He hits me in the face so that it darkens in the eyes, and with each blow I’m deaf for a split second. I choke on tears. It hurts me to breathe. I’m on all fours, he’s choking me with my own stocking. I have no way to lean forward – one of his legs rests on my shoulder. When the face swells (it will happen soon enough), he will wring his hands and take me. Along the way, my buttocks swell. He wraps my hair around his fist. Then suffocate them. He doesn’t like it that way, but I like it, and sometimes he concedes. He hits me on the back, I bend over and lick his feet. I like it when he asks me to do something with blows. I generally like it all.

In the morning we wake up and, as if nothing had happened, we will prepare breakfast for each other. We’ve been married for three months now. I love him so much.

Yes, a sadist plus a masochist equals love. If we add a couple more terms to this simple equation (for example, bondage), then the total will be BDSM – a deviant form of sexual relations from the point of view of conditional morality, based on the mutual (this is important!) desire to aggressively obey and aggressively obey. No more deviant, though, in my opinion, but much less common than, say, sex once a month or exclusively in the missionary position.

I got married at 19. I didn’t want to break out from under the parents’ overprotection (as often happens), I wasn’t guided by the delusion “go while they take, otherwise you’ll grow old and they’ll stop taking” (it also happens often), I didn’t look back at my girlfriends enjoying ovulation (well, you understand ). I just felt like I met my man. And I also had fun and wanted something new.

Marriage also gave me the experience of BDSM relationships, and judging by how quickly and easily any other possible forms of intimate contact ceased to give me even minimal pleasure, the person really turned out to be my own.

Here, probably, you need to make a digression and explain in detail about the upper and lower, stacks and floggers. I’m sorry, I won’t. First, because not a theoretician, but a practitioner; secondly, search in Google in this sense is much more effective; thirdly and most importantly, neither special terminology nor special attributes actually have any special relation to BDSM, no matter how the three parts of Shades of Gray try to prove the opposite.

It is possible to suppress without auxiliary tools, much more clearly, more convincingly and more plausibly than the graphomania of the authorship of a swollen housewife about BDSM tells the movie “The Night Porter”. I am convinced that it is not the purchase of latex anything that converts this belief. You can even tie your hands with a ribbon from a Hermès bag (immediately after the celebration of the first anniversary of our acquaintance, we did just that, and then I wiped my tears with a silk square). You can whip with a wet towel, but best of all – with a large and strong male hand. A correctly pressed button in the head turns into this belief. She either exists or she doesn’t. Dominance and victimhood are innate things, and they cannot be acquired even by desperate will and desire. Like charm or sexual temperament – either endowed or not.

My husband was older. Not that catastrophically much: when I went to school, he was already finishing it. Domineering. He had more than two and a half hundred people under his command. He earned a lot. Liked to spend money senselessly. It seemed to me at the time that these factors accounted for his perversity. Now I understand – nothing like that.

After the divorce, I studied with a psychologist, went through hundreds of articles on the topic of what kind of complexes encourage people to copulate to purple bruises, and did not find a single correlation with the details of the biography of the former spouse. I tend to think that it’s like the color of the eyes or the shape of the nails.

What factors explain my perversity? I think that in character I went to my father – strong, tough, domineering, demanding unquestioning obedience, and in behavioral attitudes – to my mother: soft, pliable, servilely servile before my father with bliss. Due to the coexistence of such contrasting qualities in me, I probably only know how to experience an orgasm after sophisticated bullying of the genitals.

Can this Pandora’s box be closed? Within myself, yes, perhaps. Since hundreds of thousands of people have forced themselves to forever forget the taste of chocolate for the sake of a beautiful body, what is it worth getting rid of the craving for corporal punishment for the sake of a body without bruising? True, this requires colossal endurance: once having discovered that the end point on the path to a bright orgasm is not the G-spot at all, but a blurry purple spot on the buttock, it is difficult to make you take a detour. But you can always and even need to try to place buoys that you cannot swim over. For example, with all my increased pain threshold, I definitely can’t stand the BDSM formation of that subspecies of sex that begins with “a”. At the same time, I never tried to return to my former, pre-married self – the degree of sensations compensates for everyday inconveniences that are easily solved by Troxevasin.

He hits me with my Louboutin, punishing me for hating high heels and refusing to wear his present. I’m in a bow pose, hands clasping my feet, tied with a belt from a hotel robe. We flew out to celebrate our first wedding anniversary. He smothers me with my hair. I like it so much, and in honor of the holiday it yields to me. I love the taste of my own tears. Then it will be thrown over the back of the chair, and with each push my head will beat against the balcony railing.

I love him so much.

But after a month and a half, we still get divorced.