Ok. I’ve been dragging my feet on this one a little.

I think normally I try and get a writing out while the bruises are still fresh. Before the permanent marker fully washes off. While the bitemarks still have individual teeth visible. For a whole variety of reasons, I haven’t sat down and thumped this one out, and now it’s basically a whole week after the dang thing. But… The bruise is still pretty fresh. It’s gonna be visible for a few years I think. So I’m gonna give myself a little grace on it. This is probably still going to be pretty scattered. I’ll keep working on it, and getting more thoughts out as I go. Apologies for the thought shotgun.

Fuck

I love playing Monks in DnD because I like the idea of complete self reliance. I don’t need my special magic weapon, I don’t need a spellbook. You can’t disarm me.

I put my writing up beforehand about what was going to happen and why I was doing it, and I got a little angry and a little sad and a little intense. I think that was good. I wanted that writing to show that I was aware of what all I was playing with, that I was trying my best to be aware of the emotions tied up in this. I wanted it to serve as a warning for people, that the scene was probably going to be heavy. I think when I was sitting in the dungeon, looking at the floor, waiting for it to begin, I had a few big fears. My biggest fear, the one I’d been sitting with for what felt like eternity, was the fear that this would be an amputation, that this would be something that ends me, at least temporarily, that I’d go back to being… off, or in a holding pattern, that this would ruin my friendship with my lovely bully who was taking part in this, that this would ruin relationships, that the people I love wouldn’t recognize me as me anymore, or that they wouldn’t be interested in a less beautiful version of me. In a lot of ways, ironically, it was the same flavor of fear I felt around coming out as trans: will I still love me, will other people still love me. But underneath the wide umbrella of that fear, a fear that felt all-encompassing and was almost fading into the background of my psyche at this point, was the fear that the scene actually wouldn’t hit for S and I, or that it wouldn’t hit for the room. I was terrified that I wouldn’t get the catharsis I needed out of it, that I would have wasted everyone’s time, that I would need to fake something profound for the benefit of the audience, that they would feel obligated to watch the two loud mods do their stupid scene to stay in good standing with the group but that they wouldn’t feel the teeth, they wouldn’t feel the ‘car crash you can’t look away from’ that I love subjecting an audience to.
I don’t think any of these fears were necessarily unreasonable. But ultimately, I don’t think any of them came true. I was resurrected, the damage done was not insurmountable. But I was sundered, I was undone in the way I crave. And the basement full of perverts, voyeurs, friends, enemies, and lovers (I certainly hope) got their fucking money’s worth. I am not permanently broken. I was shattered enough to satisfy me. I hope I satisfied you.

I’m shocked how long the brain fog lasted. I didn’t really notice it while I was inside of it, because of course, but this last Wednesday I’d finally gotten like, 12 hours of sleep the night before, I took an amazing shower, I felt like this cloud had finally lifted. I’d been in panic brain since the previous Thursday, I’d just been flopping around my house numb and stupid. There was an initial little peak Sunday when I knew I was going to be ok, but I was still just spread so damn thin. Wednesday was the first day where I actually felt ok, and I felt… way more than ok. I’d taken the fucking hit. I was still moving. I was still hot. People still liked me. Since then I’ve finally started riding some of the masochist high from the scene instead of just dread or numbness.

I wanted to prove my gender isn’t in my hair. I’m not interested in tricking anyone into thinking I’m something I’m not. I wanted to prove it to other people and I wanted to prove it to myself. The two major outcomes I’d anticipated, once all the dust settled, was that this would be absolutely horrific for my dysphoria and I would look like the boy I’ve been trying to bury for years, or I’d look like a girl with short hair. I figured I had a maybe 80 or 90 percent chance of ‘winning’ in this scenario. I rolled the dice. I think at this point, it’s mostly settled. And I feel like a girl with short hair. I made my bet.

My mom, who traditionally has been on the wrong side of basically everything to do with my gender, looked at the pictures I sent and said “It’s somehow more feminine than your long hair”. Something about the cut and color just gives classic 90s dyke in a way that is timeless and easily readable. If the King of the Hill guys were going to introduce the BDSM lesbian from the city, this might be how they’d draw her. It makes my face look all cute and soft. I think it helps with my domme side a lot too, there’s a pretty big subset of the population that fundamentally wants a girl who looks like this to be mean to them. There’s a weird psychosexual fixation on “mean gay people who have more sex than you”, and that’s what I’m channeling.

Something I’ve noticed though, now that I’m in the Good Feeling part of it, is I just feel… overall better about my body? Like, I feel better about my weight, my tummy, my chin? I feel so fucking free from expectation, from what I should look like. I didn’t really anticipate pulling that much power from it but it’s a helluva nice side effect.

To everyone who was there and took the scene pretty hard: Thank you so fucking much. I think if we’d been doing this in an empty basement it still would have hit me pretty hard, but knowing you were all there, crying or tearing up or breathing with me… I’m glad this affected you all. I’m glad you went there with me. I think a lot of performance art has aspects of horniness to it, and I think this is the most “performance art” type of kink scene I’ve ever done. I heard from a close friend that the hardest moment for her was when S adjusted the full length mirror and my friend suddenly had to contend with seeing herself in the mirror, watching the scene. Observation is a kind of participation, and if anyone needs any reassurance or aftercare after that still, please reach out to me. But I hope that fundamentally this was still horny for you all! I was abjectly degraded in front of you all so that my tormentor could experience the absolute blood-pounding power-trip of pushing her thumbprint over the way I look for the next few years. That’s kinda fucking hot, right?

The other thing that’s come rushing back as the brain fog cleared is the horniness. Jesus fucking christ I’m so goddamn horny. Did you see that? Did you see the way I suffered like a piece of meat because my bully wanted to do something horrible to me? Did you see how I took it like a good little victim? FUUUUUUUCK that’s so hot. I cannot believe I let someone do that to me. I cannot wait to see how the photos from that look. I can’t wait to revel in my anguish all over again, to share that all with you again.

I don’t really have the “hurts so good” kind of masochism (aside from maybe getting hit with a heavy flogger). I don’t laugh when I get caned, I don’t have those particular pervert lines crossed. The hurting is good because it makes me feel bad, and the feeling bad because it makes someone else happy is what makes me horny. It’s why I end up drawn to the most vicious sadists, they get sooooo happy hurting me and it makes my dumb little victim head all fuzzy. And holy fucking shit this one made me feel bad. There has not been a more “feeling bad” scene for me. And S, and hopefully all of the rest of you, got to just drink it up with a straw. I was wrung out like a sponge, I was shorn for the entertainment of others. I get dizzy thinking about it. God that’s unreal hot.

As usual, with one of these enormous over the top scenes, I’m not “worried I’ll never be able to do something even bigger”. I’m terrified because I know that given enough time I will surpass it. Maybe that’ll be the one that finally breaks me. If it does, I hope you all are watching.

Because: my suffering only matters in so much as it is pleasing to others.

So thanks for reading :3

I think I might write a little more about the politics of it/a little more about transness and how it relates to this scene, but if you have questions you want me to go over in the next outpouring, comment here and I'll see if I have interesting answers for them.