How do you tap into the freaky side of yourself that defies all logic, feminism, and psychology? How do you write about the part of you that revels in gore and horror, the part that enjoys getting its hands dirty and playing in the blood and guts?

How do you write, and share, the part of your head that screams for taboo desires that you could never confess to anyone?

You take it one dirty word at a time. One forbidden thought at a time.

The journey of a thousand climaxes, and all that.

You know how in school there was always the girl who turned all her homework in on time, always showed up for class, was always polite. She had a sweet look, maybe long hair and an innocent face, boys never touched her because she seemed too nice. They may have looked at a girl like you and thought, “no way she’s ever thought about sex or touched herself”. You kept a thick barrier between my desires and the outside world.

Maybe repressed shame, maybe just wanting to be “good”. Whatever it was, you struggled with it. Accepting that inside yourself there was something darker and wilder. You wanted so badly to be the perfect daughter and the perfect student. You tried to force your desires to fit that image, but you just couldn’t. They would find ways of coming out of you. The more you pushed them away, the more ashamed you were of yourself, and the more insistent your needs would become.

You had many fantasies. In some wild moments you would let them consume you, watch hours of the most depraved porn or read the sickest stories on the internet. You can’t remember when it developed. You were brought up in a nice family, sure you had some troubles like all families do, but nothing happened in your childhood to lead to such dark thoughts.

You worried endlessly that something might be wrong with you, maybe you were damaged somehow, maybe you had repressed trauma. Crying after touching yourself, making yourself orgasm over and over, edging and revelling in the deepest pleasure, and then collapsing on your bed shaking and feeling so ashamed. promising yourself that you never do it again. Of course it never worked. You’d feel the desire growing in you. You could hold it off for a while, ignore it and push it away. If it got too strong you might rub your legs together, try to ease some of that painful and embarrassing tension.

Then maybe, if you were at school, excuse yourself, or if at home slip into the bathroom or bedroom. You would try not to let yourself cum. Just gently touch, tell yourself that it was okay if you didn’t cum. Feel the warmth and wetness between your legs. Of course sometimes you couldn’t stop yourself from going too far. The cocktail of guilt, pleasure, and release was intoxicating. addicting even.

You quickly discovered that it was a release that could ease your mind of stress. Your body reacted to pressure by tensing up, building frustration between your legs. When school life got difficult for you, issues with friends or just the workload, you would do it more. You would become distracted easily with thoughts of things you watched, and stop in the middle to slip your panties off and reach under. You had almost no control of it.

It's time, You realize you need someone...yes, this is embarrassing but you need someone to rape you to make you feel happy in this life, though just a Lil. But you realize it's difficult to find someone with this mentality. Someone else who hear about rape, sexual assault, or an otherwise sexually horrible thing that happened to a woman. Who also gets excited, turned on, and feels blood rushing to their nether region. This isn’t the case with anyone close to you.

Someone else who’s always had fantasies about female suffering and destruction. Breaking mind, body, spirit, soul, and life, until she’s discarded like a worthless piece of trash. But that also doesn’t stop the other side from finding it horrible. And it makes you incredibly sad.

It’s a pretty confusing feeling. Rape kink is one thing but to get turned on while being sad by hearing about real incidents makes you ashamed. But the shame only fuels it more.

So are you alone here? Are you a freak even in this community? Are you just a sick fuck?

You're not alone. We will have each other.

You think you're alone. You think that nobody can except this part of you.

You're not alone.

Perhaps it’s true. you feel no one sees you. Maybe you’re an island. Maybe you’re floating through space, with no one to connect to or belong to. Maybe you’d give everything just to have a real, authentic moment with another human being.

There are so many of us. We’re all alone. We all want to belong to someone else. We want to have someone to communicate with. We want to share ourselves with people that actually see us for what we are. We want to be seen.

I see you…

I know…

I will love you, because you are mine. You belong with me.