without substances to assist, how do we plunge into being and becoming the filth pigs we are? how do we go towards sharing that joy without getting out of it?
I’ve been chatting with a great guy in Denver over the last month. He and I share a common interest in an obscure sexual fetish: wrestler/coach roleplay, mixed with forced exercise, rubber suits, and laxatives. I’ve been eager to play with this guy, because it’s a really rare interest – I bet there are only a handful of guys in the country who would be into this.
I apologize for sharing a personal email, but last week he sent me this:
> I've thought alot about it - and I think moving from
> fantasy to reality is more than I can handle. I've
> read your personal webpage and you are indeed a
> bright and fascinating individual. I have been trying
> to find a way to either live out or break this passion
> inside of me - and this looked like a possibility.
> But ultimately, I only see more self-loathing as an
> outcome - and I hope you understand this is not a
> reflection on you at all - but rather a need to deal
> with something within myself. Perhaps this explains
> my constant need to purge myself.
This email broke my heart.
So, I wrote the guy a porn story. I don’t know if that can soothe his trouble mind, but I thought it couldn’t hurt. I had a few other ideas on how to “share the joy” as you put it
1) Be patient. Give the guy a lot of time and space. When he gets horny again, he might come back
2) He mentioned that he wanted to give me all his rubber gear. I accepted, but only under the stipulation that I am just storing it for him, and I wish one day he’d come over and pick it up. I thought it might help to offer him a chance to empty his apartment and his mind.
3) Talk and listen. Let him know that he’s not alone. That as creepy and weird he thinks his fetish is, there are people a lot worse. A lot lot worse.
4) The porn story I sent him was a blow-by-blow imagining of what I hoped would have happened that afternoon between us. I described how a scene could start and how it could continue. I thought by exposing the unknown it wouldn’t be so scary. And maybe he’d be interested in doing that scene for real.
To answer your question, I think being into raunch is tricky. It’s humiliating, disgusting, and dirty. And that’s a lot of the thrill of it. But it’s hard to accept it. If you truly embrace being a pig, you are in danger of wiping out the thing that makes it exciting – the lure of the forbidden.
I went to a lecture on scat at the South Plains Leatherfest last weekend. If was filled with a roomful of twenty-something goths looking for an internet-like voyeuristic thrill, a few edgeplayers boasting about extreme scenes they had done, and a dozen really embarrassed people who couldn’t believe that topic was being discussed at a mostly-straight leather event.
One participant talked about forming a “pig pride” flag for all the perverts to stand under. I disagreed loudly. I said that shit is the one perversion too far for the leather community. Most personal ads state at the end: no fats, no fems, no blood, no scat. And the funny thing is… I think most grunge guys want to keep it that way. We are the last outlaws in gay culture. In a world where PFLAG mothers talk about fisting, it’s nice to know that there is a love that should remain unspoken.
Accept your perversion. Practice it as often as you can. But never never think that it is normal. The dynamic between the sacred and the profane is what gives this type of play its power, in my most humble opinion.