It started when I was little, so little that my body scarcely knew what to do. Though guilt inflicted itself on me by nature and nurture, still I found solace in the pictures, a sense of peace and pleasure. The assuaging of my guilt, an advantage, as others commit that which intrigues me. The sordid interactions of the players on film and paper exempted me from the game of life. Watching removed me from the elements of rejection and worthlessness, instilling a pleasure that gave me sweet relief from the pain of this torturous childhood that cursed me.
The acts depicted were a reminder of those forced on me. By seeing those acts replayed by others, and gaining pleasure from the same, they gave me a sense of control over what had and would happen to me. Bodies flow and move and engage, bringing climax or a heightened sense of control as they guide their passions toward mysterious goals. Who can know what is in the heart of the one taking another sexually? Perverse and vile thoughts abound in that stormy atmosphere; refreshing rain on one hand, a lashing and punishing wind on the other. So I watch.
Gaining a surreptitious sense of control over things done to me by the beautiful lewdness of naked and bound play things. Of great interest to me are the abnormal psychological patterns expressed in my thoughts as I see the engagement. A baton of deviation passed on from generation to generation by not so subtle players who leaving the film of their imagination, now commit those acts on the fledgling innocents, and not so innocents, in life’s journey.
The act of sex is not so much the goal, control is. Control and power. Control over those acts which I had no choice, power over those who have hurt me, the faces of those violators superimposed on the victim in the play. So I watch and pray that I will never commit those acts that run so vividly through my mind. So I watch. Is there a choice anymore? What drug will relieve me this way? What counseling will subdue the raging fire, the misguided but ever true passion?
None ever has, nor will any ever, keep these demons at bay but one, that is my God, strong and ready to hold me by the reigns and never let me go, giving me the gift of choice. I must choose wisely, the way is costly. The power of this thing is so strong, I don’t want to admit the choice. I want to give in and never whisper a prayer for forgiveness. Prayers are hard now, harder still, the choices.