, is just for that moment, a beautiful thing.
And that is a kind of heaven, even if like all such joys, it cannot last….