CW: discussion/reference to con-noncon-ish stuff
Sometimes, I like to play with fucked up things.
Only, they don’t really feel fucked up. They’re just… what my brain does. What my brain has done for as long as I can remember having fantasies.
Coming into my room at night, coercion, seduction, “you’d do this if you really loved me,” threats, fear, psychological endurance, entrapment, resistance, violence,…
(Listing these things makes me wet.)
They don’t feel dark and edgy to me. They don’t feel fucked up to me. They feel like a part of my sexuality that loves playing with insecurities and vulnerabilities, the part of me that craves discrete moments of power exchange, the part of me that aches for someone to look at me and know me so well that they can finesse these parts of my mind to build exquisite traps.
I need to be able to push back against you, to some degree. I need to be able to resist. There is a fucked up part of my brain that wants to play with the idea of being wanted so badly, someone loses all sense of control, morality, social taboo. Do I know that force=/=affection? God, yes. Of course I do.
But I still crave that look in your eye when you snap.
There is the physical, and there is the psychological. It’s intoxicatingly…visceral…to be physically overpowered, to know, in my bones, there is no amount of fight in me that could let me escape this. There’s something immensely raw and hungry in that.
And then there is the psychological. The slow, methodical. Finesse, elegance, deftness, the right word here, the right sensation there, mind tricks and the slow build. That takes time, but goes so much deeper. Down that path lies a part of me I have barely skimmed the surface of, but god, that part of me aches.
These are not places I can go with everyone. There has to be a spark, some sense of possibility. If I can’t sense that potential in you to go there with me, we aren’t ever going to go there. You have to want it, have to be hungry for it, have to look at me and see me strong, strong enough that you can also hold the image of me in pieces.
But when I look at you, and I can taste the darkness in you, the darkness that wants, on some level, to take, to own, to possess, to shatter, to bend, to coerce, to threaten, it makes my knees shake. It makes my hackles raise and I want to see how far you will go. I’m pushing against the boundaries and edges of these things because I want to know how much of my resistance you will accept.
Can you sit with your own desire to do every fucked up thing in your mind while I sit with my desire to feel it?
Can you stand to feel the way the sound of my no’s gets you hard?
Can you stomach being the kind of person who wants to take what they have been denied?
I’m sitting here, biting my lip because fuck. Sometimes, I like to play with fucked up things, things that I don’t think are really that intense (subjectively) but maybe are (objectively). I like to play both sides of this fence. I want to take as badly as I want to be taken. I understand very much what I am asking from you; it is the same thing I ask from myself.
But I’m not going here alone. If I’m going down, you’re going down with me.