Tenebrae
Verified
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2005
- Messages
- 3,999
- Points
- 38
As far as I can remember, I always loved to see women in pain. Or getting desperate, crying, begging. Being tortured. My love for tickling might fall into other categories such as foot fetish (which I also have), sapphism, playful domination and others. But at the core, what REALLY turns me on above all is that tickling can be a display of exquisite cruelty.
I was around 20 when I first joined the forum. I was already on the more hardcore side, but thinking back on it, my fantasies were somehow tamer than they are now. Some 15+ years later, they have reached such a level of cruelty that they have become almost abstract. Something Dante could have written. The talented artists and writers of our community (chief amongst them Redscript and Kunzite) have most certainly been a source of inspiration, but it does not explain the phenomenon entirely.
It is like my inner erotic world has a life of its own. It grows. It refined itself over the years. Layer after layer, it built itself upon itself until it became the beautiful monster I am now staring at whenever I allow my thoughts to drift towards it.
I am happy to keep it to myself. I do not feel the adolescent need to throw it into everyone's face, to write stories inspired by it anymore. And I consider myself a very balanced person. As a kid, I used to be worried that I would grow up to become the bad guy I could see in action movies. That I would end up shot by James Bond, thrown off a tall building by Bruce Willis, neck broken by Schwarzenegger, etc... Are villains not sadists, I reasoned. The appeal of keeping a beautiful woman to torture at my leasure was too much, I had to be the bad guy, it was my nature.
And yet as I grew up, I discovered that my sadism was not a determining part of my personality, nor that it was going to make any choices for me. I turned out to be a pretty okay person: a loving father, an excellent husband, a competent employee and a good son.
Although not worried one bit by this side of me, I am sometimes baffled by the most extreme characteristics of my erotic imagination. I love it dearly, but I wonder whether any of you have ever felt the same. Ever felt your tickling fantasies have a life of their own? Ever been surprised at how cruel and/or sophisticated they can be? Did they keep getting more intense and out-of-this-world as you aged, or did they on the contrary become tamer and more grounded? I am very curious to hear your opinion~
I was around 20 when I first joined the forum. I was already on the more hardcore side, but thinking back on it, my fantasies were somehow tamer than they are now. Some 15+ years later, they have reached such a level of cruelty that they have become almost abstract. Something Dante could have written. The talented artists and writers of our community (chief amongst them Redscript and Kunzite) have most certainly been a source of inspiration, but it does not explain the phenomenon entirely.
It is like my inner erotic world has a life of its own. It grows. It refined itself over the years. Layer after layer, it built itself upon itself until it became the beautiful monster I am now staring at whenever I allow my thoughts to drift towards it.
I am happy to keep it to myself. I do not feel the adolescent need to throw it into everyone's face, to write stories inspired by it anymore. And I consider myself a very balanced person. As a kid, I used to be worried that I would grow up to become the bad guy I could see in action movies. That I would end up shot by James Bond, thrown off a tall building by Bruce Willis, neck broken by Schwarzenegger, etc... Are villains not sadists, I reasoned. The appeal of keeping a beautiful woman to torture at my leasure was too much, I had to be the bad guy, it was my nature.
And yet as I grew up, I discovered that my sadism was not a determining part of my personality, nor that it was going to make any choices for me. I turned out to be a pretty okay person: a loving father, an excellent husband, a competent employee and a good son.
Although not worried one bit by this side of me, I am sometimes baffled by the most extreme characteristics of my erotic imagination. I love it dearly, but I wonder whether any of you have ever felt the same. Ever felt your tickling fantasies have a life of their own? Ever been surprised at how cruel and/or sophisticated they can be? Did they keep getting more intense and out-of-this-world as you aged, or did they on the contrary become tamer and more grounded? I am very curious to hear your opinion~