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Friday, 13 January 2017

The Appeal Of The Submissive Female, Microphilia And Vore Fic Part 4 Vore NSFW

The Appeal Of The Submissive Female, Microphilia And Vore Fic

Part 4 Vore

Not Safe For Work


Alexander Gordon Jahans

Into the Belly of the Beast

Vore is the fetish for fictional depictions of being eaten alive or eating others alive.

I don’t think I have to explain why this is problematic do I?

I will not be speaking for other vore fetishists because I’m not sure if I know any and this really is not the sort of fetish you want to be mistaken as the spokesperson for. Actual cannibalism is bad.

So this is going to be me explaining why I personally write vore and what I get out of it.

Before I begin I want to make clear that for me to be enjoyable vore has to be consented to be all participants in the fiction, enjoyed by all participants in the fiction and the prey has to be able to recover from the experience. Hannibal is not vore, sharkploitation is not vore, World War Z is not vore, vampire fiction can be vore but it obviously depends upon the story.

So why do it? What do I get out of it?

Well there are some pragmatic reasons. The first is that I am a lapsed vegetarian and the only way I can justify continuing to eat chicken when I believe the practice of farming chicken is morally abhorrent is if I preach against eating meat. I know the jokes about vegetarians and vegans so here I am as a meat eater sexualising the slaughter, butchery, cooking and eating of women because I want to put you off your dinner.

The irony of course is that the way I write it is far more moral than how we actually go about farming animals. The prey I pick for my stories have been through college and university, lived a good twenty or so years without bars, free to do more or less as they wish. They consent, enjoy and recover from the experience. Free range chickens by contrast live about 16 weeks and they’re the lucky ones. In some farms the chickens peck each other to death, have barely a foot of space to their own and live in their own filth.

The second reason I write it is that stories revolve around conflict and good sex is actually pretty boring for reader and writer. Vore is an activity with a dominant and a passive that by virtue of its transgressiveness can retain interest because even when all parties consent, enjoy and recover from the experience it reads as conflict.

The third reason is that once you have established that a character has such an ability it seems odd to ignore it when it would make pragmatic sense to exploit it. A wereshark sylph can recover fully from a single heart and they have three hearts. So if the characters run out of food and supplies and there is a wereshark sylph in the party it only makes sense to me that they would take advantage of the resource that wereshark sylph represents.

That’s the pragmatic reasons out of the way. Time to admit to the stuff that will hurt my already tattered reputation.

I didn’t like vore originally, I hated it, it was my no yay. It disgusted me. Utterly. I wrote it because of vampires and Hannibal Lecter, the three reasons I gave above and because Jaws taught me at a young age that being eaten alive was an utterly fucking terrifying concept. I wrote it because I wrote dark angsty monster characters. Then something happened.

There’s this episode of Star Trek Voyager where their Doctor, a holographic program run by the computer, starts freaking out because he saved someone’s life over another out of selfishness. He replays the decision over and over on a loop, getting angrier and angrier at the impossibility of it. I mention the episode because I get like that.

Around the time the Fifty Shades Of Grey film was coming out wrote an articles on BDSM. They related one story of someone who had been doing a project for a club and had to give a speech that would drain them emotionally and asked for aftercare for a woman by being allowed to dominate them. My brain imploded and I still get the chills just thinking about it. Not because someone could ask such a question but because this unknown woman said yes.

What does one story of BDSM have to do with vore? Well like I said I had been writing about it for ages from the predators perspective with the prey as victims, even when they consented and enjoyed the experience. That story blew my mind because I have been fighting against my anger and the urge to destroy my whole life, that story told me very occasionally someone really can genuinely want to experience that anger and to be destroyed. You see Wereshark sylphs already existed in my fiction but the emphasis was on them being Weresharks, not being sylphs. Hence Weresylph Dawning a book/series about the dawning of a demographic that likes to be predated but will still fight for equality. Except I’m getting ahead of myself.

Predation at its core is a very simple an easy thing to understand the thrill of. Any time you stub your toe on the edge of a table, step on a plug or a lego brick, get called out stupidly from the opposite side of the political spectrum, the impulse is the same. A flare of anger and rage.

For 10 years in primary and secondary school I kept my head down, worked hard, got good grades and was relentlessly bullied, with my every attempt to find a solution by the book failing. I told the teachers, told my parents, saw a counsellor, joined the student council and wrote to the Prime Minister and apart from once in the school toilets that succeeded in getting my head kicked in I never once fought back. I know rage, I know it very well and I also know that while you must always contain it you must never make the mistake of trying to bottle it up forever. It will get out one way or another and it is always better that you let it out in a safe controlled manner than you keep control until the very last moment and have no strength left to manage the outburst.

