There’s something I struggle to admit even when I’m completely alone.
Not because it’s especially serious.
But because it makes me feel strange.
I think that’s the right word.
Strange.
Because if someone asked me what exactly I’m looking for, I wouldn’t know how to answer.
I don’t even know when I became interested in all of this.
I remember seeing something by accident.
A video.
A comment.
A conversation buried somewhere online.
The normal thing would have been to forget about it.
But I didn’t.
A few days later I went back.
Just out of curiosity.
At least that’s what I told myself.
And for a long time that was probably true.
Or at least I want to believe it was.
Because back then I still felt like I was observing something from the outside.
Like someone reading about a strange hobby they would never actually try.
But something changed.
I don’t know when.
I only know that I started thinking about it when I wasn’t looking at it anymore.
That was the first thing that scared me a little.
Not during arousal.
Not while reading.
Afterward.
While doing completely unrelated things.
And suddenly an image would come back.
Or a sentence.
Or a feeling I couldn’t really explain.
That’s where the contradiction appeared.
Part of me was curious.
And another part kept asking:
Why the hell are you still thinking about this?
I didn’t have an answer.
I still don’t.
The more I read, the more I wanted to understand.
And the more I tried to understand, the more questions appeared.
It was frustrating.
Because I expected to reach a point where everything would finally make sense.
But I never got there.
I only found something new.
Another story.
Another experience.
Another detail.
And then the cycle started again.
What embarrasses me most isn’t the content itself.
It’s how much space it slowly started taking up.
Because nobody could see it.
From the outside, my life looked exactly the same.
But inside, there was a part of me that kept returning to the same place.
As if there was an unfinished conversation running in the background all the time.
Sometimes I promise myself I’ll stop looking.
And for a few hours, I actually do.
Then something appears.
A word.
A memory.
An image.
And I’m back again.
Not because I’m desperate.
Not because I can’t control myself.
It’s something stranger than that.
Like I’m still convinced that the next explanation will be the one.
The one that finally makes everything make sense.
And I’m starting to suspect I’ve been looking for it for a very long time.
Too long.
Maybe because if I ever truly understood why all of this attracts me…
I’d have to admit it was never just curiosity.
I have to move the neck…
