Sometimes I fantasize about being a murder couple. The kind who feed off one another's urges until there's nothing but madness between us. There's something so incredibly erotic about existing in the darkness with another person who sees you completely and loves every twisted part of you. Not just loves you but thrives off knowing you're being satisfied by someone else. Participating and watching and pushing to make sure you're getting what you need.
I don't know how else to explain it: killing together is so fucking sexy.
It's the ultimate expression of trust. To show yourself and to see someone in a way that you both know is wrong but with each other, you can be open and vulnerable knowing they love you completely. It's sexy.
That's it. That's the only word I've got for it.
Sexy.
Of course, I've thought about inviting James fully into my world, but I know it's not for him. He has his own brand of madness and I love him as he is. And we've played with our food together plenty of times, I'm not worried about being vulnerable around him.
I admit, I enjoy relinquishing that small semblance of control when we're together. Letting him choose the victim, following his instructions when it comes to torture and dismemberment, feeling his eyes on me as I slowly sink my knife into another man's flesh - knowing it satisfies him to know I'm satisfied. Even if we aren't participating in the same way, we are sharing this dark and intimate thing. How can I complain?
Besides, the madness of two always ends in tragedy. Our insanity is beautiful because it's complimentary. If we were the same, I know we would end up hating each other - or the world - and then the romance would be over.
And I never want this dance to stop. Not with him. Not ever.
As always, dear readers,
Stay Safe
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