control, without consequence

I could run a sex dungeon. I just don’t think I’d feel anything in it.

I’m 6 feet tall. 280 pounds. Completely aware of myself.

And I think people misunderstand me. Or maybe I let them.

There’s something about the way I move through the world—
the way I look at people, the way I hold eye contact just a second too long,
the way my voice doesn’t ask — that i’ve been told makes people assume I crave control.

Not soft control. Not subtle. Dominance.

They project it onto me like it’s obvious. As if I am not new to idea of owning someone's genitals. Like I’ve been waiting to be handed that role.

And for a while—
I let them.

Not in some dramatic, leather-clad, fully realized version of it. Not in a way that felt like identity — although the fantasy I see vividly. I am so beyond sure I would look fantastic in some sex dungeon couture. A leather patrol hat, smoke from my joint curling in the air above me as it sits languidly in between my lips, man-spreading, staring threateningly at some man bound to his kitchen chair, pressing my knee high, high- heeled vintage Givenchy boot into his left testicle.

But in a quieter, more detached way.

Texting men I would never meet. Telling them to stay where I left them. Watching them wait for me— while I was somewhere else entirely.

At dinner with my family and friends. Laughing. Passing plates. Phone face down.

Knowing, somewhere else, someone was still exactly where I told them to be.

I have had men go buy markers to write my name onto their bodies— semi-permanence sketched in sharpie and pen like it meant something.

I’ve watched people offer themselves up— not because I asked, but because they had already decided who I was.

And the truth is … it was easy.

There are rules. There are expectations. There is a script. And I know how to play it. I know how to be looked at like something powerful without ever having to give anything real in return.

No risk. No exposure. No emotional exchange. Just performance.

And I told myself I was exploring. That this was curiosity. Active journalism. Figuring out what I liked, what I didn’t.

I almost met one of them. A kind of daddy of sorts. A little spicy white. A little corporate. An array of intrigues of mine. Contained. Controlled in every other area of his life.

I almost stepped into it fully. Almost made it real. Tied him to his bed post and unleashed something I wasn’t even sure I wanted.

But even then— I knew.

DUH this wasn’t about connection.

It was about control that never asked anything of me.

Because if you’re the one in control, no one gets close enough to see what’s actually there. No one asks what you want. No one notices if you hesitate. No one expects you to be soft.

You don’t have to be known— you just have to be convincing.

and yes it absolutely comes naturally, sometimes — the urge to be a little cruel. to say the thing that makes someone shrink just enough to feel it. to hold that kind of power and watch it land. and I won’t pretend I don’t understand it.

I do.

it’s easy for me. but I’m starting to realize— just because something comes naturally doesn’t mean it’s where I’m meant to stay. I don’t need to take every opportunity to be desired that way just because it’s offered to me.

but for a little while, I guess that worked in some way.

Until it didn’t. Because none of it ever really touched me. Not in the way I wanted to be touched. Not in the way that lingers.

Not in the way that makes you feel like you’ve been seen instead of just interpreted.

And then I met someone who didn’t need me to perform at all. Someone who didn’t project anything onto me —just looked. And stayed. And suddenly everything else felt hollow.

All the control. All the attention. All the carefully maintained distance.

It felt like noise.

Because for the first time, I wasn’t being seen as something.

I was just being seen. And that’s the difference.

Control lets me decide how I’m perceived. It lets me stay one step ahead. It lets me curate the version of myself people get to interact with. But it also keeps me untouched.

Connection doesn’t do that. Connection asks something of you.

It requires you to stay. To be felt. To risk being known.

What I’ve really started to understand more than ever is this:

Being desired as an idea is very different from being known as a person. And for a long time, I accepted the first because it was easier than risking the second.

Control is clean.
Connection isn’t.

Control is predictable.
Connection is not.

Control let me feel powerful without ever having to feel exposed.

But it also kept me alone.

I dream of worship in another way now. I feel it on my body differently.
I know the difference between being looked at and being felt. Because their hands—
wouldn’t have touched me the way his did… but that is a story for another time ;)

Either way, I think I understand it now.

Worship isn’t something I direct. It isn’t something I script. It isn’t something I have to hold together just to feel it happening. It’s something that arrives — without instruction, without performance, without me having to become anything first. AND if I ever chose to want to explore this further and step into this dominance, I want it to be with intention. With safety. With something that’s actually being built, not just projected onto me.

Not something that leaves me feeling discarded. Not something purely transactional, even if I understand why that exists. Because I was close. Closer than I expected myself to be.

Close enough to saying yes to something that, on paper, made perfect sense.

And still— my body hesitated before my mind could catch up. That quiet, instinctive… this isn’t quite me.

Not because I couldn’t do it. But because I didn’t want it like that.

I don’t want something handed to me just because I fit the shape of it.

I would want it to grow. Out of curiosity. Out of respect. Out of something mutual. Something that meets me instead of assuming me.

And I can feel the difference. In my body. In my skin. In the way I no longer want to be perceived as something.

I want to be met.