Scare My Pants Off
The interplay of fear and desire
Your eyes always wander—in search of somewhere or something, to surprise me with—to keep me at the edge of my seat.
I follow your gaze in an attempt to keep up, but you’re always a step ahead. Your perverted mastermind knows no bounds. You see potential everywhere. Like, right now, as you pull a metal clothing hanger off of my coat rack and bend it effortlessly into a cane.
I look at it, then up at you as you let it glide slowly through your palm. You wink at me and smile slyly.
—Oh no, not that! I shudder at the thought of the metal meeting my bare ass.
—Wrong answer, you tease, the question was, how many?
You’re dead-serious and playful at once. I’m shaking in my pants, even as warmth betrays my groin.
—Ten? I attempt, already knowing you’ll raise my bet.
I don’t remember how and when I realized fear turns me on, but I suppose it’s always been a part of me. Ever since childhood, I’ve enjoyed challenges and anything that gets my heart rate way up.
It was the pursuit of those thrills that led my younger self to binge horror movies, brave roller coasters, bareback ride horses through the woods, hike glaciers, rock climb, white water raft, and do sketch…
