Dreams of Domination
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Give me a guy with a weak chin, a plain face whose fingers flutter delicately.
I tried watching porn again. It still didn’t really work for me.
Now were I to try reading yaoi graphic novels that might excite me. But it would be the idealistic sweetness: one good reason to avoid them.
The movie featured an older man and a hairless young blonde. It was a BDSM movie. Fairly quickly I became bored, irritated and quit. But it must’ve moved me more than I suspected.
There’s a scene where the older guy has the twink bound and bent over and enters him. It wasn’t cruel or harsh. But for the next few days I found myself for the second time in about three years haunted by images of dominating a guy.
Again I imagined myself telling someone how happy he or she was to kneel before me. Tenderly affirming the sweetness of the offered submission. And being cruel. But never more harshly than the other desired.
It was all bound up in the ardent yielding of the other. His pleasure in being pleasing; my pleasure in being pleased.
Many years ago I had a boy lick my boots and spanked him. But never followed it up. Back then I couldn’t connect rituals of assertiveness with love. And I was - and am - in love with love. It is my weakness.