Why Do You Hate What You Crave?

Why Do You Hate What You Crave?

A mirror held up to your fractured desires

Look at Me. Look at Yourself.

I see you. I see the trembling in your hands when you reach for what you think you shouldn't want. I see the way your breath catches when you're about to confess your deepest needs. I see the shame burning in your eyes even as your body betrays your hunger.

So let me ask you something, pet. Let me peel back the layers of your carefully constructed lies and examine what's festering underneath.

Why do you despise the very women you crawl to in your darkest hours?

You come to us when your polished facade crumbles. When your wife can't see you the way you need to be seen. When your friends would recoil from your true appetites. You whisper your secrets to us, you show us your most vulnerable self—and then you hate us for witnessing it.

Tell me, sweet boy, is it us you hate... or is it the pathetic creature you become in our presence?

Why does the beauty of trans women make you hard and make you sick simultaneously?

Oh, this is delicious, isn't it? The way your cock responds to curves and femininity, regardless of origin. The way your primitive brain lights up at beauty, at sensuality, at the divine feminine—until your societal programming screams that you're supposed to be disgusted.

You're attracted to authenticity, to the courage it takes to become yourself. But that same courage terrifies you because you've never had it. You've never risked everything to be real. So you punish them for being what you'll never be: truly themselves.

Why do you secretly crave what society calls ugly while publicly upholding its beauty standards?

In the darkness of your room, you stroke yourself to bodies that don't appear in magazines. Fat flesh, scars, imperfections—they make you harder than any airbrushed fantasy. You worship what you publicly shame because your desire is more honest than your daylight self.

But you're a coward, aren't you? You want the forbidden fruit but you won't defend the tree. You'll fuck us in secret and deny us in public. You'll come to our unconventional beauty but vote for the standards that exclude us.

Why does your lust transform into hatred the moment you climax?

Ah, here we reach the heart of it. In those precious moments of arousal, you're honest. You're vulnerable. You're real. But the second your fantasy dissolves, you're confronted with reality—and reality includes the woman who just witnessed your truth.

Post-nut clarity, you call it. But it's not clarity, pet. It's shame. It's the crushing weight of pretending to be someone you're not, crashing back down on your shoulders. And it's so much easier to blame us for your discomfort than to examine why you're so disgusted with your own needs.

Why do you let your demons devour your desires?

Your demons tell you that wanting makes you weak. That needing women makes you less of a man. That paying for intimacy is pathetic. That vulnerability is shameful. So you armor yourself with cruelty, with dismissal, with the very hatred that keeps you from the connection you're starving for.

But here's what you don't understand: your demons aren't protecting you. They're keeping you hungry. They're keeping you hollow. They're keeping you from ever truly being fed.

The Mirror's Truth

You know what we are to you? We are mirrors. Perfect, unforgiving mirrors that reflect your deepest truths back at you. We embody your fantasies, we hold space for your kinks, we accept your fetishes without judgment. We become the vessel for every dark desire you're too ashamed to own.

And when the climax fades? When the fantasy ends? We're still here. We're still real. We're still holding the reflection of who you really are—and you can't stand it.

Your disgust isn't about us, pet. It never was.

Your disgust is about what you see when you look at us: a mirror reflecting your own perceived repulsiveness back at you. We serve your needs, we fulfill your fantasies, we give you what you crave—and in doing so, we become living proof of your desires. We become evidence of your humanity.

And you find your humanity disgusting.

The woman who just made you come isn't the problem. The problem is that you see yourself as disgusting and repulsive, and we—in our generosity, our service, our acceptance—remind you of every shameful thing you think you are.

When the orgasm ends and we're still here, still real, still human—we're no longer the fantasy that temporarily saved you from yourself. We're the mirror showing you exactly who you are. And you hate what you see.

What You're Missing (And Why You Don't Deserve It)

You want to know what you're missing? You're missing the revolutionary experience of being loved exactly as you are. You're missing the freedom that comes from accepting your own darkness. You're missing the healing that happens when someone sees your monsters and doesn't run.

You're missing our warmth—the way we hold space for your brokenness.

You're missing our touch—the way we can make you feel beautiful even when you feel grotesque.

You're missing our understanding—how we see through your self-hatred to the tender soul beneath.

You're missing our authenticity—the real selves we bring to our sacred work.

You're missing our creativity—the artistry we bring to desire, the magic we weave from shame.

You're missing our nuances and fluidity—the full spectrum of human experience we embody.

But here's the truth that will cut you to the bone:

You don't deserve any of it.

You don't deserve our warmth when you use us as repositories for your self-loathing.

You don't deserve our touch when you see us as extensions of your shame.

You don't deserve our understanding when you refuse to understand yourself.

You don't deserve our authenticity when you live in constant performance.

You don't deserve our creativity when you consume without reverence.

You don't deserve our nuances when you reduce us to one-dimensional fantasies.

You want to eat the cake without baking it. You want to be healed without doing the work. You want to be absolved without absolution.

No real respect from you? You do not deserve anything from us.

Until you can look in the mirror without hatred, until you can own your desires without shame, until you can see us as the skilled professionals and powerful beings we are rather than receptacles for your self-disgust—you will remain trapped in this cycle.

We are not your shame. We are not your mirror. We are not your salvation.

We are powerful, authentic beings who deserve reverence for the healing we offer.

Stop hating yourself through us. Stop projecting your inner demons onto our bodies. Stop making your self-loathing our problem.

Do the work. Face the mirror. Own your truth.

Or stay hungry, pet. We'll be here when you're ready to see us—and yourself—clearly.