Last week, I finally wrote about my stalking kink, after turning it over in my mind for months. It’s tricky to effectively communicate exactly what it is in practice, but I did my best to communicate the principles of it: namely, that I want to be obsessed over by someone who utterly, unreasonably adores me.
The problem with a fantasy like this one is that you can’t actually fulfil it. Much like rape fantasies, you can kinda-sorta role play it in a way that juuust about scratches the itch, with negotiated limits, safewords and aftercare. (I once knew someone who negotiated a rape role play scene with somebody she’d never met, who burst into the hotel room she’d told him she was staying at and played his part brilliantly. She had a brilliant time, but I can’t reasonably say I endorse this as the safest way to satisfy a rape/consensual non-consent kink.) The trouble is that if you’ve requested it, negotiated it and put safety measures in place for it, no matter how good you and your partner(s) are at pretending, you will never capture the essence of the fantasy you have. You’ll have a really fucking hot scene, and that might well be enough for you, but in my experience, at least, you will never quite reach the place you want to go, because you can’t without it becoming unsafe and quite possibly unpleasant.
With my stalker fantasy, the paradox is thus:
- I want someone to stalk me because it will make me feel desired.
- If someone does stalk me in real life, the chances of me actually enjoying it, rather than being terrified and feeling violated, are slim as hell.
- If someone I know and trust stalks me in real life upon my request, it would feel hollow, since they aren’t driven by their obsession with or adoration of me.
So what can be done?
Role play doesn’t cut it. It would be super hot, of course, to have someone I definitely trust and fancy pretend-follow me home and for me to pretend I don’t know who they are or how they know all the things they know about me, but knowing in real life that they have all this information because I gave it to them sucks the scene dry of any real conviction that the “stalker” is truly, ridiculously obsessed with me.
I’ve even thought to myself, “Surely the amount of time and communication and effort it would take to set up my perfect stalking scene would be proof positive that the other party really, really likes me, right?” but have always concluded that it’s not the same kind of liking. I don’t want someone to like me… collaboratively. I don’t want them to like me in part because I like them back and I show them affection. I don’t want them to like me in any part because of how I behave towards them. I want this liking to be wholly unearned – I want to know that they like me enough to break into my home based only on my social media profiles, my browsing history, my blog and my selfies. I want that to be the starting point.
And then I want to be so kind and patient towards them that it only gets worse.
To some extent, it’s a power thing – but not like the one-way power exchanges I usually play with. I want a stalker who is so unreasonably attached to me that they might stab me and keep my body frozen in their garage if they lose control of themselves, which would indicate the power existing in their hands, but then I want them to be so unreasonably attached to me that I would only need to say the words and they’d kill for me, or worse – so then the power is in mine. This fantasy revolves around an odd back-and-forth power dynamic with high stakes and an incredibly precarious balance. It is, at its core, a fantasy about danger.
There are other ways I can feel enormously wanted (rape role plays, pouting and asking for compliments, that time that somebody sent me a bunch of money through my Ko-Fi after I retweeted something with the sentiment, “If you’ve jerked off to my pics you owe me a Christmas present” attached to it) and there are other ways I can experience danger (suspension bondage, needle play, choking…) that don’t involve this frustrating, paradoxical fantasy. And I do those things. A lot.
But I keep coming back to this.
I know exactly where it comes from, of course, but that’s next week’s topic. This week, I just wanted to air my frustrations at the paradoxical nature of fantasies that have an element of non-consent to them, because it’s a frustration that isn’t often talked about. I don’t mean to diminish the fun and importance of consensual non-consent role play scenes, of course, which are usually the recommendation for frustrated rape fantasists, as they are for my niche kink. It’s just that role play, by design, has limits, and we don’t actually want what we think we want – or, at least, we have no safe way to find out whether what we want is truly to have our consent disregarded, because people who disregard our actual, real-life consent won’t stop where your fantasy stops (and also deserve to be eaten by worms, but that’s by-the-by).
I’m not sure if any of what I’ve said makes sense because it’s paradoxical and recursive and being written in the midst of assessment season at uni, but I hope it resonates, and I hope y’all will join me next week in unpacking where this kink came from and whether or not that matters.