(Trigger warnings: Sexual assault)
Fuck me, bite me, control me. Make me forget. Put a pin in my thoughts and make it stop. I just want to feel and not be on top. Well, that’s I lie. I love being on top, watching your expressions as I ride you. But the not being in control part… I feel terrified to admit I want nothing more. Everything I do is so calculated, so in control, and my mind will not shut the fuck up. The problem is I know I will want to go beyond, and the extremes, once you go down those tracks you can’t go back. Once you start, once you crack open that door, it doesn’t stop. But is it a bad thing? Part of me is absolutely screaming to be let loose. Yet the cage I’ve built is so fucking strong, I don’t know if I can. But that’s the fear talking. I know it within myself. I’m just scared. I feel angry at what I want. I feel disgusted by what I want. There’s a part of me that calls it weakness and my lip curls up at the thought of what I want. Why? Why is the thing I want, so disgusting to me?
Power. I want full control. Strength. I want to be physically powerful. Success. I want to do something and absolutely dominate at it. Fierce. I want to be mentally powerful and a physical force to match it. Sound familiar? It’s what old school society tells men they should strive for, to be winning at life and masculinity. We’re taught that the feminine is weakness and I had embodied this. I’d swallowed the goblet whole. I had not realised it until recently. Being female is weakness we’re told. I hated myself for it. Not that I wanted to be a man, but I had a I’m not one of those girls attitude. I guess I hated women for a long time. There was a period in my life where I only had male friends too, as I had feeling like I could not relate to women at all. Don’t worry, I got over that one. Then society sends these mixed messages that are so black and white. If I let a man control me, I’m not being a good woman. Women need to take control and break those chains. But what if I want to be put in those chains, bent over, and be called a good girl? But women should also be delicate, feminine but you definitely want sex appeal and be alluring, but only in that girl next door way or else you’re a whore. You can have sex because female empowerment but don’t have sex because then you’d be used goods. I want to scream. The push and pull. It’s starting to physically hurt me. My two halves can’t seem to find a middle ground. And it makes me want to fight. Fight everything but I only end up fighting myself and hurting myself. People say just be yourself, don’t listen to what others say. But that’s bullshit. You cannot escape society. We live in one and then we end up at the free will debate. Yes, you can be yourself to an extent but it’s still within limits. An invisible prison, with many invisible strings.
There also the part of me that’s disgusted by what I want because of what happened to me in the past. I can hear ghosts in my head telling me I secretly want to be raped again. These voices make me want to physically claw at my chest. Sometimes I actually snarl when these voices get me by surprise. A mix of shame and anger that, that happened to me because somehow that’s seen as weakness on my part. But is also a double whammy, as it’s seen as weakness on my part but also, it’s weakness because I’m a female and I couldn’t stop it. So double shame for me. And yes, I know there’s absolutely no shame in it. What happened was beyond my control. But tell societies subtitles that and my stupid brain that drank it up like spiked cool aid. I had an old boss, specifically, tell me rape jokes because he knew I had been. I had told him in confidence as I was starting therapy for it, and I might need a mental health day here and there. Instead, he joked about it because and I quote: “I could handle it”. As he saw me as strong woman. That was a head fuck and a half. So, lets recap. I have internalised anger and shame. Societies judgement on me ready to strike me down no matter which direction I go in. My past like an iron ball shackled to my ankle dragging behind me. No map to who I am as a person because I have never had the time of day to explore who I am because of a little thing called depression.
But, I can’t help but grin. Is the world flirting with me? Is this a personal challenge? I feel like screaming out in challenge. I will find my voice in this world. I’m finally in a mental space where I actively want to take the chains into my hands and start pulling at them. I am a Leo, hear me roar; apparently. So, what am I so scared of? What is it that I really want? Let’s go back. When I was innocent and had no idea what it all meant. So, I love anime and still watch it to this day. I’d been watching Dragon Ball Z for awhile as a kid, always come home and watch the new episode after I pretended to do homework. But at night when I was alone, I’d pretend I had been kidnapped by the bad guys, while often tying up my own wrists and ankles to make it more realistic and squirming around. I think I was around eight years old. As I got older, it got more intense. The fantasies got more intense, I wanted to be kidnapped and now I wanted the bad guys to touch me before, always before, I got saved by the good guys. I was writing a lot by then as well, I burnt almost everything I wrote. Somehow, I knew it was “bad” that I was writing these fantasies. Somehow, I knew it was shameful, and I knew I was different even then.
It was the show CSI, who showed me the light. The character Lady Heather. Lovely, lovely Lady Heather showed me there were others out there and it had a name. It was called BDSM. I was around the age of twelve, sitting there on the couch watching CSI with my Mum, having my mind absolutely blown out of the fucking universe and not being able to show it. Problem was, the show even showed me it was shameful to want these things, it was secretive, it wasn’t quote normal, society judged you. So, even with the excitement of learning there was others out there, it came with a bury it deep within yourself label. Don’t show it. So naturally, the shame grew. Writing was my outlet. It always has been a form of therapy for me, an escape. You can be anyone, and literally do anything. I found solace in my hidden written worlds. I also had picked up a thing for Vampires at this stage too, I can’t recall what set that one off. Most likely the movie Queen of the Damned, with Lestat in those tight leather pants. I have a thing for the bad boys. So, bite me.
So, what does the now adult and able to do R18 naughty things me want? Ironically enough, I find it difficult to write about. Hence why I need to and why I do this. There are two very different things I want, I guess my two halves. I want nothing more than to be utterly overwhelmed and in someone’s control. To be completely out of control. Submission. To be used and abused. Dear god, please pull my hair, restrain me, spank my ass, and boss me around for a little while. I want to submit, and that scares the ever-living shit out of the control freak in me. Funny enough though, a healthy D/s relationship, the submissive wields all the power at all given times. And then there’s the other side of my coin. She doesn’t have many words to say as Primal, to me, doesn’t include words. It’s the ultimate form of trust with a partner. It’s just chasing a feeling. I want to fight, and I want to fuck. Devour and be devoured. I want to test my physical strength against you, even if I loose. That’s all I can really say on that part. I basically just want to not think for a while. If I can achieve that, I’m happy.