I thought about this question for two days before replying. It can be a little difficult to put down in words considering the context. With that said, I would like to warn you, the reader, that what is about to be explained isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s not going to be pleasant. There could be trigger words or situations described that some may consider disturbing.
I have always been a sadist, for as long as I can remember. I have memories of being a small child and fantasizing about holding a knife up to whatever cartoon character I watched on TV that day and watching them squirm underneath my sharp blade. I couldn’t have been any older than 7 or 8 when these fantasies started. But they were not sexual, not yet anyhow. I just enjoyed the incredible wave of pleasure that would coarse through my body when I visualized the fear and panic in this laughably childish scene of torture.
As I grew, so did my fantasies. I’d spend most of my free time imagining scenarios of cruelty being directed towards my victims. Burning, cutting, strangling them, gleefully imagining them writhe in fear and pain. The fear was the ultimate goal in my fantasies. The vast array of emotions that would flicker in their eyes. Confusion, fear, panic…it was all like a boost of adrenaline to me. It made my heart pound, my body tingle and I would drown in that wave of incredible pleasure.
Instead of trying to sneak a peak at sex scenes on HBO late at night I would cruise the channels (this was a time of the TV guide), for scenes depicting torture, rape and any other scenarios involving humiliation and degradation of a victim.
Of course, now being a teenager at this point, this became a struggle rather than a sexual outlet. I felt ostracized even though no one knew what I was. Heck, even I didn’t even know what I was. I had tormented and abused animals, had sick fantasies going on a decade at this point… I thought I was headed towards being a serial killer. The only thing that confused me is that murder was never a fantasy of mine. I couldn’t end up a serial killer if I didn’t like murder, right? My fantasies always ended in letting the people go, watching them scurry off into the night. Clearly my humanity was securely in check if I couldn’t imagine myself killing another person.
I knew teens my age were sneaking peeks at developing boobs, butts and penis bulges. But me, I was interested in other things. I could get lost watching a persons pulse underneath their skin. The hypnotic pumping of blood underneath their soft neck flesh. I can recall times catching a glimpse of a persons carotid artery, steadily pulsating, making my fingers tingle with the desire to wrap my hands around their throat just to see and feel it quicken sharply underneath my invasive grasp. Teenagers, am I right??
Of course this made me feel disconnected from other people. I didn’t like being touched much. I hated the feeling of another persons skin on me. I didn’t like closeness and didn’t date nor fool around with kids my age. I so badly wanted to seek help but I had no clue what could’ve happened to me if I repeated the things that were going on in my head. Could I be arrested? Tossed into an insane asylum? I was convinced the best thing for me was just to keep my mouth shut. But it made me fall into a deep depression. I had strong urges to hurt people but no outlet so I took it out on myself. I cut my flesh just to see blood. I’d choke myself just to feel what it was like to wrap my hands around a neck. I’d strangle myself to see myself changing color. I even tried killing myself because I hated who I was and the things that went on inside of my head. Never got really close to ending my life, however. I guess my heart wasn’t truly in it.
I didn’t start masturbating until I was almost an adult. I was afraid of what could transpire from opening up that can of worms. Of course, turns out I can only be sexually aroused through porn that depicted extreme violence, rape, humiliation…but I found out I could control my urges a lot easier if I masturbated to my fantasies. It didn’t make my urges worse, it just made them easier to cope with. Win! I was living out my desires through these so-called ‘actors’ and it helped, a lot.
I did end up dating and fucking a bit in my early 20s. I didn’t like it too much, it was hard to orgasm during normal sex and I didn’t appreciate the ‘intimacy’. I chased these people off rather quickly. I preferred being alone so I could be who I really am. Which was occasionally lonely and bored, but at least no one would find out what went on inside of my brain.
Even with all these horrible things I’ve been telling you, reader, I did/do have normal interests. I love basketball, I was an avid Harry Potter fan, I love horror movies and hiking and playing video games. I’m not some weird troll that lives in a dungeon, I do have two parts of me. One part is a part that’s always with me, underneath my surface. But I can easily separate my sadism from just being a human when needed.
I do sometimes struggle with situations where people tell me stories about themselves that leaves them feeling upset in some way. I try hard to not pay attention to my arousal during their grief, I try to shove it down deep and hold onto my feelings of sincerity. I do have complete control over myself and my sadistic urges. I’m never afraid I’ll lose control and hurt someone. That was never the case in my life. I do sometimes pine over the unrequited ability to strap someone to a chair and go completely nuts to them but I never would, even if I was presented with the situation. I’m completely moral and wouldn’t want to live with myself after doing so much damage to another human being. I just have to live with these urges the best way that I can.
I’m in my 30s now, engaged and a lot calmer and happier with who I am. I’ve accepted myself fully, which I think a lot of people in their 30s do. There is no running away from who you are, so embrace it. My partner does know about me and supports me wholeheartedly. In return, I’m giving complete privacy to live out my fantasies through pornography, erotic fan-fiction and role playing online. I have adult toys I use for some sadistic pleasures. I’m completely happy with things the way they are. My partner has tried to coax me into enacting some of my fantasies out on them, but I don’t think that’s something I’d be interested in. I think the majority of sadists need the genuineness of torture that entices real fear. It’s not about the actions, per se, it’s about the reactions to those actions that really gets a sadist going. But I couldn’t ever see myself doing that to my partner. I really truly love them.
I hope my story helps you understand sadism a bit more. I’m sorry if it upset anyone, that wasn’t what I was aiming for. I want to educate those who wish to know what goes on inside the mind of a sadist.
Sincerely, a female sadist.