Shanesuife

Italy at dusk. The cobblestone streets echo with whispers of a bygone era. The streets and I are alike - we've both seen plenty of footfalls and felt their lingered warmth. We've both felt control shifting like sand through an hourglass - strong, definitive, bordering on distinct grooves, weaving in and out of our existence. In the harrowed valleys and peaks of control, you find the essence of performance art, and, in so many words, the roots of my life.

I was introduced to performance art when I was 20. I was drawn to it like the moon to the night, pulled by a force so unseen yet powerful. The control it demanded held me, the slow build excited me. Living in Rome, a city upholstered with history, art was a love language, whispered in every corner, in every crevice. It became my calling. Amidst this love affair with art, in the hidden corners of the Internet, I found a different kind of art - the art of desire, the dance of bodies, the languages of lust. My favorite sex sites became my second studio, my second stage where control and slow build reigned as well.

Yes, I am a performer festooned with a performance that doesn't seek applause but transmits energy. The same way I stand under the weight of a crowd's gaze, I learned to stand under the gaze of my own desire. I wrestled with my wants, toiled with my needs, and toyed with the control one needs to manage such a tango. Control. I marveled at how athletes command their bodies, sculpted from grit and determination. It's that same control, like a hushed undertone, that I found humming on my favorite sex sites. Control in desires, control in performance, control in life в“ it's a slow dance that perfects with time, with practice.

I learned the nuances of this dance with control, my body acting as my partner, the stageв”whether physical or digitalв”as my ballroom. The resonant echo of my steps on the ancient Roman marble turned into rhythmic clicks on the keyboard. The slow drumming of my heart in a quiet room morphed into the humming of my laptop, guiding me through the galleries of my favorite sex sites. It was in this dance, in this interplay of ancient and modern, of physical and digital, where I could see the thin line between art and desire blurring.

The slow build, it fascinated me. Whether it was in art or on my favorite sex sites, the thrill lay in the anticipation. The building pressure, the mounting tension, the tantalizing wait that builds up to the climax. It was a lesson in patience and control, to prolong the peak, to savor the allure of the journey. I learned that the journey towards the peak is often more beautiful, more enlightening than the peak itself.

Being non-binary, I found my reality moving like a pendulum, swinging between acceptance and resistance, between understanding and judgement. I learned to harbor control not just on the stage but within myself too. In the slow build of my life, in the rhythmic cadence of my heart, in my love for performance art, and yes, in my nightly pilgrimage to my favorite sex sites, I am but an artist, choreographing the dance of my existence, building it up slowly, with grace, control, and the raw authenticity of my experiences. I am but a performer. The world, my stage. Control, my script. And the slow build, my performance.