Switch.

Well that was fucking nuts.

I started an erotic roleplay a little less than 2 months ago with some guy. On F-List, I have two primary profiles: one for a dominant male character, and one for a submissive female character. (Guess which one gets all the notes.)

I started RPing as men years ago. Like, 15 years ago, back on Neopets. Remember Neopets? I just didn’t like the way playing girls/women made me feel. I kind of squirmed about it or it wasn’t thrilling enough for me, so I just started playing hot dudes doing cool shit. It was just more fun. Dunno, I guess I just figured that it was because I was a tomboy, and most of the other girl characters were boring as shit and always sat around waiting for the guy characters to do things. This was probably because we were in middle and high school and didn’t know the first thing about writing prose. But I just couldn’t shake that squirmy feeling whenever I tried playing a girl.

Fast-forward, oh… 3, 4 years. I’m 17ish. I have a buddy who I’ve decided to spill my guts out to for no reason. He knows I’m a macrophile and a kinkster, and he knows that I’ve got something weird going on where sometimes I feel like a guy. Like really feel like a guy. I had no idea trans people existed beyond the tired, typical tropes of men in dresses, and they weren’t even on the radar. So I came up with my own language to describe the feeling. I gave the dude inside of me a name. His name was Seth. I would describe the switches in persona, the subtle rearranging of priorities, the minuscule changes in body language, in terms like “Looks like he’s back” or “I guess Seth wants to play”.

Over the next 10 years, I date and marry a guy. I go on and off medications. I try on GSM labels like clothes in a department store dressing room. I get a hysterectomy and feel, for the first time in my life, cis. I discover ‘collapsenik’ culture, go through the most major 5 stages of grief I’d ever experienced and come out on the other side not caring about most of what I used to care about. I stop using so many weird, stupid, words to describe myself. I start dating two boys on the side: one’s a vehicle and the other is a murderer and minor-league baseball player. I quite enjoy the both of them, but the murderer is, disappointingly, pretty vanilla.

Then this roleplay happens. I get a note from somebody, telling me my profile caught their attention. Well, my one profile: my big bad, my domineering, militaristic stud. I’m sick in bed on my few days off and decide that I literally have nothing better to do.

It’s only been 7 weeks, but we’ve written around a collective 200k words so far, and it still feels like we’re just scratching the surface of what this story is and wants to be. (I’m archiving it, for those of you who are curious.) My partner and I have turned out to have mind-boggling chemistry, and our writing styles compliment each other seamlessly. A lot of characters from our ensemble cast had taken on a life of their own, and sometimes I find myself liking them more than our mains.

But a weird thing had started to happen at some point. Normally when I play a male dominant, I imagine what it would be like to be on his receiving end. How hot it would be to endure and experience him. At some point, I realized that wasn’t the case here. I had actually begun to get off on being Hawker.

I wanted to be huge. Masculine. Powerful, capable, and hung. Almost everything he wanted, wanted. It didn’t hit all at once; maybe over the course of a few days, but it hit. I talked about it with my RP partner, and he has since been nothing but encouraging. I asked if he thought there was a market for somebody like me: a cross-dressing/occasionally transmasculine dom in head-to-toe riot gear wearing a fat feeldoe for some little twink to service. I mean, I’m strong, but there’s only so much muscle on a 5’8″, 125lb person. I also have a commendable vocal range, but I’ll still never have the larynx of Vin Diesel. What I’ve got going for me is that I’m abrupt, fast, physical, and not afraid of hurting people if I have to. Are you kidding? he said. I’d have a line out the door, cross-dressing AFAB or no.

That last part has been a problem for me before. At times my complete lack of sympathy for certain folks in certain situations has earned me the occasional reputation of being a grade-A jerk. Sometimes I later realize my mistake. Sometimes I don’t, sometimes I continue to think I’m right (occasionally I am), and I wear the mantle of “jerk” with an ambivalent shrug. But I’ve gotten into physical fights before, made people cry when I felt it was necessary. Those moments felt good, and until just a few weeks ago, I never knew how to integrate those feelings. I gave my sadistic, domineering tendencies a wide berth because I’d always told myself that I was only interested in hurting people to genuinely hurt them. As a tool for selfish violence.

Apparently, though, I like the idea of twinks. I like the idea of young, cute guys choking on me, begging me to stop or to keep going. I like the idea of smacking someone around who only stands up because they want me to kick them to the floor again. I want to whisper hateful, dangerous things in his ear. Hold a gun to his head and tell him to get to work, kid. I don’t have all day.

I’m spending time on eBay, shopping. Pricing out riot gear and airsoft armor. Damascus sells a thigh and groin protector set for $120, and it’s one of the hottest wearables I’ve ever seen in my life. I want to put it on, flex my abs, and jerk off with the biggest strapless strapon they got. I want to go to a munch, packing in a pair of tight pants that show off my dense thighs, striding firmly across the floor in motorcycle boots before taking a seat at the table and sitting with my legs open. Taking up space. Not giving a fuck. 

My RP partner and I came up with “kevlar daddy” as a tongue-in-cheek label for what kind of dom my big, heavy robot character is. I realized that I want to be somebody’s kevlar daddy in real life.

And then I want to turn around, go home, take all my gear off, put the packers and dildos away, and go back to being ‘Captain’s little toy soldier’ as it says on my Eternity collar’s tag. Go home and take orders of my own. Stick my ass out instead of my junk. Kneel instead of stand. Take it instead of dish it out.

Me and Seth go way, way back. But I haven’t talked to him in a long time. But right now, at this point in my life, I think I’ve finally matured enough to the point where we can start having the good, productive relationship we were always destined to have. (Or be miserable fighting.)

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