As inspired by the Trainspotting monologue, in anticipation of Trainspotting 2.

Choose kink. Choose a role. Choose responsibility. Choose a clique. Choose a fucking expensive sex toy. Choose dungeon equipment, sex swings, dildos and volumes of how-to bondage manuals. Choose self-awareness, anxiety and aftercare. Choose entitlement. Choose opinions. Choose your friends. Choose private parties and fitting in. Choose a wardrobe purchase in a range of leather, latex, and rubber that you’ll never wear twice. Choose SSC and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose standing in the side feeling insecure watching holier-than-thou Tops have a go at newbie bottoms, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable sex club, nothing more than an embarrassment to the stuckup, know-it-all next generation spawn to replace yourself. Choose your lifestyle. Choose kink.

Ending Monologue: Revisited

But, that’s gonna change – I’m going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I’m cleaning up and I’m moving on, going queer and choosing kink. I’m looking forward to it already. I’m gonna be just like you. The role, the clique, the fucking expensive sex toy. The dungeon equipment, the sex swing, the dildos and volumes of how-to bondage manuals, self-awareness, anxiety, aftercare, entitlement, opinions, friends, private parties, fitting in, wardrobe, junk food, the next generation, walks in the park, eight to one, good at rope, cleaning the toys, choice of methods, public outings, casual munches, teaching workshops, setting up dungeons, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.

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