Lydia Wilkinson

The five faces of masochism

INTRODUCTION

A work bearing the title of The Five Bloods of Ireland would need no justification for its title other than that the contents of the work deal with the five principal septs or families of Ireland, i.e., the O'Neils, the O'Connors, the O'Briens, the O'Lachlans, and the M'Murroughs; a title of The Five Nations would likewise be as easily justified if the work dealt with the five confederated Indian tribes (the Mohawks, Oneidas, Onondagas, Cayugas, and Senecas), or, as was the case with Rudyard Kipling's volume of poems, if "the five nations" were the five component parts of the British Empire.

Similarly, a title such as The Five Faces of Masochism would, understandably, suggest to the reader that there are but five – no more and no less – forms or manifestations of that certain peculiar facet of human behavior, or misbehavior, to which Richard von Krafft-Ebing in the latter part of the nineteenth century gave the name of masochism. Such a suggestion, it should be stressed at the very outset of this work, is not intended to be anything other than one of convenience – the "masochistic scale" of five simply meaning to reflect the degree or severity of masochistic tendencies and should not be allowed to dominate the reader's thought as anything other than a comparative aid. Suffice it to say that, in the opinion of this author, the majority of people – the psychological median, so to speak – would probably fall within "masochism one" and "sadism one" range. Somewhere between these two, at "zero", the masochistic and the sadistic inclinations are in a state of equilibrium, or, to put it in other words, are both weak and simultaneously equal, thereby canceling each other out. As one ascends, or descends, the abstract scale in either direction toward "severity five", the misbehavioral aspects of the individual's condition rapidly approach a psychopathological state. A condition of extreme masochism or of extreme sadism – "severity five", that is – is a relatively rare state of psychosis and is not included in this work. It would not be improper to say that those unfortunate souls who fall within those narrow ranges of psychopathology are seldom available to a private-practice psychiatrist, primarily because "masochist five" is quite often dead, whereas "sadist five" is either in the asylum or is incarcerated.

If one is ready to accept the implication that both masochism and sadism or either the one or the other is present in every individual in "different concentrations", so to speak, then it is an inevitable conclusion that the world is, in fact, made up of the two groups, and the question, then, seems to be not whether one is a masochist or a sadist, or has one or the other inclination, but rather, how much of a masochist or a sadist one is.

Is such a deduction absurd? Not if one studies the history of mankind, and not if one accepts the three definitions of masochism as they are presented by J. P. Chaplin, Professor of Psychology at the University of Vermont and author, in his Dictionary of Psychology. He states that masochism is:

1. a sexual disorder in which the individual derives satisfaction from the infliction of pain upon himself. Pain may be a prelude to, or an accompaniment of sexual relations, or its application may be sufficient in and of itself to induce orgasm.

2. more generally, the enjoyment of suffering or a tendency to seek opportunities for being offended or hurt.

3. (Psychoan.) the turning inward of the destructive tendencies or thanatos.

Chaplin's definition of sadism is, for some reason, less all-encompassing, limiting itself to the sexual side of sadism. He states:

[Sadism is] a sexual perversion in which sexual satisfaction is associated with the infliction of pain.

All one needs to do, however, to complete the picture of the masochism-countering tendency of sadism is to paraphrase Professor Chaplin's definition of masochism. Sadism, then, more generally, may be taken to be "the enjoyment of suffering [in others] or a tendency to seek opportunities for… offend[ing] or hurt[ing others]." And, in the terms of psychoanalysis, "the turning [out]ward of the destructive tendencies or thanatos."

It is perfectly natural for an individual to condemn the previous deduction as an "accusation based on generalities": "I have no such tendencies," he might say. The fact is, very few people will seriously admit to having either sadistic or masochistic inclinations – either because of society's attitudes toward sadism and masochism, or because they are not aware of, or fail to recognize, either one or the other inclination – until they find themselves the subjects of psychoanalysis. Since, quite often, the tendencies toward masochism or toward sadism increase progressively if they go unchecked or unrecognized, the purpose of this work is to show their development and thereby provide the reader with essential defenses against such tendencies through recognition and awareness of them.

Confirming such varying degrees of masochism and sadism is Dr. Eustace Chesser, who in his successful marriage manual Love and the Married Woman writes:

… There are… varying degrees of sadism and masochism in character traits. The meek, apologetic husband, submitting to a dominant wife, is a mild masochist. Pity is wasted on him, for he deliberately married a woman who would take decisions out of his hands and act the part of a domineering parent. Similarly, the uncomplaining wife who marries a bully may well be reliving her childish experiences with a harsh, authoritarian father. It is dangerous to judge from superficial appearances. Women of a masochistic temperament are best satisfied by so-called virile he-men. This means that the masochist type might do best by marrying a sadist, and vice versa. What passes for cruelty to the casual observer is a curiously inverted pleasure. There are cases in which an ill-treated wife has obtained a divorce for cruelty only to remarry and find herself – by her own unconscious wish – in precisely the same situation.

