I long ago came to understand that the disturbing elements of
force that run through my
sexual fantasies are not there because I am a
submissive that wants to be
forced.
When the fifteen bikers (all of whom just happen to have recently bathed and brushed their teeth -- in my heart of hearts I am hopelessly bourgeois when it comes to hygiene) play their games with the virginal Catholic schoolgirl in my head, I am neither ravisher nor ravished, but somewhere in the interstices between longing and the object of desire. And the greater the disparity there, the greater the tension. There is a tension like that between the spoken and the meant when you call me "whore" while your eyes are saying "goddess," and you know what that does to me. Blasphemy is a kind of tension, too; the story you told me, about wanting to break into a church and fuck my face before the altar, was very hot.
Force and tension are symbols for intensity.