Had a very satisfying consensual pain experience with the hygienist yesterday. The stage was set a few weeks ago when I went in for my first exam at this office. The dentist was doing a thorough preliminary exam, using metal tools with sharp points to poke and prod and measure my gums. He was jovial.
I was minding my own business, counting how many teeth he had left to go before making the full rounds of my mouth, knowing that the scraping, stinging and screeching would stop if I could just sit still and get through all 32. Then the dentist, with his hands in my mouth, a small, sparkly-eyed gray-haired, silver-ring wearing gentleman, said, "I'll stop torturing you in a few minutes. You're doing great." Hearing the warm, kind encouraging tone of his voice, I felt I could sit there forever if he'd have me.
I'd been noticing my submission to consensual pain, restraint, and service in my daily life. My colleague, with childlocking back doors, when we arrived back at work, joking said, "I'll let you out if you're good."
The pedicurist with her metal tools invading the tender space between my nail and my skin tells me, "It'll all be over soon and then your feet will be beautiful."
I spilled a drink on my friend's shoe and got a towel and got down on the ground to clean it up. He looked down lovingly and ordered me to, "Wipe that other shoe too. You're doing a great job."
I love being ordered around kindly. I love being congratulated for a job well done. I love someone who is hurting me to tell me that I'm being brave or strong and that it will all be over soon. I love being told that if I endure this ritual, I will be beautiful. I like pain when I get to choose what level it will be, 1-10, and when I get to stop it when I want. It is extra-specially scrumptious when the person inflicting the pain honors my pain, takes care of me without worrying about me, and offers flattery.
At the dentist yesterday, the pain was... well, magical. She asked me the proper way to pronounce my name. She asked me to show her how I flossed and told me that the various aspects of my technique were excellent, better than she had seen before. I felt like a star pupil, a good student... I would do anything to please her.
She looked inside my mouth and said that my teeth were beautiful, near-perfect (which they are). I have all 32 teeth, no cavities, "a nice white color against my brown skin," she said. I have wanted to show off the inside of my mouth to lovers, the dark pink color, the beautiful row; it is pristine. Showing it to her, I got the reaction I wanted, one of admiration and aesthetic pleasing. The teeth are deceiving, even the looks of my mouth, the gums will bleed when you get deep with them.
I told her that I didn't think I flossed deeply enough, that I stopped when it started to hurt. I innocently told her that I liked coming to the dentist because I could stand it when they inflicted the pain on me but couldn't do it myself.
She smiled and grinned, said that most people are the other way around.
I think I even told her that it felt nice to have the other person there to take care of me when I'd bleed.
She heard that and saw me and gave me a sense that I knew she'd take care of me. She told me that if at any point, it hurt too much, I could let her know and she might be able to give me something to help. I knew that all I needed was her kind caring tone and the option of stopping to sink deeper into the sensations that were soon to come.
She got out the hand tools.