SM: A View on SadoMasochism  
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SM: A View On SadoMasochism

by Don Miesen

This essay is copyrighted by Don Miesen and is reproduced here with permission by the Society of Janus. It is divided into several sections, which can be read sequentially:


This essay attempts an introduction to SM, or Sadomasochism. It is based on my own 16 years in SM, with about 200 personal encounters; on the stories of some close personal SM friends; and on the accounts of perhaps 400 people met through The Society of Janus (an SM education and support group). I have tried especially to answer the questions usually asked by newcomers to SM, as well as to offer my own ideas about what SM is, and its place in the order of human affairs.

Aspects and Examples

SM is the neighborhood kids playing cops and robbers, and the contented excitement of the victim--all tied up and the center of attention. SM is when the belt hits--first it stings, then it's warm.

SM is the woman doctor from out of state, whom you keep chained up all weekend, and your friends come to help you abuse her in every possible way.

SM is trying to piss in bondage, while your mistress holds your cock, and makes comments. SM is the quiet typist by day who becomes a whip-wielding dominatrix by night. SM is the sweat, and wondering if you're going to pass out, and finally letting go.

SM is Sunday brunch at an SM bar, and even though you're a straight couple, the leathermen know you're into it too. SM is a pair of tiny gold handcuffs on an expensive dress at the opera. SM is putting your boyfriend into a French maid outfit, to serve lunch to you and your girlfriends, who are into women's lib.

SM is screaming, "That's ONE, SIR! THANK YOU, SIR!" at the top of your lungs. SM is the gratitude, all your life, to the person who helped you come out. SM is trying to explain the massive frame and eyebolts to your landlady. She listens with flat eyes and you know your lease is ending. SM is finding the perfect pair of boots.

SM is your new slave, blindfolded, masturbating, and telling his secret fantasies, while you watch and listen to every marvelous detail. SM is sleeping with your hands and feet bound, and the dreams! SM is the man at the party who asks to try on your handcuffs, "to see how it feels."

SM is the proud African youth in National Geographic, with skewers through his tongue and cheeks, and knowing that you both know the pride. SM is forgetting to take off your steel cockring, and it sets off the alarm at the airport. SM is how hot her ass feels when you caress the welts.

SM is putting up with a picky, uncertain submissive, novice-new, who doesn't know how to say what he wants to say; but finally he says it, and takes your breath away with the magnificent totality of his submission. SM is hearing people talk about how bad SM is, knowing nothing about it, and you want to giggle, because they're so serious.

SM is your slave holding up her hair, without being told, as you put on her collar. SM is the perfume of sweaty leather. SM is the anniversary when your lover has a gold ring put through your labia (and no anesthesia); then she holds you and say you're hers forever; and you'd do anything for her.

SM is Errol Flynn chained up by pirates. SM is the uniform in your closet, waiting for Saturday night. SM is being taken downstairs, and you see it's soundproof.

SM is hurting the one you love, just exactly right. SM is wondering what the other executives would say if they knew about the welts and the sticky panties underneath your conservative suit.

SM is wishing you could afford one of everything at an SM shop. SM is how warm and tingly your nipples feel when the clamps are perfect; then the little bite more, and how your nipples adjust to enjoy that, too.

SM is the humiliation of discovering that your new slave is far more experienced than you are.

SM is spotting an ancient gay masochist on the bus: short haircut, polished boots, tattered levis and jacket, heavy chain and padlock around his neck, tattoos sprouting out of his collar and cuffs--quiet, upright, proud, centered, and content.

Copyright Don Miesen, 1981.

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