creatia

That's what you keep telling yourself. Your body and mind always felt the key turn, something switch on, something else off, when you were treated as 'just a mere woman.' The condescension, the paternalization, all of it. The most clear emotional reaction was outrage, defensiveness. But over time, you began to slowly feel something else.

And now you know what it was. All it took was seeing a handful of messages by men and gifs and videos of girls doing the most demeaning, derogatory activities: letting men line up to use them, treat them like a breeding machine. That vague feeling shot through the disgust and outrage and became unbearable to repress any longer. It was pure desire for submission under a man, his approval.

You divided your life to accomodate this desire. You can't repress it anymore, but letting truly free would break your entire identity: your beliefs, hobbies, passion, morals. So you let only some of it out, and only in private: alt accounts, the internet, misogynistic porn.

But it's still not enough. Why? It used to be enough to label it a kink and indulge only sometimes. But satisfaction became longing and you're on the slow, painful path to realizing that it's not just a kink. It's not something you can try to live a double life as a feminist with. But why? Why can't rubbing my cunnie to clips of men treating women as sex objects be enough?

Not just the sexual encounters, the forceful usage of your body by men you don't even know the names of. Not just having your innocent womb marked with the seed of countless men twice your age. But the kind of being fucked that involves tearing you down. That involves a man meeting you as you are, as you see yourself and want to be seen. A man who knows you through your hobbies, your passions, your interests. That knows you through late night talks about the future, the music you listen to, the political views you hold. That builds all of this, just to tear it all down.

For the thrill of the man who knew you through all of this forcing you down on the ground, spreading your legs apart, slapping your tits and sticking his hard throbbing cock inside of you. Reducing you, melting your entire personality away with each forced thrust until there's nothing left of you than what you really are: a female. A vessel to please men's cocks as you beg for it to seed you. That's what you truly want.

A man that sees everything about you that you built up. That intimately spent time with it. Only to tear it down. To thrust into you as if to mock all of that, make it obvious he knew they were all fronts for being socially validated, desirable, and wanted by men. Your clothes, your favorite movies, your political stances; the callouses on your fingertips from guitaring, or the subtle control of your own voice. All of it just a prop to mask your true desire. And the perfect man will do just that, strip it by force.