My Stalking Kink Part 3: The Origin

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Content note: This post refers to being groomed and sexually abused online and briefly makes mention of the death of a parent and emotional abuse by father figures. Feel free to give this one a miss if any of those things will be hard for you; your wellbeing always comes first <3


My stalking kink is one of the few whose origin I can easily identify. It’s a two-factor thing, but this blog post is going to have three sections: fiction and culture, wanting to be wanted, and whether we should care about the origins of kinks at all.

If you haven’t yet read the other parts of my Stalking Kink series, part one, The Abstract is hyperlinked here and part two, The Paradox is hyperlinked here. If you’ve been avoiding this series for any reason (it doesn’t interest you, it freaks you out, you know all that there is to know on the subject of stalking kinks already…) then don’t worry, because this is its final instalment – and next week, we return to our regularly scheduled smut.


  1. Fiction and culture

My stalking kink blossomed organically alongside my adolescent sex drive. You see, when I first started exploring sexy things, I began with fanfiction, like many teenagers (especially assigned female ones) did and do. I already identified with the characters at hand, so smutty fanfiction felt more emotionally intimate than your typical PornHub fare, and reading it rather than watching it made it feel, among other things, more intellectual and less conspicuous than video-type porn.

However, I first started reading (and getting off to) fanfiction in around 2011, which was near the peak of the popularity of one hugely influential young adult novel series: Twilight. I was mostly reading fics from the Harry Potter and Kingdom Hearts fandoms and I regarded Twilight with disdain, so never actually interacted directly with it or the fanfiction it spawned… but the same can’t be said for the authors of the stuff I was reading. Twilight introduced, or at the very least fuelled, a trend of passionate romantic and sexual desire being conflated with possessiveness and, yes, stalking in young adult fiction. Even if I wasn’t reading it, I was reading things influenced by it, and I too was absorbing the message that stalking was a valid expression of desire.

I naturally moved away from believing that on a conscious level as I gravitated towards feminist media and feminist media criticisms. Feminist YouTubers and essayists convinced me that stalking and possessiveness were dangerous and abusive behaviours which often escalated and which were not remotely romantic, a belief which my Logic Brain still holds. But in repeatedly wanking to fanfiction where possessiveness and stalking were plot devices used to convey desire, especially in the formative years of my sexuality, I created a Pavlovian association between stalking and arousal.

A good eight years later, the thought of someone stalking me still gets me hot under the collar.

2. Wanting to be wanted

Fanfiction wasn’t the only thing that shaped my adolescent desires. When I was 15, I was groomed online by someone older than me. My first ever orgasms were achieved through his instructions. I explored my sexuality almost exclusively under his guidance.

He used the common abuse tactic of going “hot” and “cold” on me, sometimes showering me with affection and compliments and other times ignoring me, implying I was needy or otherwise putting me down. It left me confused and wounded and always striving to be “good enough” to meet his unknowable and impossible standards.

You can see where this is going, right?

On top of the borderline personality aspect of my mental illness, the fact that my dad didn’t stick around even before he drank himself to death and the typical teenage fear of dying alone, I was convinced I was unwantable, undesirable and unlovable. It is a conviction that has stuck with me, even now I have three loving partners and some admirers besides. I know for a fact that a lot of my stalking kink is rooted in a desire to be wanted at any cost and to the point of dysfunction.

3. Should we care about the origins of kinks?

Put simply: it depends. It depends on a number of things, including how problematic a kink’s origin is, whether using a kink to cope with its origin is preventing us from finding lasting closure, and how much we’re enjoying the kinky practices that have emerged from dubious origins.

In this case, I think it kinda matters. The fiction and culture aspect is more interesting than indicative of any real problems, but the part of my psyche that still sort of wants to be good enough for my abuser, even in a roundabout way, is a part that I’m wary of feeding. I don’t want to reinforce to myself that I have to be sexually or romantically desired to be a worthwhile person, or that sexual and romantic desire only manifest themselves in the dysfunctional ways that my stalker kink wants them to. It’s important to my long-term healing to maintain an awareness of those things and to avoid slapping the band aid of kink onto the psychic wound of being groomed and sexually abused. That isn’t to say that I can’t explore this kink at all; it just means I have to explore it carefully, and make decisions that take into account my emotional, psychological and physical safety rather than just ones which will fulfil some aspect of my stalking fantasies. I have a responsibility to myself and to the people I play with to be self-aware and cautious with something so psychologically charged.

On the other hand, even kinks with deep and complex origins like my Daddy kink are psychologically safe for me to practice. Yes, I grew up with one dead father figure and two abusive ones, but nothing is going to entirely negate my need for the approval of nurturing, authoritative older men, especially whilst society operates as a patriarchy. As long as I choose Daddy doms based on whether they’re safe, kind, caring people to play with, rather than simply for their Daddy-ish qualities, and as long as I acknowledge that this kind of play is no substitute for introspection or therapy, I consider it to be safe and even healing to explore my need for male approval within the framework of kinky roleplay.

