First Principles

The truth is, most of my life, I've kept this side of myself hidden in the shadows. I play the sweetheart, the caring friend, the good listener, the shoulder to cry on. Only a rare few have heard about the things I do. Only a very select elite have gotten to directly experience this side of me in action.

Generally, I suppress my desires. I don't talk about them, I don't brag about them, I just keep them to myself, with memories and journal entries as trophies to remind me of the things I've done. I don't randomly rip into strangers; I don't start off a study session by talking about how I can make people cry and make them beg me for more. I blend in, I bottle it up.

Until finally, I meet the right person-- someone I've sized up to be susceptible. I play the friend until I understand how they work, how they think, how they feel. I draw it out as long as possible, waiting until the time is perfect, until I'm overwhelmed with anticipation.

And then I start small. Push them just a little, and make them feel uncomfortable, and then bring them back to equilibrium, and watch as they deal with the confusion and the conflicting emotion of embarrassment and desire. Often, I start so small, no one but me could ever notice the dynamic.

For example, I might start by using imperatives instead of interrogatives-- "Tell me what chapter the quiz will cover" instead of "What chapter will the quiz be on?".

Or I might start by telling someone to "hold on" during a phone call, and then leave them on hold for an uncomfortable length of time. And then, upon my return, I don't apologize or even mention anything about leaving them hanging.

Or when accompanying a future victim to a grocery store, as their purchases are all being rung up, I grab one tiny item and place it in front of the cashier, with the unspoken understanding that my "friend" is going to buy it for me. After all-- she just bought $100 worth of groceries, what is a fifty cent pack of gum? But the fact that I don't ask permission, don't even think to ask permission, is just the start of a long journey that begins with apparent innocence and ends with my total control and their tears.

I've made that journey numerous times. There are probably about 50 individuals that I have "danced with" long enough to remember their names. Each is unique. Some journeys are short, some are long seductions. Some people, the ones I don't care about, I hurt instantly. For others, the ones I value, I take my time and slowly work my way into their minds and their hearts until they can't even remember where my desires end and their thoughts begin.

But I've always wondered what it would be like to shed my cloak of subterfuge and faux-innocence. What would it be like just to talk, upfront, about who and what I am? I began to wonder what it would be like just to proclaim, to the world, what it is I do to people. What would it feel like, I wondered, to tell the world exactly what sorts of things I enjoy?

And the comical thing is this: I don't have to hide. People will still seek me out. People will still want me. People will want me even more. I can warn you, I can tell you that I will bring you nothing but pain, but you will still pursue me. One of the things I want to get out of this website is this: the humor and joy of telling a man upfront I intend to hurt him and watching how he STILL cannot resist me.

The Medium is the Message

And this brings me to my second motivation for creating this site. My life is a work of art, painted with the pigments of human tears on a canvas of reality. I sometime marvel at the beauty and, dare I say, genius of my own work. The games I play are both sublime and grotesque. My mindfucks employ harmony and dissonance. When one sees such pleasures as I have bestowed and such pain as I have inflicted, what name can one give to it all but "Art"?

And yet my masterpieces have languished in the shadows, appreciated only by a select few. They are indelibly branded in the minds of my victims, of course. And these works exist in my own recall, with my journals and my souvenirs and my gifts adorning my masterpieces like a frame. But this is simply too narrow an audience for a work of this magnitude.

I want to take this side of myself and make it manifest-- give it a home, an address, a physical form. I want people to revel in the beauty of my cruelty, and I want to show the world what someone like me is really like.

My work has been trapped for too long in the gallery of my own memory; it's time for my cruelty to become a traveling exhibition.

The Question on Everyone's Mind

I'm often asked if this is a sexual thing for me. Well, it depends. There's invariably a high from hurting another human being. Sometimes it's an emotional high. Sometimes it's an intoxicating rush of confidence and ego. Sometimes it's a delicious revulsion at how low another human being will go, at how disgusting a creature a human being can be. Sometimes it's pure joy-- a symphony where I am the composer and conductor, the instruments are the minds of the weak, and the outcome is simply magnificent.

And sometimes, every now and then, on top of all of those other delicious sensations-- it's fucking hot.