I am a big fan of controlled destruction and controlled venting. I have smashed up old cassette players before, dismantled old shoes that were falling apart already, I have turned old trousers into hankies, I rant online and I love violent video games. You see a videogame provides excellent catharsis. I get the thrill of being the badass hero killing bandits or commanding an army to eviscerate a bunch of rebels, my anger gets vented , nobody gets hurt and if I ever am in a stressful situation my body isn’t programmed to vent catharsis my swinging my fists but by sitting down, listening to a podcast and swiddling my thumbs.

A victim of rape and fan of BDSM described the stuff I write, upon hearing a brief description, as violent and harmful. I respectfully disagree. Men are violent, humanity is violent but fiction and video games are not violent because they take our violent impulses and seek to satisfy them through abstraction.

Our bodies evolved to keep us alive in a time before policemen, armies and politicians, before safe words and safe spaces and content warnings. What we do when we get stressed programmes our biological reflexes because for millions of years it kept our ancestors alive. Human culture and the human mind has evolved but the fight or flight reflex is still there and I would rather be in a room full of panicked and out of control videogame players or vore readers than half a dozen boxers or experts in martial arts. Not because I think video game players and vore readers are calm reasonable people but because their instincts have been programmed to do a lot less harmful things than the most calm and controlled of boxers or martial artists.

So yes I like the idea of seeing beautiful women hurt, I like the idea of being convinced by a beautiful woman that I should hurt her for her sexual pleasure but I know that I will always be safe around even the most beautiful and submissive of women because my impulses when the bloodlust rises are to write.

However all this is getting away from the point I was making about what marked the turn. Of course I want to destroy beauty, of course I want to savage and dominate. Those are not acceptable or nice urges and I manage them very well but they are human urges. The desire to lash out against a beauty that is not your own to enjoy, to punish for making you feel bad about yourself. Sick, disgusting and quite frankly boring urges. Misogynistic frustration. What’s fucking new?

That cracked article I mentioned early blew my mind because it introduced the idea that someone could want to be dominated and I think the reason it still chills me so much is that I know what it is like to want to be dominated. I never actually clarified did I but while, like in so many things, I retain a preference for submissive women when it comes to vore, this is most definitely not something that relies upon gender or role. That’s the beautiful thing about writing you get to experience the role of the passive even if you are explicitly writing about the thrill of the dominant.

There’s this spider species where the male throws himself into the mouth of the female as they’re having sex and helps her chew him, as they’re fucking before finally climbing in entirely to be eaten alive. It’s to increase the chances that the female will take the progeny of his seed to term. That was another of those brain implosion moments. An utterly horrifying thing for a man to think about and makes you almost glad for male privilege.

Except the last two years I was suicidal and I was grappling with the impact of being diagnosed with Kallman’s Syndrome. I hate my flesh and in my darker moments I have wanted to slice my tits off. I am effectively a graduate of pretentious media studies, I have autism, tits, a nazi hate cult and a reputation as a transphobic misogynist, my chances of finding a job wouldn’t be great even if we weren’t in the middle of Brexit limbo, the start of Trump, austerity, a recession and technological unemployment. I am staring down the barrel of a gun wielded by the baby boomers and it is only a matter of time before it gets fired and I am homeless.

Faced with such great prospects the idea of being eaten alive honestly doesn’t seem so bad. Oblivion might not be a thing I want to face now I’m out of my depression but if I was sheparded into it by a good looking woman or man who promised me a fantastic night before the end then it really wouldn’t be such a turn off. An end to aggravation and frustration. An end to trying to manage a social life when it takes so much energy and I have so little. An end to wondering if I’ll be able to get another week’s worth of food. An end to eating the same shit day in day out. An end to hiding in my room from a world that is too expensive and too crazed with a desperation to shaft others to survive.

The truly disgusting thing isn’t that I fantasise about doing bad things to good women. The truly disgusting thing is that in this climate I envy the woman who get eaten alive in my fiction because even in Weresylph Dawning, a story designed to be a horrific dystopia where women are slaughtered daily, I find myself thinking them lucky that they have a roof over their heads, good food, good drink and noone ever once discussing taking it away.

My scare stories became my fantasies because at the start of 2016 I’d rather get slaughtered daily than live with the uncertainty of a world on the edge. Ultimately that’s why so long as it grants me the slightest amount of satisfaction I won’t stop writing vore because in this fucked up world we all need to do what we can to keep going.

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