The Sad(istic) Clown Diaries: Thrashing Against Obsession (Part 2)

He fingered me in the back of an Uber. I spent the duration of my dinner meeting squirming in my own juices. I didn’t want to wipe myself off. I liked sitting in and savoring it. There I was in this restaurant, wondering if anyone could tell that I was on the brink of an orgasm a mere five minutes ago. Could they see it on my face? Was I still flushed? I excused myself for a moment and locked myself in the bathroom. I slid down to the floor, giggling like a child. I love my little secrets. Later that night, he texted me saying that I possessed a tremendous power. I knew that he wanted me and so I decided to make him wait. 

The next day I floated through NYC business as usual with the back of my mind focused casually on the prize. The prize being his cock and the promise of a passionately kinky sexual experience. I knew it was going to be a freak show. He carried a wild look in his eye like that of a nearly unhinged beast masquerading as a man. He was hardly a man, in general. 24.

We made plans to meet up in Brooklyn before going to the apartment we had to ourselves for the next 24 hours. He waved to me from the other side of the crosswalk, beaming and dressed like some kind of goth safarian with Asperger’s. I increased the speed of my walk. He greeted me with a deep kiss. A girlfriend kiss. We had somehow reached this intense level of intimacy without having sex or knowing each other for more than a week. Isn’t it bizarre when that happens? When another human being suddenly feels like home? His now familiar scent brought the blood in my thighs to a boil. In dizzying moments like these, I am reminded that I am an animal. We are all animals. We walk through crowds every day, heads down or in the clouds. We think we are alone. We think we are superior. Individual vessels moving toward individual destinations. We think we are in control. We never see it coming. 

It was New York City, 4th of July week. By the time we made it back to the apartment, I felt as if I’d been living in an ancient Greek bathhouse for a week. I immediately took off all of my clothes and got into the shower, leaving the bathroom door open. He didn’t hover. He waited. I want to say that it was dog-like, but it wasn’t. He was more regal than a dog. He perched. I came out in a towel and he just looked at me for a moment, taking it in before taking it off. He became aggressive in that moment as I stood naked before him for the first time. I let him assert his power.


The next few hours (days?) were a blur. Dipping in and out of each other, stopping for air or simply to laugh. His smile was absolutely intoxicating – I really cannot stress that enough. He smiled a lot. It was contagious. We laughed and fucked and laughed and fucked for hours and hours.

“I don’t want to cum. Ever.”

He said that to me over and over again. He struggled with it all day. Orgasm control is something that I enjoy very much, and I particularly enjoyed how important it was to him. It was tantric. He was focused and determined. Over and over, I watched the same scene play out:

Blood rush to the crown

His eyes roll, then refocus 

Somewhere beyond me

Like some sex-fiend Buddha boy

Arms and shoulders lock

Tantra freeze, inside of me

Removing the blood

Ascending to the god-self

At one point he laid down with his head at the foot of the bed and I of course knew that he wanted me to “queen” him. You know, sit on his face so intensely that it would become a form of breath control and a total loss of power on his end. I did so, happily. It’s one of my favorite things to do. What is better than having a gorgeous face to use as a chair? I liked the sounds he made as he was sucking at me and struggling for air. The gasping and the gurgling. It made me laugh. I loved to laugh at and with him. After I finished by cumming on his face he told me that it was his first time having his entire face sat on in such a way, which made me very happy. I love being the first. Eventually we had to put on clothes and go out into the world to see Lydia Lunch perform. 

I was worked into a frenzy by the end of Lydia’s performance. He wasn’t familiar with her at all, which struck me as odd for someone who seemed to be deeply involved in noise music and performance art. At one point during the show, Lydia had me laughing so hard that I started crying. He leaned over and put his mouth to my ear.

“I love seeing you react so intensely to this. I love to see you so happy.”

He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled the side of my face to his so he could kiss me lightly on the corner of my forehead. I got wet. In fact, I think shortly before or after that moment Lydia said something like “I’m so wet, I could flood the room.” I couldn’t wait to get back to the apartment and fuck him again. She tends to have that effect on people, though he later revealed to me that she didn’t have much of an effect on him at all. In hindsight, that was a telltale sign. Still I think she’d be pleased to know what went went on later that evening.


He said, “I want you to hurt me.” I didn’t have many tools at my disposal so I used the weight of my body, my physical strength, my finger nails. I fucked him into oblivion. I destroyed him. I drew his blood. I had him gasping for air, clawing at an invisible wall. We approached climax simultaneously – I could feel it building – and this time, he was unable to hold back his orgasm. It came on so suddenly that we were unable to unlock our bodies. He came inside of me. I felt his magic pour into mine and I caught myself thinking about how beautiful the product of our sex organs would be. I have an IUD and logically/lifestyle speaking, pregnancy was 100% out of the question. But in that moment, the animal in me was reacting scientifically to our hormone combination. Everything in my body screamed “YES.” It was fire. Fires burn out.


I had received my period with the fireworks on the fourth. This excited him, as he longed for the taste of my blood and the scent of iron. Things were easy like that, although we had many serious conversations and the occasional disagreement or philosophical debate during our short time together. I took him in my mouth once, which seemed to both surprise and frighten him. He told me later that he had hallucinated while I went down on him, and that he saw me as the manifestation of Lilith of the Dark Moon, unsure of whether I’d bite it off or make him cum. I laughed with delight, not disdain or dismissal. His occult mania suited me perfectly. We were stimulated, lighthearted and kind to each other, like young innocents who had not yet developed a taste for distrust, manipulation or revenge. And like childhood itself, our passion was a bubble bound for a burst.


Together again in the back of an Uber en route to the airport, I remembered our first ride. I knew this would be the last. I looked at his face, his hands, the pigment of his skin. He was beautiful. He was a ghost.