Read all about it

The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Thursday, 22 May 2008

Objects of Desire

I describe myself as a doll - not a slave in as many words, certainly a sub and very much about service. Something beautiful, an item of play that needs to be controlled or manipulated for best use. Over the course of the year (or more, who knows) I'll be working through some doll transformations, so I've decided to try and contextualise it somewhat.

To want to be treated as a thing, a woman-shaped space devoid of personality, choice or self-authorisation could be considered a little contradictory: I desire to be an object without desire.
For a plaything, sex is a mechanical process, it's not connected with love, need or even passion. Whilst I might be really rather enjoying (or hating) whatever is being done to me when I'm a doll, I can't or shouldn't, show it. That type of self-restraint, of pyschological bondage is exciting to me even just as a physical challenge - to stay still, to not make any noise, to only move in smooth, mechanical gestures.

As with most roleplay, I choose to put on this mask of identity, both physically in the way I look and behave and also emotionally. The doll doesn't worry, or get excited, it has no memory and no forethought. I get to totally disconnect from day-to-day existence even to the point of having a relationship with myself. I stop being me, and more to the point I stop being a "she". I become an it, and part of the pleasure is in letting go and becoming that wanted thing that has no wants in and of itself.

It is, however, a vehicle for someone else's lust, which can be powerfully erotic for someone who likes to be controlled, and there's nothing difficult about the concept of wanting to be wanted. The doll is an ongoing experiment for me, to become that exquisite item or that throwaway toy, to be a perfect object of desire, if only for a moment.

1 comment:

Savage said...

My childhood was quiet, my parents supportive. I have suffered no trauma greater than a broken bone or wounded heart. I get on well with people, and am in control of my life. My relationships have been sincere, caring and durant. I do not crave satiation, but dabble where I may.

Why?

To illustrate: my desires are neither symptom, nor disease.

Why, then?

It is not the petty insecurities of the alpha male complex, nor the simple urge to possess, but something more primal still. In those moments, I am three things.

I am an animal, drunk on sensation, instinct setting my every nerve aflame. I am a man, connecting with the other, sharing trust and warmth together. And I am a god. In my hands I cradle life, and dwell in a dream made real. The taste of omnipotence is rapturous.

So, why?

Because to have a beautiful. intelligent and assertive woman, the very embodiment of desire, say to me through her words and actions

"I am yours."

is to want for nothing else.