Unfortunately, the "solution" that Dr. Chesser presents – specifically, that "the masochist type might do best by marrying a sadist, and vice versa" – appears to be somewhat of an apathetic oversimplification of sadomasochism in that it does not admit to, or allow for, the previously mentioned "growth and development" of both sadism and masochism. Such a growth and development has to be accepted if one admits to "varying degrees" of either of the two psychopathological states. Naturally, the term growth and development as used herein with reference to sadistic or masochistic character traits connotes a negative side of man's nature. And the negativeness need not be interpreted as such from the society's viewpoint alone; it does not require much thought to realize that – in spite of the increasing pleasure, or what a sadist or a masochist interprets as "pleasure" – the more masochistic or sadistic a person becomes the closer is he or she approaching an end-all of all pleasure. A masochistic woman who derives pleasure from being taken with some degree of sexual violence will require more and more violence as time goes by and as she becomes accustomed and "immune" to it. Eventually – as one or two cases contained within this work will demonstrate – she will seek out men who derive pleasure out of brutalizing women, she will develop a craving to be, in fact, raped, abused, forced to perform any number of unnatural acts… There is no need in bringing out the well-documented fact that a great number of women who hart been the victims of rape had their mouths sealed by the silence of shallow graves.

Similarly, a man who derives pleasure from deflowering virgins, a man who finds that the screams of his victim add a dimension to his sexual pleasure and thereby magnify the intensity of his orgasm, will strive for attaining a greater reaction to his sexual assault the next time around – either by increasing the brutality of his sexual onslaught or, perhaps, by selecting a virgin who will manifest greater screams of pain, i.e., an adolescent virgin, and then a pubescent one, and, finally, a child… Again, asylums hold ample evidence of sadists who have, in more ways than one, reached the end of the line.

As relatively unchallenging as it is to follow the growth and development of masochistic and sadistic inclinations, attempting to arrive at the initial impetus that set an individual's sexual appetites in one or the other direction is undeniably much more difficult. To begin with, it is essential to have a somewhat broader picture of masochism – what it is, how it manifests itself at the outset, who are its most likely victims, etc. – than the one provided by Professor Chaplin. Krafft-Ebing, who in his Psychopathia Sexualis classifies masochism under the general heading of "cerebral neuroses" and the specific one of paresthesia (perversion of the sexual instinct, or excitability of the sexual functions to inadequate stimuli), gives a considerably more detailed description of masochism. He writes:

Masochism is the counterpart of sadism insofar as it derives the acme of pleasure from reckless acts of violence at the hands of the consort. It springs from the impulse to create a situation by means of external physical force, which is in accordance with the individual psychical and spinal stage of potency, as a preparatory and concomitant means to experience the voluptuous sensation of coitus, to increase or to make it a substitute for cohabitation. In direct ratio of the intensity of the perverse instinct and the remaining power of moral and aesthetic counter motives, it forms a gradation of the most abhorrent and monstrous to the most ludicrous and absurd acts (the request for personal castigation, humiliation of all sorts, passive flagellation, etc.).

Again, there is the confirmation of degrees of masochistic tendencies. Yet the cause for such tendencies is, in fact, implied to be "causeless". Krafft-Ebing suggests that masochism "springs from the impulse to create a situation," etc., and in that suggestion presents his opinion that masochism is the result of an impulsive action.

Impulsiveness, in psychoanalysis, presupposes a more or less chronic tendency to act upon the direction of the id or of another instinct or without reflecting upon the consequences of action. To suggest, however, that masochism is instinctual in man is to suggest the ludicrous. Most modern psychologists, psychiatrists, and social workers consider it rather to be a misdirection of the sexual instinct that is brought about, usually in a gradual manner, by environmental influences in an individual's childhood. This is not to say that masochism (or sadism) might not begin to develop later in a person's life, e.g., in his or her pubescent, adolescent, or even adult period. That this might and does occur is supported by several of the cases presented within this work.

