…because that’s what you’re used to. Even when faced, time and again, with your behavior not being normal, even when you fear it’s not normal (or hope it’s not), your own mind is still the default setting of your understanding of the world.
I can’t argue with that — I’ve made the same argument myself many times … and will probably continue doing so until I draw my last breath.
People live in their bubbles and I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to reply to “Oh, but everyone <something>” with “No … just all the people you know.”
Indeed, but just because you consider something normal doesn’t mean it’s the actual norm. And deviant simply means “not according to the norm”. Now I know you’ve had enough experience to realize a lot of people don’t get it. Couple that with the fact that they had to make a descriptor, just to give people the vocabulary to express this particular kink, the only logical conclusion is that it is (sadly) not the norm. And that, my friend, makes you a deviant.
Maybe (ironically) I just want to be different … and thus reject the categorisation as ‘deviant’ because it diminishes me as an individual, pigeonholes me along with all the other deviants … but somehow it seems that my experience of my partners … who ranged from women with no hangups of any kind to exhibitionists to women who were so hung up that they insisted on sex multiple times a day every day but wouldn’t discuss it or initiate it, just bemoan their lot, if it didn’t happen … has been that they all responded appropriately positively to some core behaviours — so, it seems to me that certain behaviours just are ‘normal’/universal, not unique to me (and ‘my kind’).
I dunno … as a youth I tried so … oh, so … hard to be weird but it just didn’t work.
Eventually, I stopped trying and was just myself.
Then people started telling me I was weird — which was really upsetting … and, if I’m honest, still is. Sure, maybe I’m not your average run of the mill ‘Joe’ but I really don’t think I’m that radically different to the rest of the species … I’m more open-minded than many, perhaps … as a result, more experienced and, hence, knowledgeable than many, meaning I’m able to entertain more unusual possibilities because I have experience of ‘different’ actually being at least as often the norm as ‘same’ … but that doesn’t make me a deviant in any more than the technical sense you described … it doesn’t make me a pervert — I’m still human … and adult, not a developmentally arrested or degenerate bedwetter. I’m a bit physical, perhaps, and … as an adrenaline junkie … might get a bit excitable when I’m excited but that doesn’t make me kinky. … doesn’t make me deviant … just more in touch with the reality of my physical nature as an animal.
Yes, sex is largely in the mind just as sexy is a state of mind, but it’s not the idea of freaky that gets me off. Freaky comes from my acceptance that what gets me off is not the norm, and my unwillingness to continue to bed people who just don’t get it. The lover in my head was often better than the lover in my bed, but then, since it’s in my head that’s what I’m used to. Much like you, it feels normal to me.
No, I didn’t mean that you like the idea of being freaky … it’s more meta than that: freaky really is a state of mind. Either you are freaky in someone else’s head or they are in yours or neither or both, but … whoever and whatever … it’s purely conceptual, so whatever you consider (or ‘accept’ as being) freaky is simply so because in your (or everyone else’s) mind it is so. If neither you nor they consider it so, it isn’t. Rewind a couple of centuries and the sight of a woman’s ankle could make a man feel very hot under the collar. Today? Not so much. What’s changed? Well, it isn’t the shape of women’s ankles, is it? On the other hand, you and I would both look at a foot fetishist and smile to ourselves at how weird their fetish were — although, maybe in my case, it’s just having been exposed to to my employer filming gay foot fetish porn during lunch breaks that makes me so blasé about it and you might think “What a freak!”, I don’t know (we all have our boundaries and other people’s are weird, so you might be oddly freaked out by foot fetishism, for all I know).
If something gets you off, it isn’t because it’s unexciting and, if … as you say … you are a freak in bed then, whatever it is that gets you off is, by definition, freaky — whatever it is that turns you on is a concept … literally an idea … so you are quite literally turned on by the idea of something freaky (because it’s actually only freaky in your head).
Oh, please, don’t act like it’s not by design. The whole presentation of your story was crafted to end up here. You name-dropped me in the hopes to end up here.
Now now … it is indeed always a pleasure to chat with you, but you know as well as I do that half the fun for me is the randomness of it: I throw out grenades and landmines and fireworks and bear traps and… and… and… willy-nilly and if someone gets hit … or steps on one … then that’s the thrill of the hunt and the perverse side of my nature giggles at the very randomness of it … at the cruelty of a cold, uncaring, universe in which shit just happens to people for no reason and it’s funny because it isn’t me (and, most importantly of all, because *I* did it … because I’m a ‘bastard’ HAHAHAHAHA!!!).
And, yes, there’s also that perverse part of me (that I sometimes wonder about) that likes to victimise select people for … no reason I can fathom actually … which is why I sometimes wonder about it and whether I might not be a latent sadist … but, on the other hand, there’s also the whole adrenaline rush that comes from provoking an adversary who might be a challenge. What is it again? Primal predator versus primal predator? Wrestling, clawing, biting, vying for superiority in the rough and tumble? Yeah, look, I’m an animal … even we humans start out that way, testing our strength and our limits; I’m just not ready to roll over and be old yet and still enjoy play fighting. So, yeah … I wander over to your place from time to time and make noises outside your hut, poke a - poke a - poke a - poke a stick through the doorway … because there’s the thrill of anticipation: will she/won’t she take a swipe at me? If she does, will I be able to get out of the way in time? If I don’t, how badly will it hurt? If I do, will she chase me? If she does, will I get away before she lands a blow (or a rock)? I just aten’t dead yet and …
But that doesn’t mean I hope you’ll ‘indulge’ me every time. Sometimes it’s enough to think you might smile wryly, grin or even sigh with weariness “This again?” I don’t need to see it every time. It’s obviously more fun to chase each other in circles until we collapse, panting with exhaustion … but sometimes the idea is enough.
Also, don’t forget there’s a whole slew of other people to discomfort/amuse with it … it isn’t only about you; I might throw a few rocks in your direction and get ready to run but, if you don’t show up, then there’s all the others to play with too — they need poking with a stick as well, you know.
I just felt like indulging you.
Like there’s a time when you don’t? 😜
