This Sadist’s Needs

I have a deep, dark des­per­a­tion brew­ing inside me. I con­trol it. I always con­trol it. And the lam­en­ta­ble side-​​effect of that very con­trol is a heart that grows cold and numb.

I never asked to be this way. It has been a source of much soul-​​searching and moral and spir­i­tual agony for me. I am not Bud­dhist but it took a flash­ing insight about Karma of all things before I cleared the hill. And that was after I made my peace with the devil. I am far from over ago­niz­ing about aspects of myself but I am on the road of inte­gra­tion now. I am on the road home.

Through my never-​​ending self-​​analysis I know that my moti­vat­ing power is a fran­tic search for inti­macy. That is man­i­fested in that the closer I feel to a woman, the stronger I feel for her, the stronger is my urge to… defile and abuse are not the cor­rect words; vio­lence or pain are never the point, they are merely tools to force her mind to recede into her core so I can fol­low her inside where it is warm. Some­times I am so des­per­ate for that level of inti­macy I think I could rip her skin and flesh just to get to the cen­ter of her core.

I need some­one strong enough that I can feed on her, and feed off her. I need some­one so burst­ing at the seams that she can­not think of any­thing but being taken and con­sumed, some­one who would thrive in giv­ing me what I so des­per­ately need. I can­not dream of tak­ing from some­one who does not have it to give, some­one who would be dimin­ished by being with me.

I need a sym­bi­otic rela­tion­ship, one in which she feel like her breasts are overly engorged with milk and I am sav­ing her by drain­ing her, while I am starv­ing and she is sav­ing me by nurs­ing me. I need her to feel as grate­ful for my pres­ence as I am for hers. I need some­one who sur­prises me with her own strong needs and draws me closer and deeper into her own darkness.

Like Gol­lum, I need a trea­sure to cher­ish, some­one to focus on, to care for. I need some­one who under­stands my need to qui­etly pet her hair while cud­dling in front of the TV, and I need some­one who under­stands when I wake up in the mid­dle of the night and get on top of her and drive myself into her, using her as a toy with no mind. In fact, I do not need some­one who under­stands, I need some­one who yearns for it.

I need some­one who is my eager accom­plice in her own debauch­ery and con­sump­tion, some­one who is a will­ing vic­tim on the altar of my desire and who can­not wait to return to be sac­ri­ficed again and again and again.

It is an incred­i­bly tall order, I admit. I am patient, though. I have time.