Although all of the cases here will involve direct sexual masochism, the question may be asked: Can masochism germinate as a nonsexual seedling and then develop or progress to a sexually masochistic state? In other words, is it unusual for a child who had been suppressed within the family circle, or even mistreated, without any sexual abuse being directed toward him, become an adult who requires sexually oriented domination before he or she will be able to attain full sexual gratification? The answer, of course, is yes. The old adage, as the twig is bent so will the tree grow, applies here not only to the overall development of a person's character but to peculiarities and portions of it as well. A girl who felt that her father's spanking her as a child was a sign of his love for her, is not unlikely to develop into a woman who requires the same mind of manifestations of "love" from her husband. Likewise, a man who derived pleasure as "big brother" in being more than necessarily strict with his younger sister is likely to transfer his domineering attitude toward his wife.

The preceding, of course, are but two examples of how masochism and sadism come into being. Elementally, the birth of masochism might spring from a situation where a young girl is – to give an example of the initial germ of masochism – pushed violently by someone she loves (her older brother); she falls, hurting herself in the process; the brother then takes her in his arms and comforts her. In this case, as in most masochism-inciting situations, a relatively mild instance of abuse is followed by pleasure; subsequently, the girl might develop the conviction that before she can experience any pleasant sensations she must feel pain.

The following cases will hopefully reveal some of the other ways in which masochistic tendencies are conceived, develop, and finally become the dominant traits of a person's character. It is felt that such knowledge is essential for anyone who has the slightest suspicion of masochistic tendencies in himself and who does not wish to become their permanent slave.

CHAPTER ONE

EATING HUMBLE PIE

I guess it was the normalcy of my life that made it so Goddamn boring.

I led a decent life for what seemed like for ever. I had decent parents, who didn't want to fuck me and who didn't rent me out to other people who did. In fact, I can't even remember wanting to fuck with my parents. How normal can you get?

I had my first fuck when I was seventeen. It was mind-blowing, but one hell of a lot better than the jacking off I'd been doing for five years.

For the next couple of years I had a normal amount of sex – not enough, but a satisfactory amount so that I didn't have to go out and rape somebody. Then when I was twenty-two I got married.

Madge and I got along fine. She was boring and I was bored, but we had a nice, decent life. With enough money, two kids, a nice house, a new car every three years, and… boredom.

And then when I was twenty-seven, Madge got sick. Really sick. In the head. I don't know what caused it, but she'd have long periods of really being dingy. Then she'd get normal again. It was when the dingy periods started to outlast the normal periods that I had to have her committed.

With Madge gone most of the time, except for visits, I got a nurse for the kids. Well, nurse isn't a good word. She was more of a housekeeper. Took care of the kids and the house. That took a lot of worry off my hands.

It also put a lot of time in my hands. I started to hang around with a bunch of single people who had a little money to throw around. So why not? I was the same as single, and I sure as hell had enough money to keep up with them.

Fucking seemed to be the main preoccupation of the group. Within two weeks of being introduced into the inner circle, I'd fucked every girl in the group. After a month, I was bored. Couldn't even get it up. But I kept running around with them, because I didn't have anything else to do.

And then one day into my life walked a woman named Clarissa. She was hired by the outfit I worked for as an efficiency expert. And hell, was she efficient!

I was the guy assigned to work with her. She made the decisions on what had to be done, and I implemented them. That meant I did the dirty work, like firing people.

I found myself, after a couple of weeks, really looking forward to being with Clarissa. She was about five years older than I was, but that didn't make her old. Not by a long shot. And she was a beautiful gal. Of course, in her working outfits, she tried to look cool and efficient, but I saw her at times when she was relaxed, and she was capable of being a warm although still tough lady.

I knew she was married, but she never talked about her husband. Maybe that's why I asked her out to dinner one night. Women who don't talk about their husbands usually don't care much about them.

I made it clear that I was asking for a date not a business meal. Clarissa looked at me strangely. "Beg me," she said.

I jokingly said, "Please. Pretty please." But that didn't seem to satisfy her. She had a look on her face that told me she was more than a little serious.

"Get down on your knees and beg," she said. And she sounded serious. I laughed again, only not so honestly this time, and got to my knees. "I beg you to have dinner with me," I said as seriously as I could.

I remember what she did next so well that it's like a part of me. She was holding a cup of coffee in her hands while all this was going on, and after I asked her to dinner and before she answered, she deliberately spilled some of the coffee out of the cup and on the floor, right in front of me.

"Lick up that coffee, Paul," she said in this very soft, quiet tone, "and then I'll agree to go to dinner with you."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth I felt a lurch in my guts. And my cock instantly got hard as hell. I was amazed. That was the first involuntary hard on I'd had in a long time.

I looked up at her and started to grin. I wasn't about to do what she wanted without protecting myself by making a joke of it.

"I'm not kidding you, Paul. Lick it up!" Her soft, quiet tone was gone.

My heart was beating so hard I could hear it as I bent over and ran my tongue into the coffee on the floor.

"All of it," she said. "Every last drop."

