Being a sadist is not only about physical pain. My senses are heightened by your frustration, teasing you unmercifully, toying with your desire. Sometimes, feeling your confusion and uncertainty is enough to get me going. I can easily sense the mental disarray created by distance, cool looks or subtly cutting words.
It’s almost scary, the pull I feel probing you, finding those tender areas, places I can worry at, setting you off balance. In my younger years, I tried to keep this need under wraps, the need to make my playmates uncomfortable in some way. I enjoyed completely altering the mood of a room, a palpable shift set off by some seemingly innocent remark, making everyone squirm. Now that I’ve grown up some, I am sought out for this tendency.
This behaviour is not usually accepted in women. Nurturing and schadenfreude don’t really go together. However, I don’t move in society’s usual circles; my pleasure in this existence is having the freedom to do as I wish and indulge in what pleases me. What a relief and comfort to inhabit a realm where I can express all facets of my personality to its fullest extent.