Anatomy of a Crimson Confession

“Never trust in the wisdom of one who has not yet borne the weight of secrecy.”

photo of long-legged sexy secretary taking dictationWhat is it about absolution that strips bare the shame of even the most grievous indiscretion while leaving the allure of impropriety intact? The tightening bonds of secrecy can build the most volatile turmoil inside, and yet the force of its release offers a gratification unlike any other.

The motivation for excision is, of course, every bit as personal as the secret that haunts the afflicted. But whether running from the relentless pursuit of guilt or compelled by a hunger for release that only exposure can provide, it is within the catharsis of confession where we find our peace and a resting place for burden.

Indeed, perhaps it is only fitting that our kind should seek refuge in revelation. From a time before time, man has shown a remarkable inclination toward sympathy. No, even more—when disrobed of cultural differences, political affiliations and the weaponry of religious discrimination, the core essence of our species has always been one of empathic connection. In the liberation of others, we will find our own.

Such is the catalyst which drives the Crimson Confessions. In freeing one sensual story from the seclusion of exile, I only hope to inspire untold others in its place. I assure you it is not my intention to cause controversy or outrage, but should either ensue then so be it. Far too long have the bodies and minds of we sexual creatures been relegated to notions of “deviancy” by a society that views this as a bad thing. Perhaps the time has come for a shifting of paradigms and a proud retaking of our basest instincts.

As for my own modest contribution to the cause, I am both hunter and gatherer. I coax the secrets from the recesses of darkness to celebrate them in the light. Some Confessions come willingly, seeking me out of their own volition. Others take a nudge of persuasion. Eventually, however, each mystery is unveiled and every inch laid bare for the taking.

But I am simply a conduit. As with any great movement, the thrust of momentum comes from the engine that makes it run. From you, the reader. Whether seeking a like-minded audience with whom to silently commiserate or wrapping your imagination around the decadence of sensation elicited by the sins of another, never forget that it is your lustful energy that drives us deeper into indulgence.

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