Grit and Skin and Blood

I’ve never been one for daisies and sunsets. I want grit and skin and blood.

E was as gritty as men come. His sexuality was made out of rusted metal. He would show me every feeling he had, no matter how feral. Then, when he’d put all his hunger away, he would cry. The thin swathe of skin between his restraint and emotions let everything leak through—every grating need. His sexuality was a stampede, and it carried both of us away. After we’d had sex, I felt as though I’d been gutted.

I like feeling gutted. It feels real.

A man who has no qualms is worth his weight in osmium. I’ve only met one in my lifetime, and that was E. You know what I liked the most? The way he took what he wanted. I spend half my life thinking about D/s ethics and compassion, but truth be told, I value a man who can take.


If you want to be a spectacular dominant, dig in the filth of your sexuality and find what it wants. When you do, dig deeper. Then dig deeper still. Dig out all the lust and then bury your shame there. A man who’s done that is easy to spot. He looks at you as though you’re a kobe steak.

I like being looked at like that. It’s why I’m a sub.

Yes, I get a Pollyanna high out of submission, but I can get that feeling from anyone. I don’t have to be attracted to them for that. No. My submission exists because I love being used and, contrary to popular belief, that feeling can’t be evoked by just anyone. Not if you’re an evolved and ethical person, anyway, and the selfishness of two-bit misogynists and misandrists just doesn’t have the same effect. Humanism is a necessary foundation, or it just feels like abuse.

E was carnal. His willingness to fuck without feelings is exactly what made it so intimate. When two lascivious spirits meet, it’s like peeling off the skin and leaving only the bruises behind. You’re closer than you ever were, having seen something that some people never see even once in their lives. Maybe I’ll never meet another man like that. Maybe I will.

I hope I will.

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