D/s: My uglier heart

Originally posted on Jeff’s journal on Fetlife. Click here to view comments or leave your own.

…and secretly, I’m glad that politeness, third-party consent, and other considerations mean that we can’t, and shouldn’t, let D/s be visible to the public world.

Because I don’t want to share my other heart.

I have always wanted a warm heart; I’d like to think that I have one. I’ve always wanted a kind heart, and, for better or worse, most people feel my heart is both too trusting and too kind. I’ve always wanted a heart which shares, a heart which loves, a heart which is strong and passionate, We’re biased about ourselves; I can’t judge how much I’ve found those things.

But I know, very much, what is in my other heart.

My other heart is vicious. It pumps, not blood, but distilled brutality. That heart, too, is passionate, but it’s very often a cold passion, the passion of someone who looks at you to decide which pieces to remove first to make you last the longest before you die. And if that passion becomes hot, it’s heat that will damage. It’s not a heart that warms you when you’re chilled; it’s a heart which will give you a third-degree burn if it comes near you.

I speak softly; I am polite and deferential. I’ve never been an “Alpha” dominant, leading a pack by yelling and being aggressive and visibly strong. What strength I have is not there to impress you.

My first heart is rarely angry – perhaps a few times a year. For me, for how I live, anger is a wasteful passion, and my energy could be better-directed. But that’s still a lot, in comparison; my other heart has only been angry two or three times in the past decade. My first heart is calm; my other heart is cold. My first heart values your life. My other heart values the time I save if I don’t kill you, and thus don’t need to dispose of your remains.

It’s my other heart which thinks certain music is tinny and flat if it’s not accompanied by sounds of hurt.

It’s my other heart which knows that a glint of fear in the eyes is sweeter than moonlight.

It’s my other heart which knows best that common, but oft-ignored, truth: that to build, you sometimes must destroy.

Listen to my chest, and you’ll hear the beating of my first heart, as it keeps me alive. But there is another sound, too low to hear, but one which I share with you: the arrhythmic, remorseless song of joy that is my uglier heart.

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