CONTENT NOTE: this post contains erotic and explicit writing
I can’t believe I’ve only just realised this!
When I’m writing, I see the pictures in my mind, and often those pictures are metaphors rather than the literal thing I’m thinking of.
Take Desire Lines, for example. In town planning, desire lines refer to the bespoke paths that pedestrians make and take rather than following the pavement or walkway that has been laid down for them.
Realising that metaphors are a kink for me only became truly apparent when I wrote a piece earlier called ‘Let Me Be Your Pianola’.
I got a definite thrill from seeing and feeling those pictures in my mind’s eye.
Creating the metaphor feels like a sexual act in and of itself.
It turns me on.
Curious to read more?
Here’s the Pianola piece (content warning: the metaphor alludes to BDSM practices)
You know the pianola, right? Those self-playing pianos you saw in the old movies. It looked like magic as the keys moved up and down and the music came out with no-one touching them: maybe a jaunty honky-tonk piece or an old time favourite.
The ‘magic’ comes from a roll of paper with holes punched in it. The positioning of the holes corresponds to the notes and the tempo. As the roll rotates, the music plays.
When we are in a scene, You are the composer and I am the pianola. Your deliberate and considered placement of marks and holes on my paper-skin cause me to sing to Your tune. You set the rhythm and pace. You create the tone. You play me. It can look – and feel – like magic.
Each time we meet You produce a different roll. You thread it inside me, aligning me with the music You are most hungering for that day (or night – I love it when the music plays in the dark).
I’m craving Your music. My voice calling out Your notes. You.