What is your favorite word?

They are discussing Sadism on a mailing list or two that I’m on.

In specific, the self-identification of one person as a non-consentual emotional sadist. It’s relevant right now because of a situation in my life.

I know five different people who are attracted to me because I am a sadist. Not in a hot, whip–in-hand All Dominants are Sadists kind of way- but because part of me is genuinely fucked up. Two of these people told me that I am the only genuine sadist they have met. A photographer spotted it too. It’s not… comfortable to think about.

This situation- the details are irrelevant. But I find myself within a hair of putting the torch to the lives of three people. Just- fucking their lives up. Ruin for the sake of ruin. One has a clue how bad this could get. The other two… just keep inviting me in. Trusting me.

Today I had to get my head on straight. Get my priorities in order. Not let the snake in my head keep whispering that I’m not responsible…and pretend that I don’t know what I’m doing.

I wrote a confession, an exorcism. Just to put it in writing, just to admit what I want, just to make sure I am not able to draw a curtain of “plausible deniability” about myself… because, after all this time, that’s still very tempting.

So here it is:

I want to just turn off the part that cares.

Not my problem.

Take what I want, step in and WRECK what I want, ignore the smoking craters I’d leave behind- or just chuckle over them. These people have no idea of the damage I could do their lives with just a wave of my fucking hand, just with a few more noncommittal flirtations.

The sadist in me WANTS that. The Bad Man WANTS that.

Hard.

These fucking lemmings have no idea what kind of sheep’s clothing I am wearing. The one that has half a clue just gets wet when she thinks

about it. It would be so easy, and all it would do is increase my

notoriety, put my name on more lips. Even bad publicity is publicity.

It’s not even about XXXX- she’s tasty and cute, but she’s not the

point. I want to HURT these people. Where they live. Right in the

core of them, all three of them, the kind of profound betrayal and

casual cruelty that just GETS ME OFF. And do it by letting them invite

me in, set themselves up, think it’s all fine. They are fucking FOOLS.

I cannot look at what they are inviting without the most profound

contempt for some of them.

And… I like them. They are nice people. They’ve been good

to me, helped me when I needed it, extended their trust and friendship. But

that does not make a single difference when I see this kind of

vulnerability. The desire to hurt is entirely different from my

feelings about them as people.

They think they are my PEERS.

Can… you… imagine.

Sheep.

It would be pleasure to ruin them, and spit.

To FUCK them where it hurts.

:shift, crack neck, focus:

Right.

Now that’s done, maybe I can get about being a better man than that.

So it brings me to the mailing list- and how deeply that pompous, aggrandizing title really offends me.

This isn’t cute. This is not cool. This fucking sucks.

It sucks to have a good, wise, and above all close friend say I trust Flagg… but I watch him. Because he knows. He has faith in me that I won’t give in to these urges- but he knows they are there. He should. Years ago, I hurt him badly… and I still regret it. Just like I am tempted to do to someone else now.

This does not make me a big bad predator. This makes me a fuck.

I need to vent. This is not aimed at the person in question- this is just- anger. It’s going to read as a personal attack. It’s not. I am just… raging. And I have to say something, for once.

Sadism. Beasts. This is what I am talking about. You like to play cops and robbers on a mailing list and take potshots at the trolls and idiots- you do that. But don’t fucking kid yourself that it’s sadism. I resent it. Fuck you mailing list people, you ignorant, arrogant sheep.

You know NOTHING.

Keeping this shit straight is HARD. It’s fucking WORK. It’s not a hobby. It’s not cute. It’s not the big bad predator making them feel like itty bitty prey. I’m fucking treading water not to go under, you got splashed by a garden sprinkler, and you tell me- we’re the same… we’re both wet.

It’s like a drug habit. It’s trying to make sure that something really bad NEVER takes over your life, because if you let it, you’ll NEVER get it back the way it was. It’s being stained. And like cocaine, the hunger for it is NEVER going to go away.

So fuck you.

Emotional sadism? Read Dangerous Liasons. Even see the movie. Wrecking lives and reputations just cause you can, because it gets you off, it feeds your beast. It does not matter who they are… they are just sheep. Even your nearest and dearest. Even those you love. And if you are not careful. If you are not watching yourself. If you are not honest with yourself about what you do and why you do it… you’ll bite them. Every single one. No-one is sacred. No-one is above it. No-one is immune.

I don’t even want to get into how these urges- much less the realities, just the fucking urges- make one feel about himself. What kind of person he is.

What kind of man.

You have NO idea.

You can turn your back on a person- but never turn your back on a drug. – Hunter S. Thompson