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| Oh god. (E/N, misogyny, impotent rage.) by Zseni 02/25/2003, 4:55pm PST | ||||
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| I can't get my head around the events of last night's out-of-chat RP. It made a substantial impression on me even as I was participating, but now that it's over, the more distance I get the more boggled I am.
They caged a lion, those two bitches I was packed in with. I couldn't understand how it could all be playing out the way it was. I was playing a self-destructive and obsessive asshole, on the verge of transcending human form entirely in a quest for a more ultimate power - you see the stops I've pulled to get these girls their weekly dose of drama - and they expected that character, and me, to heel to a hysterical boob and and a deeply passive-aggressive and sullen "ex-lover." The drama itself is appalling but I expected that; what I hadn't expected is that I couldn't pull out enough stops ever to jerk them out of their mopes. I railed, I burned huge swathes of the forest, I held one of them hostage for his life and the other jackass would barely get out of the tub for it. I said the most appalling fightworthy things that could have been said, things that no man would let pass without coming to blows; I threw my heart at their feet, I begged, I wailed, I exorcised, I put my powers fully at their command. If it had been any kind of real life situation neither of them could conceivably have resisted me, orc-face or not; I would have had them both in bed and crying after me for years afterward. They moped. Look I understand it's just RP and all that, it's a chat, it's a lot of small-time shit, but I came to a big-time understanding: they were using me. Not for anything fun, either. My semeness had really come back to bite me in the ass. They knew how worthless the seme is without the uke, and they were holding out on me - not for any sort of character development purpose - but because they, personally, were indulging in a fantasy that they didn't want to end: the mighty heart of a man, theirs to command, which bears in it the tireless patience and omnipotent strength that only fantasy can confer. I was too good. The lion was chained to me, and I was just trying to get along, and so the both of us were jumping through their hoops. Outrageous. It put me in a positively violent state of mind. The only thing for it is to do what any man would do in a similar situation: take off. If they want it they can come begging for it, the whores, and I'll think about it. I can't believe I got played. If I had any doubts before about the moral sanctity of the FitM articles they're DOA now, those bitches deserve every sneak beaver-shot I take of them. At the time, towards the end, all I could think was "why don't they just rest themselves in my strength?" That's a funny thing to think in a situation like that. I didn't remember until later that even when I was little, playing with dolls, my friends would concoct all kinds of horrible perils for the dolls, and they never really ended. The bad guys always come back, there is always more torture or rape or kidnapping or war or whatever, and the damned dolls could never have a peaceful moment. I didn't understand it then, and now that I was once again playing dolls with girls, I didn't understand it again. But now it was incomprehensible for all-new reasons: if they had shut up for just a minute it would have been nothing for me to create a satisfying, sexy, and suitably in-character denouement. Didn't they understand I could take care of them in a happy-smiley way just as well as they imagined themselves being cared for in an angsty-mopey way? Their aggressive checks on my power are synonymous with aggressive checks on their own satisfaction. At the time, towards the end, I began to realize that this was the way I felt about women everywhere all the time: why don't they just rest themselves in my strength? Can't I take care of everything for them? What problems could those two bring me that I couldn't fix? If they would only ask, or quit for just a minute with all the goofy-ass headgames and pretenses, couldn't I give them all the affection and support and attention they would ever need? Why instead string me along and make me wait for the crumbs of their happiness? Christ, don't they realize that's both torturous and insane? Why would anyone stick around for that? Do they LIKE being unhappy? Is that what it is? Is this the way that men feel? Living in the last panels of QA Confidential, Zseni |
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