I did what she told me. I got every last drop. Then I knelt back up and looked at her.

"We'll have dinner at my house," she said. "Be there at seven-thirty." And with that she turned and left my office.

I moved to my chair and sat there dazed. What in the hell had that all been about, I asked myself. My cock was still raging hard. And then, like some horny kid, I pulled my cock out – right in my office – and beat off until I shot. Weird, huh?

All day long I told myself there was no way I was going to go to Clarissa's house for dinner. No telling what she'd make me do. But do you know, at seven-thirty that night I was standing outside her front door.

I checked my watch and exactly at seven thirty I rang the bell. She answered it almost instantly. "That's good," she said… "I like people who are right on time."

She didn't say anything else, as she beckoned for me to come into the living room. She pointed to a low stool placed by the fireplace.

"That's for you," she said. I looked strangely at her.

"Sit down," she ordered. I did what she told me, and cursed the fact that again I was getting a hard on.

She stood there, beautifully dressed, and looked hard at me. "I noticed," she said finally, "a certain… should we call it willingness to cooperate. If I'm wrong, you're free to leave anytime."

I looked at her. Never in my life had I wanted to do anything more than I wanted to get out of that house. But I couldn't force myself to move. I sat there and did nothing but nod. And I'm not a weak person. Really I'm not. She just seemed to have me hypnotized.

"Fix me a drink," she said after taking a chair a few feet away from my stool. "Martini. Four to one. Onion." I couldn't help but compare her tone to that of a very sophisticated drill sergeant. But the whole bit wasn't funny. She was serious, and unfortunately so was I.

I felt her staring at me all the while I was fixing her a drink. When I finished, I turned and walked to her, handing her the glass. She took it without a thank you, as though I owed her the service.

"May I have one?" I asked.

"Yes," she said simply. Then added, "It was good that you asked first."

Dinner was surprisingly normal. I was a nervous wreck, always expecting her to tell me to do something. But we finished the whole meal without any intimation of what had gone on before. I suppose it was the presence of the maid that kept things from continuing.

After coffee was served, Clarissa dismissed the maid. Gave her the night off, as a matter of fact. Now I was really getting nervous.

It seemed like only a minute after the maid had gone that the front door opened and a man walked in. About the same age as Clarissa, handsome in sort of a sadistic way.

"This is my husband, Paul," Clarissa said, not getting up. "Charles, this is Paul. A fellow worker."

I stood up and held out my hand to shake. But Charles ignored my hand. He stared at me for a few seconds, and then turned and started to leave the room. At the door he turned. "He'll do," he said, and then was gone.

Clarissa turned to me. "You've passed the test, darling," she said. "Stand up and take your clothes off."

She couldn't have shocked me more if she had screamed out obscenities. I stared at her for an instant or two.

"Do it," she said, her tone harsher this time.

I stood and with head hung, I started to unbuckle my belt.

"Look at me, Paul," Clarissa said. "Never be ashamed of what you're going to do."

With some difficulty, I managed to look into her eyes. There was no indication of disdain or disgust in them. Not even a hint of humor. She was simply telling me what to do, and I was doing it.

I watched her watching me all the while I was taking off my clothes. Then, when I was down to bare skin, I let my arms hang at my side, waiting for what she wanted me to do next.

"You have a very nice body," she said. I glanced down at myself. It was a good body. It got that way through a lot of effort.

"And you have a fine prick," she added. That shocked me. She said it without any indication that what she was saying was out of the ordinary. She said it like most women would say, "It's a fine day."

My cock was hard as a rock. Literally, it was jutting up, almost touching my belly. I was totally and exhaustively excited. I wanted things to happen. But the slowness with which they were occurring only added to my excitement.

"Come over here and kneel down," she said. I did what she told me, kneeling down directly in front of her.

"When you must go to the bathroom, tell me," she said. I looked quickly at her. The statement confused me. It seemed so much out of context. And it made me feel very young, and very dependent.

"Yes," I answered.

"We have to get something absolutely clear," Clarissa said. "When you agree with something your employer says, you say, 'Yes, sir,' don't you, Paul?"

I nodded.

"My husband will expect the same courtesy," she continued. "And so will I."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and was amazed at how naturally it came to me. How natural it sounded. She got up then, stepping around me to go to a large bureau that was standing in the corner of the room. When she came back to me, she had a large dog collar in her hand. And a leash chain.

She sat down again and leaned towards me. "I'll put this on," she said, wrapping the collar around my neck, "just to indicate to you what your position is."

To be honest with you, I didn't have the least idea in the world what my position was. But I allowed her to wrap the collar around my neck. And I felt a wave of what I recognized as sexual excitement shiver through my whole body.