I think there is truth to this


I feel uncomfortable when there isn’t some physical niggle distracting me. A slightly strained muscle from running, a little cut on my hands from cooking, some claw marks from when I picked up the cat when he really, really didn’t want to be picked up. 

It feels almost like complacency when there’s nothing wrong. Nothing to overcome, to beat, to push past. If my body isn’t healing itself, then how do I know it still can? It’s about having a constant tension, something to pull and push against, that reassures me.

D/s fills that role for me, only mentally. It’s a life-affirming pursuit, that is a mental bruise that lets me know that I’ve still got a mental to bruise. Life is about tension, about the constant pressure between two things, and D/s is the distillation of that. It’s why so many are drawn to it, and at the same time why so many consider it dangerous or perverted. Some people enjoy complacency, some people enjoy feeling numb, and safe, and perfectly ok. 

They’re the ones I’m worried about.

A veneer of complacency and safety is what breeds the true monsters in this world … lust will find its outlet one way or the other …

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