I had to feed my demons, my protectors, for all they had done for me. As is so common with crossdressers, I placed others above myself. The notion that I was serving my own dark desires only served to augment my shame, and made their hold more complete.
As time wore on, my fantasies matured while my innocent core stayed young. The time does come when the child must grow up. Unfortunately, this requires putting other parts to sleep, and they do not wish to go quietly. They have fought for their survival by any means necessary, tempting and controlling me, so very much like those forces from once I tried to hide.
You cannot fight demons, I think. The only way out is to learn their names, to recognize them for who (and what) they are and, as a friend of mine once said, perhaps even love them. But when I close my eyes I feel their collar… crave it, yearn for it… deeply ashamed and utterly transformed, the object of my own frustration. I want to call their names but my lips are sealed.
I have spent much of my life in the service of dark hidden powers. Do I want to be free? Does my prison give me structure and meaning that is otherwise lacking, or am I afraid of what my true face might be?
I have a cap. And if you haven’t done so already, please visit her site. Specifically, I would recommend the Dungeon series, that culminates with The Changeling (to which, I am told, a new chapter is forthcoming).
Enjoy!
