Today, I got my face well and truly lasered.
Yup, this was the beginning of my facial hair removal treatment. Unfortunately, my budget is not very stretchy and the nurse pointed out that the neck region isn’t covered. I may end up being left with only hair growing on my neck, which could be a bad look. I’ll see how my money looks in a couple of months and if I feel confident (or daring!) I may up the ante and go for the neck hair removal as well.
But that sort of thing isn’t what I wanted to write about it for. Yes, I’m sure you’re all fascinated by the machinations of my mind on these minutiae, but I had some specific observations of perhaps a more profound nature. Or perhaps not.
I am not a particular fan of the “superpower” framing of various differences (e.g. disability, neurodiversity, etc) and Clarisse Thorn’s version as a response to some of the negative tropes bandied around about BDSM therefore didn’t particularly wash with me. I have always struggled to square the circle of feeling not particularly special or noteworthy, with simultaneously feeling out-and-out weird (or else, that everyone else is out-and-out weird, because seriously, you lot are freaks!) Thus, for example, it took ages to discover that my cock is in fact of substantial girth and that maybe I should look at the larger end of the scale for condoms.
Well! It turns out that I am not only unusual, but apparently unique in the nurse’s experience. The laser treatment is painful (that Pandora Blake piece gives an excellent description). And, despite my confidence after the test patch, it turned out to be pretty much on my pain tolerance threshold (I understand that facial hair absorbs more energy, which as Blake points out, means it hurts more). I felt like such a wuss every time I flinched, and especially when I had to ask the nurse a couple of times to pause and let me recover.
I AM NOT A WUSS!
No. I am not a wuss. The nurse told me that I was “very good”, “doing very well”, and then afterwards, she said, “Most men when I do their beards are screaming and shouting. I’ve never had someone like you before.”
I didn’t say, “I’m a masochist.” I did say that I have good pain endurance levels and cope well with it. But I was thinking of BDSM, and the familiarity it gave me with dealing with pain, dealing with power (in the figurative/social sense), and dealing with endurance and self-control.
Yes, I’m a masochist, but this wasn’t a fun sort of pain and it wasn’t in fun areas. So this wasn’t an exercise in transmuting pain into pleasure. This was an exercise in endurance. There is a proud bottoming trope of proving you can take it, and a proud submissive trope of not wanting to disappoint one’s Dominant partner by giving up, but seeking to please them by showing how much you can take. It was these mindsets that I used to help me.
There is an odd mental dialogue that I know is not unique to me, but actually fairly common in subs and bottoms of, “Will this be the one I safeword on? Am I going to safeword yet? Can I take one more? I’m going to try and take the next one just to see” and so on. Well, that was exactly how my thought processes went, feeling on the verge of needing to stop, but always eager and determined to see if I could take just one more… and then the next after that… and so on.
I’m a tough cookie. I’ll battle through pain if it’s worth it. And I always want to be the best I can be. And I’m pretty stubborn when I really want something, too.
I still don’t think in terms of superpowers for the differently-brained abilities and traits I have. But all the same, I think of the people who used to think me “soft” and a “wimp”, the boys at school who thought of themselves as tough and “hard”. And I think of that nurse’s comments.