I wholeheartedly believe that it’s the responsibility and choice of every kinkster to decide how closely they want or need to examine their desires, and to make choices from there about which ones to act out within kink. I’m a fragile person with a complicated past, and I don’t want partners to do me any unexpected harm that might in turn worry or harm them, so I’ve done a lot of introspective work to ensure that I know why I want to pursue kinks and whether those whys are healthy. I don’t believe in the implication drawn from the motto “Safe, Sane and Consensual” that kink has to be sane, or practised by sane people, but I do adhere to the “Risk Aware Consensual Kink” model, and I consider psychological introspection to be a part of making sure I’m aware of the risks of a scene or dynamic.


I really hope y’all have enjoyed this miniseries on my stalking kink! I recognise that it might be a little obscure, but I love hearing about kinks that aren’t my own and I know that other people feel the same.

As always, I always want to hear your thoughts in the comments or elsewhere, and I’ll see you all next week for Smut Saturdays #12!

My Stalking Kink, Part 2: The Paradox

Stock photograph of a cracked egg on a shiny black surface, its shell in two halves either side of the yolk and the beater of an electric whisk in the background. It is a vague allusion to the "chicken vs egg" conundrum and also was one of the first results when I searched a stock image site for "mess".

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:

  1. I want someone to stalk me because it will make me feel desired.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.

My Stalking Kink, Part 1: The Abstract

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I’m not often at a loss for words. Words are kind of my thing. When I came to realise that my autism might make it difficult for me to engage in paralinguistic communication (that is, communication outside of words, like body language, facial expression and tone), I committed to getting really good at words so that I could still articulate myself as well as any neurotypical person, albeit in a roundabout way, and so that I could understand my neurotypical loved ones as thoroughly as possible.

But I am kind of stuck as to how to explain my stalking kink.

Let’s start with a recurring non-sexual fantasy I have: I walk into my flat (‘flat’ being a nice way of saying ‘my bedroom which is also my kitchen’). There is an unconventionally handsome man sitting on my bed. To get there, I know he must have had to get into my building by stealing or replicating one of the fobs all the tenants get, and then by learning the code to open my door or else learning how to bypass it. I am floored and quietly terrified, and I prop the door wide open with my body for the whole interaction. I ask him gently how he got in here, who he is and why he is on my bed. He explains he’s been watching me for an unnerving length of time, has somehow accessed my building’s CCTV to learn which room is mine and the code it requires to enter, and that he hasn’t done anything weird whilst waiting me to return from Advanced Stylistics. (He does not explain how he knew I had Advanced Stylistics on my uni timetable today.) He tells me he’s been watching me like this because he’s in love with me.

I tell him very carefully that I’d be interested in getting to know him but I would appreciate it if he didn’t enter my bedroom without my knowledge or permission again. He accepts that even though he knows an alarming amount about me, I know very little about him, and we can’t dive into the passionate lifelong partnership he’d been imagining just yet. I ask him to leave so that I can unwind for the evening and process the fact that I just found a strange man on my bed. He obliges, but the energy that comes off him as he walks by me and out of the door suggests that it is taking every ounce of self-restraint you can fit into a human body to prevent him from pinning me to the door and making me his by force. A couple of hours after this encounter, he somehow intuits that I am too stunned to cook, and a Deliveroo driver knocks on my door with my favourite kebab from my favourite takeaway place, fully paid for. I learn that he even tipped the driver handsomely, as I would’ve done (if I’d had the money).

You may be starting to understand, reader, what I want from my stalker fantasy.

In essence, I want to be wanted so thoroughly that it overrides all social convention, but not so doggedly that it prompts my stalker to disregard or transgress my boundaries (except for the ones I haven’t made explicit, like “Don’t enter my room without my permission,” or, “Don’t watch me through my webcam”). I want to be so desired by this person that they drip precum when they smell the washing powder I use. I want them to masturbate to the selfies in which I’m fully clothed as well as the ones where I’m not. And I want them to have the patience and the self-control and the desperate need for me to like them that’ll make them proceed, however clumsily, at my pace when we finally meet.

I want to be lusted after and obsessed over and pursued.

It’s… a lot.

Next week I’ll talk in more detail about the paradoxical nature of fantasies that involve some element of non-consent (you want it, but it’s not what you want if the other person knows that you want it, but if they do it and you actually don’t want it then your want isn’t fulfilled, etc.) and the week after that I might explore the roots of this particular kink and when it is (and isn’t) useful to identify the parts of your psyche that birthed a fantasy.

In the meantime, though, I’d recommend listening to songs like The Horror Of Our Love’ by Ludo and ‘The Word You Wield’ by Say Anything, if you want an insight into some of the darker places my mind goes when I reflect on this fantasy of mine, and commenting or getting in touch if you have a similar fantasy, or a different take on the stalker vs. prey dynamic!