Categorical, Generic Degradation

While I was sick my sex drive plummeted. This is normal enough. But my libido has never languished like this before. Usually this brings a sense of loss: a valuable part of me is missing. This time it assumed artic indifference. My sexuality seemed a fact of history, a minor one.

Sort of.

My submissiveness doesn’t seem much affected by my libido.

My masochism may dwindle to zero but I never lose pleasure in the image of myself humbly kneeling. That mystifies me to no end.

And I did wonder what it would be like to be mocked for having to sex drive. That with the oxymoronic psychology of masochism aroused me. When my sexuality returned anyway.

Not being in a relationship, there’s no reason for me to feel guilt in sexlessness.

Back when it was a buzzword one might have called it a craving for existential degradation or humiliation. Let’s call it categorical degradation: being found at fault, despicable for some generic quality.

Masochists, at least emotional masochists like myself, famously crave being punished for arbitrary reasons. Sane tops, bless their damnably rational hearts, often find this off-putting. I think it is a product of our desire to push at the boundaries, to go to the extreme. (And it cheers me considerably when someone like Eileen or Myles are open about the dark fantasies some tops have.)

I don’t think I’ve confessed the following before. You see, I’m a bit ashamed of these feelings. Not so much ashamed as feeling vulnerable in admitting them.

I have had fantasies of being dismissed as a “mere male creature.” I don’t feel any shame in my gender. Honestly I think considering my date of birth it was luckier to be born a man. Otherwise I view my gender is what sperm and an ovum did when the dice were rolled.

I have fantasized being called a “faggot.” My same sex desires have caused me not one second of regret. I’ve tended to despise gay men who find straight men especially sexy. I hate that. And I’ve often called myself a fag: it was a radical faery way of reclaiming and disempowering a hate word.

My peculiar desire for this kind of lowliness rejects anything about which I actually feel self-doubt. Experiences that pass into potential emotional harm pass beyond my conception of risk aware.

The magnetism is in the senseless arbitrariness.

A relevant earlier note: The Quest for the Unconditional