The Kinkster's Journey

[pomba gira]

(so the stupid fuckwit stood me up, but I did get a semi-decent piece of writing out of it. Whether it was worth the $10 bar bill is another question altogether)

6/29/09

Sitting in the bar waiting for an SLS hookup, and contemplating the complexities of this perv level-up I seem to have hit. Listing the caveats for an edge roleplay (with someone else altogether… and that pretty much defines the space I'm in these days), I have to wonder if everyone's kink is a controlled replay of some long-ago trauma. Looking over my list of rules it becomes apparent that I am walking the line of Control, getting as close as I dare to the place where it was taken from me all those years ago. Facing down the darkness if you will... and yes, that is a cliché. Well, clichés like that get used because they come neatly preloaded with the kind of truth that's hard to take in raw form. But being a cliché myself is another thing altogether... I hate being so fucking textbook. I was much happier when I thought my kinks were all my own. I suppose the way to transcend that is to go there to the edge of darkness… the place where all abstractions wither & die… and come back afterward. Do the thing without falling prey to the seductive whisper of obsession. And come back to tell the tale, stronger and wiser yet again.