Matt Forney
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rough

Rough vs. Soft, Part One: Rough

This is a guest post by Kid Strangelove. Kid originally published this article at his own blog, but he deleted the site a while ago so he could focus on other projects. He asked me if I’d be willing to re-post some of his articles on my blog and I said yes.

“I want you to choke the shit out of me,” she said in her squeaky voice. It was weird listening to her talk: she sounded like she was ready to record a voice over for a children’s TV commercial. It was almost like a parody voice from the movies, meant to portray the ditsy, innocent, but ultimately adorable girl.

I had to do a double take. No girl has ever asked me to choke them, certainly not in a voice like that.

“You sure, baby?” I asked her, while maintaining my composure. A million thoughts raced in my head…

“Yeah, baby, I want you to pin me down and choke me.”

It was a new feeling that I was learning to deal with. 50 Shades of Grey has yet to bring the recognition of violent and rough sex into the mainstream, and I was telling myself that I was over some childhood issues when I really wasn’t.

I saw my father get violent. I saw him lose his temper on many occasions, out of the blue, and I would often catch the blame. I swore as a teenager that I would never be like my father, that I would be a loving, respectful gentleman to every girl that I met, and I knew that once I grew up, I would be rewarded for my forthrightness.

Years passed and none of the romantic things I was expecting were coming true. My life became a repetitive series of waking up in bed with no girl, but plenty of ATM receipts, the result of being a respectful gentleman. I saw the cliche play out in front of me: douchebag gets the girl, girl confides in me for emotional support then spurns my advances, telling me I am a good friend and any girl would be lucky to have me. We all know the story.

I changed. I read. I learned. I got what some called game and others called swagger. It didn’t happen overnight. In fact, it took a lot longer than I care to admit.

The first time I thought I had mastered game, a girl arched her back Matrix-style in order to avoid kissing me, and I learned that the girl I briefly dated and was so over had just had sex with one of my friends (and years later, they got married). He asked me beforehand if I was fine with them potentially seeing each other. I thought I was ready. I wasn’t. I was devastated. That morning my laptop also broke. That was a fun 24 hours.

The second time, I realized that what I thought of as confidence was simply annoyance.

Milestone after milestone, I changed, and St. Patrick’s Day of 2012 was no different. I thought I had mastered the game. Cocky, confident swagger led to a fantastic night of sex and a promise to see each other in the future. This was almost textbook. And then… she said those words:

“I want you to choke the shit out of me.”

Violence was the one taboo that I had yet to cross. Well, I guess now was as good a time as ever.

I was fully aroused with a condom snapped on snugly at the base of my cock. I was thrusting repeatedly into her perfectly shaved tight little box. Even with my uncertainty over this situation and the feelings it was giving me, there was no way I was going to lose my erection.

I put my hand on her neck and tensed up my fingers, applying the tiniest bit of pressure.

“Harder!”

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.” I’m six foot two and around 230 pounds. She was tiny compared to me.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you’re hurting me, I promise.” Are you sure??

And so I tensed my hands up little by little. No reply from her. I could see the look of blissful pain on her face. So I tensed my fingers more and more. She began turning red, the loss of oxygen evident across her milky white skin. She didn’t tell me to stop. So I didn’t…

Some time later, when we were laying in bed in post-coital ecstasy, she leaned over to cuddle me. “That was incredible,” she told me. While we were watching TV (my shows over hers’), she ordered delivery, which she paid for. I guess dominance and submission has its perks.

To the surprise of everyone (or no one), our relationship did not work out. When we weren’t fucking, she became a little mean. She made comments that I knew would escalate into bigger problems eventually if left unchecked, and she was obsessed with her career and with order. She was not the type of girl I could see myself in an LTR with, so I ended it.

Around the same time, I was dating another girl. My roommate, obsessed with the idea of career, maturity and growing up, was surprised that I wasn’t singing her praises (she was a doctor) and eagerly jumping at the chance to lock her down. I knew that our relationship was about to enter that phase where you either go your separate ways or begin something long-term. I wasn’t really eager about it.

Then one night, mid-sex, I started choking her. Lightly at first, but working my way to about as much as I strangled the previous girl. The results were almost terrifying. She was so wet I thought she pissed herself, and I didn’t buy any more food for the rest of that relationship. And this was a prime girl, a beautiful girl with a respectable career, she should be above this… but no one is above their most basic and dark urges.

My experiences with those two girls left me feeling incredibly uneasy. How the hell do these women want to be treated like princesses—or at least with a basic amount of human respect—and then be fucked like the lowest of whores. Why, in such a personal, romantic act, do they want to be taken to a point that’s close to death? And why do I get rewarded for such acts?

In 2012, Chris Brown gets the girl. In 2012, Chris Brown keeps the girl.

The whole course of these relationships was the opposite of how I thought my life was going to be when I was a teenager.

I met these girls at a bar. Tossed a lot of cocky jokes at them. Made fun of them. Didn’t call when I said I would, but texted instead, making sure that each text I sent was shorter than their last and sent out with an interval greater than their last. That’s what passes for personality and humor these days, and I was rewarded for it. But it wasn’t enough. I was seducing them with violence, choking and slapping them so hard and so often that I thought I would crack their breaking points at any minute, but they just asked for more.

What. The. Fuck.

I did not like what I was becoming.

To be continued…

Read Next: Rough vs. Soft, Part Two: Soft