This I Shamelessly Tell You

Dark Thoughts, Wicked Urges, and A Little Paean to 'The Seattle Man' and His Strange Quirks

by Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid - September 2008
photo by Dr. Steve - Model: Krystal

I was watching a favorite television show earlier (Flashpoint, it rocks!), and really wanting the completely outnumbered victim to suck it up and blow the wicked perpetrators away, the idea for this column hit me like a magic lightning bolt. It was that moment of inspiration that gels the whirling goo that becomes word jello into what I want to say. I realized that I'd been thinking of this idea for a while, thinking about how I, like that victim, really have dark fantasies about going over the edge into that chaotic zone that most sane, ordinary people steer clear of, even run from. Those folks draw a hand across their brow after seeing all end well without carnage in a movie or a show where the victim gets the crap beat out of them but doesn't off her/his abusers.

Maybe that's why, though it was a lot unsettling, I liked the show where the guy blows the kidnapper away, urged on by his daughter, who's been kept like an animal in a basement, and who watched the same societal dreg kill and torture her best friend. I liked that father, and I felt a little, almost sexual thrill, watching him take the law into his hands.

My own dark urges are more about wishing I had the same kind of abilities the girl in Hellboy and Hellboy II had. When pushed she was able to flame the hell out of her enemies. It's like how I wish people who bother me at bus stops or on the bus could be turned to flaming pillars just at a flick of my wrist. Or how I wish I could get away with bending a certain co-worker at my other job over his desk and giving it to him, rapist style with the monster dildo I once saw in a favorite sex toy store. He screws with me, I'd like to screw him, literally, and painfully. I guess that's why, in the context of being a top, I enjoy that moment when my bottom cringes, a little plea on their lips, a cringe from the paddle or whip making me wetter and wetter, the more I pound them. I love that almost more than sex. I fantasize about things like going beyond their safe word and drawing blood.

Or being the vampire I like to think I am and biting someone until they bleed. I once had the most intense orgasm imagining a scenario like that with a tender, young woman I'd seen in a porn magazine. Ah, the joys of being Bi, you can be dark and wicked with both sexes! As in making an ex orgasm, while I was doing him with one of my favorite toys.

Or doing the same thing to a male bottom, and pretending I was the abusive boyfriend I once had, who I still think of as having the best sex with, but left anyway.

Then, there are the softer, less dark, but compulsive moments (which I let myself give in to recently, but asked first) when I want to touch the head of a bald man, or hit him, to hear that slap, just because. Or kiss passionately and take brutally some snooty blonde on her way to a club in her high heels and short, skanky dress. I was thinking that, I think, walking in Belltown, when I used to live there, and unfortunately, some unsavory toughs picked up on my intentions and started yelling at me, so I ran to my apartment. My heart was beating fast, but I have to say, I was as turned on as I was scared shitless.

My favorite dark desire? To pretend I'm dead in the morgue and the technicians, so taken with how gorgeous I am (yes, it would mean I'd die young, but hey, it's a fantasy) start taking liberties. I'm dead, so I have no control over their proclivities. So far, no takers, but I live in everlasting hope. So much darkness, so much rage, so little time. The fact is that most of the things I'd like to do are against the law, or involve the law going bad. Like being screwed with a police weapon, maybe with the safety off. That gets me wet.

But, living in Seattle, these will probably stay fantasies, as I'm often confronted with The Seattle Man, that person who frustrates and enrages me to the point of near frothing.

And just for you, dear reader, here are a few tips to recognize a true Seattle Man (and I apologize to a certain one I called a wimp recently - you're not, and I'd do you in a hot second). He's a Seattle Man if: he tries to run over you to get your attention (this actually happened to me), or instead of speaking, he circles you like a shark, glancing at you guiltily, but never making eye contact. Or you speak to him, and he runs like a rabbit, and you're a wolf about to eat him alive. Or, you're in a crosswalk and he cuts you off, looks back to make sure you noticed, then drives fast away. This happened to me too, recently. Then I fantasized about turning him to a burning ember, or jumping on his hood, punching a hole in his windshield, dragging him out screaming, and beating him senseless. That made me feel better watching him drive away.

This, I shamelessly tell you.