As I add more stories and bits to my Patreon and wade through the history of my thoughts- my bitter, envious, ageist, ablelist, fat-shaming, misogynistic, heteronormative thoughts- and realize that this was all present at or before I became an official adult, I came to terms with when all my ideas arose, where they came from, what they morphed into.
Especially as I come across words and ideas I wouldn’t be caught dead formalizing into stories. Like, how could I have ever thought like that? How did I change for the better?
Now I remember certain conversations with family and friends that were backed by things that I read here and there, and how that helped me get to where I am. Like fat-shaming. I remember arguing with my brother, I’m paraphrasing, that ‘morbidly obese’ people didn’t need to be protected from fat shaming.
“What do you mean, morbidly?”
“As in they are killing themselves with being fat?”
“Other people kill themselves- slowly- in different ways. Like smoking. Do you smoke-shame people?”
He attacked the root of the problem- and it’s not like I got it then and there. Then and there I still believed he was dumb and that we needed for people to know that being fat is bad.
Fucking stupid, I know.
So fast forward to a (hopefully) more knowledgeable and compassionate me who’s posting fantasy BDSM porn between intersex individuals.
Absolutely no part of that formulated in the last eleven years that is my adulthood. I can trace my most initial ideas way back to kindergarten, where I often imagined my dolls, the plastic-y ones like Barbie, being beaten by monsters. Like, that’s what I tried to think of before going to sleep, hoping I would dream it. Or thinking of swimming my entire body among hot oatmeal. Or going through the heightened mode of experience which happened when I was about to get a spanking.
Now, before you think about a five-year-old’s sado-masochistic daydreams, I want to tell you that I had absolutely no sexual innuendos with these thoughts. Even if many of the characters in my head were naked, it was just easier to have them naked rather than everyone taking off their clothes. That definitely came later.
As might be apparent by the last example of me getting into the proper headspace to be beaten, perhaps these imaginings were the product of physical abuse. My mind tried to cope and it did it a wee bit too well, until I got to this point. But I never imagined it was my parents doing the beatings- At this, I would get too angry or sad, and that wasn’t fun bedtime material.
Then I watched porn for the first time. I think it was 3rd grade? 4th? There was a ‘red tape’ that I watched in Louisiana with my cousins, and a ‘blank tape’ that I watched with my siblings. Someone had stolen the red tape, but I remember the ‘blank tape’ enough to remember that I didn’t just watch it. There were, in particular, two scenes. The red tape had a scene way at the end that I liked, and the blank tape had a scene somewhat in the middle.
The main differences between these scenes and the others that I didn’t like is that they talked. The kind of humiliating talk you often hear in porn. The type of humiliating talk when an abusive person is feeling particularly vicious verbally, without all the sex stuff.
Once they stopped talking and continued the sex in earnest, I would turn off the video and go to bed, hoping to dream.
As time went on, I got less spankings and more yelled at, more humiliated, and with that, the inner stories voiced themselves. At this time, I was reading like a fiend, mostly fantasy, but also a bit of history, and whatever book the librarian or reading teacher said I should read. For example, “My Brother Sam Is Dead”. It had one of those stickers that often portended a really good book, but I didn’t like the title, and eventually the library assistant said I should read it.
I cried.
And people died in my inner stories.
And then I watched the 90s ‘movie’ called Ai no Kusabi.
This young man called a mongrel who lived in the slums of a city in the far future is kidnapped by the most elite of the elite and forced to provide for him sexually. Although, at the beginning, blond dude saved the mongrel’s life, and he really didn’t want to owe anything to an Elite, and was like, “Fuck me, and we’re even”. Blond guy kinda liked it too much.
It encapsulated all my desires at the moment. Sexual tension and humiliation, a sci-fi fantasy background, a relatable plot, and characters who I knew weren’t ever going to find happiness.
It was around this time that I realized I only liked porn between women, but everything else was fair game. I don’t have a clue why. It’s pretty much the same now. If the woman isn’t enjoying herself, I find little point to watching it- although I don’t feel the same if there is a man in the scene. However, if it’s a scene between gay men, they both must obviously enjoy it. But it’s hard to find anything I like.
Like above… After this, it was mostly content that changed. I added a few fetishes like vore and vampirism to my list, stopped using ‘fat’ as a character trait, and realized how much I wanted neurodivergent characters to get the front seat. These were more expansions of creativity rather than base instincts.
It’s not like my parents were, in my childhood, supportive in much of any of my creative interests. But I didn’t do it to spite them either. They came naturally.
But how much of it was truly nature? One of my earliest memories is throwing up in my car-seat and my dad reaching back to smack me. He kept saying not to puke. I don’t think I have the whole story there, but it’s just to put into perspective how not clear-cut everything is.
It doesn’t help that my siblings each have a bit of everything that I have, although not the whole package. Then again, they have eccentric things that they do that I don’t.
Who cares?!?!?!?!?!
Yea. What is the point of all this? It doesn’t change anything.
Still, when I think that I’m writing out my childhood trauma and everything that I am stems from being beat and humiliated and traumatized- unhappy as a kid, it makes everything feel so… fake. As if… If the whole world was perfect, if no one suffered, no one would have these thoughts. I would not be me.
But then I think. That would have been nature too. A non-traumatized life can only be made by a life without trauma- haha, like, duh, but what I mean is, effects are made by what happened. There is nothing inherently ‘special’ of having a good childhood-only that it’s good. There is also nothing inherently ‘special’ of having a bad childhood- only that it’s bad. They are both formulated on equal grounds by equal means. We just like them differently. As long as it ends well, who cares where the influence comes from?
It’s ended well, I think.
The World Ends With Me 