Sensual Sadist

I can’t hold this day
Anymore
Understand me
Anymore

To tread this fantasy, openly
What have I done?

Oh this uncertainty,
Is taking me over

I can’t mould this stage
Anymore
Recognise me
Anymore

To tread this fantasy, openly
What have I done?

Oh this uncertainty, is taking me over
is taking me over
is taking me over

Portishead, Over (From the album Portishead)

I’m not typically prone to guilt. Doubt was something that plagued me like a physical disease at one time, but since I started growing into what I consider the Real Me, doubt has been cast aside. I’m lucky in that I seem to be surrounded by people who accept me. Even my parents have accepted my transsexuality and my bent for sadomasochistic jokes.

But surely I must be thankful that there are times I wonder what the hell I am doing. What I look like, on many different levels - physically, mentally… Getting stoned whilst alone can make me very introspective. I’ve always enjoyed that introspection, I feel it helps me to know myself better. Because sometimes in that state I’m almost like a stranger looking at myself, into myself.

I have no problem with the transsexual part. I’m past worrying what others think, about ‘not passing’. I’ve accepted that sometimes I look like a feminine boy with small breasts. Obviously I still feel on ‘alert’ when I pass a bunch of ‘manly men’ (i.e. worms) who try staring at me as a way of proving that I’m not something they like (hey that’s a great logic, isn’t it? Look at this horrible picture - I think I’ll stare at it because I don’t like it very much!) but I’m beyond feeling like I need to explain my existence. It’s do or die and I chose ‘do’. The dying will come but it can come later. As later as possible hopefully : )

But tie that in with being what can only be fairly described as a compleat pervert who seems to get off on completely subverting the sexual norm and finding the most convoluted, scenic, though possibly disturbing-to-some psychic route to orgasm… and I sometimes wonder, if somewhat briefly, if I have a home in reality at all.

I don’t see my sadomasochistic streak as just a part of my sexuality. I don’t ram it down people’s throats, to coin a phrase, but I feel it slowly oozing out of everything I do. I’m almost always thinking in that vein, and that must colour my behaviour, speech and art. I also know I’ve reached a stage where I can admit that negativity is a huge part of my internal scene. Sadness, guilt, disgust, rage (and I’m not even going to mention pain) can be just as beautiful as positive emotions, as far as I’m concerned, provided you deal with them the right way and aren’t prone to being eaten up by them.

I don’t see myself as some huge masterwork of perversion, a social commentary or reactionary, or even particularly clever, either. Or a brilliant Domme. Perhaps interesting to a select few, but utterly forgettable beyond that. A noisy gangle of jittering idiosyncrasies. A thousand useless (but perhaps intriguing) dreamworlds wrapped in flesh. Formerly the wrong flesh, admittedly, but I got relatively lucky as far as transsexuals go.

Perhaps my biggest worry is in showing my face here. But I so much want to stand up and be counted that I continue to do it. And since I’m aiming for an artistic career, I don’t see any real harm.

I wonder sometimes if people I know, perhaps online (since I don’t actively befriend outwardly narrow-minded people or even have a lot of friends), are reading this without my knowledge. If so, I hope you enjoy it and it makes you feel good : )

Fuck the internet, though. Just the other day pet and I were in the garden doin’ the shoeshine thang and for a moment I thought one of the neighbors was distracted enough from his basketball to come over and peer through a gap in our fence. I mean, you can see through it if you put your eye to a gap in the boards…

For a moment I felt a little scared, out of control, like I wanted to be somewhere else. Then I felt turned on. Then I realized I was being paranoid. Most of the concern was for pet. I don’t really want the neighbors to see him sprawled out in front of me lapping away at my soles while I sit there smiling at him profusely. I’ve realized I have an exhibitionist streak, but I’ve never found it exciting or erotic to think of pet losing control of what other people see and think of him, and most simply aren’t ready to see anything other than what they’re used to seeing.

I also dislike the thought of being labeled a fetishistic transvestite. I don’t dress for kicks. I do turn myself on sometimes, though I’m getting used to just feeling and enjoying the power and imagination that I do have. I sorted out everything to do with gender in my head before I moved on to exploring my deep purple fantasy world.

It’s tempting to think of myself as a walking taboo. Sexually, and now para-sexually. I won’t flatter myself with that since it’s just idle musing but it does make me wonder, what next?