There've been times when I've questioned whether I was actually a pervert. Is it a thing deeply ingrained in me, or is it a thing I kinda made up to be Special and Different? Or worse yet, a thing I only like to make me unhappy, something sad and damaged?
Nope! I'm just a pervert!
I was talking to a friend who's a sadist and I felt myself responding to him in truly eerie ways. Not just getting horny, but feeling in some weird fuzzy way that it was right. That I was downright happy he wanted to hurt me. Lucky. How often do you find someone who will take pleasure in giving you exactly what you want? It's like free ice cream!
I always feel awkward and get that weird sense of "is this okay?" when I post about people who read this blog, and I'm pretty sure he does. (The line between "telling my most intimate secrets" and "telling everyone's most intimate secrets" can get awful thin. Or, you know, nonexistent.) So, uh, hi Mr. Sadist! I like you! That's what I'm really saying here.
You're cute! Please hit me!