About humiliation

This is ... different.

I offered/was asked to write about humiliation, generally speaking. In the second person. Without identifying much of anything, to just talk about the way it works, the reasoning, the thoughts. I don't know how erotic this will be.

Please, let me know.

Why you like humiliation

It's okay. Really. Those desires you have, those ideas you toy with, it's okay. It's normal.

Well, it's not normal. It's not something that normal people desire. If everyone liked that sort of thing, if normal people enjoyed that sort of thing, it wouldn't have the same power for you, would it? You only like it because it's not normal to like them. You enjoy the taboo, the temptation of doing the things that others would frown on.

That's not to say you want everyone to know. No, nothing like that. You want it stay a secret. You need it to stay a secret. If it comes out, if everyone knows, that will lose the appeal. It's not a desire to have everyone look at you, knowing those things you do, and be disgusted. You don't actually want them pointing at you, laughing and mocking.

You don't want everyone to know, because the secret is part of the fun. Part of the joy is knowing that others don't know what you're doing. They think you're a normal person, don't they? They think you have the same normal desires everyone else has. And that's what you want. You want them to have no idea what really goes on in your mind. No idea what disgusting thoughts you entertain. No idea what filthy things you want to do.

Maybe it's a matter of fear. What if those desires are normal? What if it turns out that everyone is as perverted as you? What if they find out about those fantasies of yours, those things that send such a rush of shame through your body, and it doesn't bother them? What if they don't care? What if you really don't matter to them?

Those aren't questions you want answered. Those are the questions you like to have, the ones that burn in your mind. You want to wonder. You want to know if they can tell. Was that really a look of judgement? Do they know what's really going on? Do they know what you have beneath your clothing, what you're like under the skin?

It's terrifying to think of what would happen if they could hear your thoughts, isn't it? But still, you hope. You hope that maybe that one knows. The one you find attractive. Maybe those signs you're picking up, the ones you dismiss as being your imagination, maybe they're real. What if they are? What if you really could do all those things you fantasize about, if only you had the courage to ask?

But you won't ask. You won't build up that courage. Because what if the answer is no? What if you ask, if you expose that inner most part of you, and you get rejected? It's possible that the rejection will be a good one. Maybe you'll be chastised for the things you want. Maybe you'll be told that you're disgusting. That you're a pervert. A deviant. That there's something wrong with you. That you're pathetic, worthless. Maybe you'll be called a piece of shit, or a worm, a slut, a whore, filth, scum. Maybe you'll be called these names, and you'll look up, your face red with shame, and you'll see a smile. Maybe the rejection won't be a real rejection. Maybe it'll just be a test. And once you make it clear that you really are so pitiful, so trashy, maybe the rejection will turn to acceptance. Maybe you will have found someone who wants to treat you as badly as you want to be treated. Someone who can accept you and your faults -so many faults- and loves you anyway. Someone who wants to remind you of your place in life, who wants to let you take that place, that lowest of places, and who will still care about you. Who will love you despite your perversions.

But maybe not. Maybe the rejection will be the bad kind. The real kind. Maybe you'll expose your desires, and you'll be met with laughter. Not the mocking laughter you desire. The laughter of someone who doesn't believe you. Who thinks you're joking. No one really likes that sort of thing. You must be kidding. And then there will be that awkward pause. That wait for you to admit that you were joking. And you will. You'll smile, and you'll say it was a joke. Then you'll hate yourself.

Or maybe it'll be worse than that. Maybe you'll work up that courage, you'll admit your desires, and you'll get the worst possible reaction. Those two words, the ones you dread to hear when telling others of the things you want to do, the things you want others to do to you. Maybe you'll hear them, and your hopes, high as they may be, will come crashing down. You'll confess your most horrible desires, your most disgusting urges, and they'll say those words. “Me too!”

Or worse “That all?” or “So what?”

What happens then? You think of the depths of degradation you want to sink to, the acts you want to perform that are so repellent that they nearly have you vomit at the thought, that they make you hate yourself for how badly you still want to do them. What if you finally admit those desires, and the person you admit them to tells you that your desires are tame? That you aren't as pathetic as you want to be. That you aren't grinding yourself into the filth at the bottom of the barrel. Your desires are just not that bad. Not that kinky.

You're not special.

That would be the worst, wouldn't it?

We both know that deep down, it's about pride. Not about losing your pride, not about getting humiliated. It's not about someone taking away your power, degrading you so that you will be submissive to them, so that you will take your rightful place as lesser than they are. It's about pride in being different. It's about you being pleased that you can handle those things.

You have to be proud of your desires. If they didn't make you proud, knowing how deeply you can sink, how far down you want to go, then there wouldn't be any shame. If you actually believed you were worthless, you wouldn't feel shame at wanting to be treated that way. You feel the shame because you know you're better than that. You know that you're special.

That's what really stops you. That's why you don't want everyone to know about your urges. That's why you don't want everyone pointing and laughing. It's not the fear of what they would do. It's the fear of what they wouldn't do. It's the fear of finding out that you're not special. That your desires aren't strange. That you don't shock people.

That's the fear.

That you're normal.

That these desires, these thoughts you have, they're normal.

What if everyone liked being called the names you want to be called?

You don't want to be like everyone else. You want to be different. Unique. Strange. Perverse. Odd. That's what this is all about, isn't it?

That's why people can't find out the truth. You tell yourself that they'll be disgusted. You tell yourself that some of them might be turned on, might want to treat you the way you want to be treated, the way no one should ever be treated without their consent. You hope that everyone will have one of those reactions. Strongly turned on, or strongly disgusted. Either one would work. Either they'll love you or they'll hate you.

But deep down, you know that hate is not the opposite of love. You know that there's more than just those two options.

The opposite of love isn't hate. The opposite of hate isn't love. The opposite is apathy. And that's the worst of all. What if people are apathetic?

What if they don't care?