thighI recall my mother calling me a "little masochist" as a young boy. I can't remember exactly when the switch flipped, but sometime during my preteen years I started exploring what pain was like. Falling off my bike went from being scary to being exciting. A scratched knee no longer hurt, I'd take vaccines without fear, and my friends and I would take turns "bitch-slapping" each other. I learned that pain could not only be a sensation, but something visual; that, when experiencing agony, people made faces and noises that were strangely akin to the ones I'd seen in porn. And that I liked it.
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