tumblr porn princess

hypersexuality in women, devotion part one

i was twenty-two when i became a tumblr porn princess.

before the fall, tumblr was a digital heaven for many of us, and i was one of its darkest angels. if the angel of light is in hell, who’s left in heaven? all of the dark angels still willing to get on their knees for a man who is worthy.

when i first found tumblr, i was, briefly, in the same world as everyone else—endless pictures of lana del rey and hipsters in skate parks. but, i was never drawn to the light, to the worlds of venus that reflect the sun, deceiving nuggets of gold in the sky that will fill your lungs with poison as sulfuric acid pierces through your skin—worlds of well-mannered couples who hide their lack of devotion behind smiles in matching pajamas—shallow, powerless unions, easily replaceable. the feminine knowing is always whispering, that real gold forms in darkness, emerging from intense depths, to glimmer along the riverbeds of oshun. it didn’t take me long to submerge beneath the surface of tumblr into the world of bdsm where i became known as killerbrat.

killerbrat wasn’t my discovery of bdsm—i had a long habit of being places i shouldn’t have been. in a rather cliche way, actually—middle class southern suburban, nerdy alt girl who’s eyes look different when she takes her glasses off, thrill-seeker, preference for older men who’ve probably been to jail. whips and chains appeared to be just a cure for boredom, and, with what i know about bdsm now, they still are. killerbrat was an awakening to a sexual practice rooted in devotion, to the religion of bdsm, and my tumblr was a cyber temple—i painted the walls with images and videos that displayed the intricacies of power and worship in sex. a lost ritual, meant to be a ceremony of creation, an alchemization of liquid into solid.

i didn’t realize it was hypersexuality at first, but if i had my phone in my hand, i was probably on tumblr, which meant that i was probably looking at bdsm porn.

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twisted strands of rope intertwined with the soft flesh of a woman. taut until she is numb, until they were one, until she can no longer differentiate the rope from herself. she is suspended like a biblically accurate angel by a man who’s eyes only see her.

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a man with the alphabet tattooed on his leg penetrates a woman, bound—her hands and arms were bound to her back, her legs were bound to the posts of a thin, metal bed frame. alphabet man entered her hard, but touched her soft. he interlaced his fingers in her hair, then gripped it tight. her eyes rolled to God, showing white.

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as killerbrat, i found my place of worship alongside those who understood the darkness of devotion, as others played in the shallow pools of desire. men had become such dull, lingering, pale, hyper-consuming, devotionless creatures. to be desired and not worshipped is to drink my own blood, to savor my own flesh, to rip my own tissue from the bone, to be in a constant state of insatiable ravenous hunger. the rituals depicted in bdsm porn were more than a twenty minute, passionless means to an end—they were a dance of devotion, an exchange of power, in which every act of submission left you satiated and infused with power. i wasn’t a young maiden lured into this world—in an effort to escape the rotting fruit of false promises in modern relationships with men, i willingly walked into my digital hypersexuality era.

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hypersexuality was originally proposed as a disorder in 2009, by martin kafka. prior to kafka’s proposed (and, rejected) diagnostic criteria for hypersexual disorder, what were noted as “excessive” sexual behaviors were primarily things such as maladaptive sexual appetites and compulsive masturbation¹. thus, the academic discussion of hypersexuality as a psychological condition is relatively new and one that focuses more on the hyper-consumptive, compulsive, and risky behaviors typically observed in men, ignoring how hypersexuality tends to manifest in women, and why.

hypersexuality in women is often rooted in a longing for devotion, expressed as a tendency to gravitate towards extreme depictions of power and obsession—whether digitally or literarily. the popularity of books such as fifty shades of grey and a court of thorns and roses is a form of literary hypersexuality in which women can immerse themselves in a world where sex is intertwined with power and devotion. the rise of booktok and women’s sexual fantasies for fictional men isn’t hypersexuality as it is seen in men, in which hypersexuality is the act of trying to consume as many women as possible—whether through porn, social media, or irl.

zygmunt bauman introduced the concept of the liquid modernity² and liquid love³, in which he describes the modern human condition as liquid—fueled by consumerism and individualism, and resisting anything solid and binding. in a world meant to be solid, liquefaction is to desire everything and be devoted to nothing.

this sudden abundance and apparent availability of love experiences may (and does) feed the conviction that love (falling in love, soliciting love) is a skill to be learned…[but] the kinds of skills that are acquired are those of ‘finishing quickly and starting from the beginning’.

zygmunt bauman, liquid love: on the frailty of human bonds, 2003

the masculine hyper-consumptive hypersexual culture is one of hunting, killing, eating, and starting again—a culture women have been singing about for decades. in young hearts run free by candi staton, released in 1976, she sings, “love only breaks up to start over again, you'll get the babies, but you won't have your man, while he is busy loving every woman that he can.” a devoted man became a rare find long before the invention of the internet and dating apps, perhaps existing only in myths.

a man who was once chasing me like a baby deer in the forest is now ignoring my texts. after a man has consumed everything he wants from you, scroll. now he wants everything from the next woman, from the new baby deer he has yet to stalk, hunt, and gut. liquid men who hang women’s intestines from the rafters as trophies, who wear our skins whenever they want to feel warmth. bauman suggests that modern sexual culture is rooted in unregulated individualism, in which women must choose between extreme obsession or complete apathy. thus, the feminine hypersexuality, in which women are captivated by fantasies of a solid, albeit powerful and obsessed man, is a yearning for just a little of that devotion from men that is missing irl.

the digital and literary interests of women exhibiting hypersexuality reveal that women are craving something deeper from men, and—even if we are dragged into dark underworlds—for a man who would give us a throne and let the world freeze to have us by his side, we will, willingly, eat the pomegranate seeds to stay.

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may my lips be an altar,

fill my throat so that i only speak of you.

may i smell you even when you are not near. may the hairs on my skin always sing your name. may i lose all sense of myself and begin again at the thought of you. far and miles between, may i never be without you. bound as a preference, call me by your name. permanence as an offering, pray for my submission,

may your soul be mine.

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the fall of tumblr porn took killerbrat with it, but my simulation of devotion became ruins long before tumblr banned explicit content. while it was a revelation that deep commitment and ritual in sex were possible, existing outside of the shallow waters of consumerist and individualist modern relationships, killerbrat became a purulent reminder that i didn't know a man worth being on my knees for irl. i didn’t know a man who understood devotion irl. even still, i know men who understand consumption and convenience, but not devotion. the feminine hypersexuality is easily fragmented into pixels and letters by reality. no longer stimulated by images in false churches, i am much older, much darker—a vulture sauntering within the darkness, watching as devotionless men age and decay and lose games of their own design, waiting.

waiting, hungry for a man who offers honey and cake at my feet, who covers my body in amber and gold, who the bees know by name. waiting for a man who will devote himself to me so that i may return to deep, flowing waters. show me your devotion, bind my wrists with the veins of your heart. how much do you really love me?

what would you do for me?

source: juno calypso

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1. Kafka, Martin. (2009). Hypersexual Disorder: A proposed diagnosis for DSM-V. Archives of sexual behavior. 39. 377-400. 10.1007/s10508-009-9574-7.

2. Bauman, Zygmunt. Liquid Modernity. Polity Press, 2000.

3. Bauman, Zygmunt. Liquid Love: On the Frailty of Human Bonds. Polity Press, 2003.