Jupiter Obsession (Dangerous Type)… (1-17) – Commentary

Jupiter Obsession (Dangerous Type) is me sitting in the tension between two truths:

Obsession can feel like salvation.
And that’s exactly why it’s dangerous.

On the surface, it reads like a fever-dream love story:

  • fast connection,
  • escalating sexual trust,
  • self-harm fading,
  • shared dreams of a household,
  • her devotion settling into forever.

Underneath, it’s about how easily:

“I finally feel whole”
can slide into
“I would never leave, even if I should.”

Vanilla Joy vs. Kink Obsession

It opens with a contrast:

“come from a place of joy”
“be a complete person without the need of any other individual.”

That’s the vanilla “healthy relating” script.

Then I immediately undercut it with:

“I lived for the thrill of lust and obsession. She just lived day to day.”

Two different gravities:

  • Me – fueled by intensity, risk, fixation.
  • Her – surviving, going through motions, half-empty.

That imbalance is important.

When someone who lives on “day to day” collides with someone who lives on “obsession,” you do not get a balanced romance.

You get a star and a planet pulled into orbit faster than either of them understand.

The Textbook Escalation

Watch the progression:

  1. Fast connection

    “We hadn’t known each other long but things moved fast and recklessly.”

  2. Sexual escalation

    “Her walls of modesty faded rapidly.”
    “increasingly explicit”
    “eager to please… gain any compliment”

  3. Emotional fusion

    “She embraced all of me early on: my darkest desires, deepest secrets and greatest flaws.”

  4. Identity shift

    “Her curiosity for the kink lifestyle turned into a desire for me and me alone.”

She goes from:

  • “curious about kink” →
  • “fixated on me as the whole lifestyle” →
  • “basically living like a slave before the word is even given.”

That’s not framed as “look how naive she is.”

It’s framed as:

“This is how fast this kind of dynamic can rewrite a person.”

Especially when the other person (me, in this case) is built to enjoy that speed.

When Obsession Replaces Self-Harm

One of the sharpest turns in the piece is here:

“She lost interest in most other things… including her self-harming behaviors. Her mind became preoccupied with me inflicting my own marks upon her body.”

On paper, that could sound like an improvement:

  • less self-harm,
  • more externalized pain in a “dynamic.”

But what’s actually happening is:

same nervous system, new altar.

Instead of:

  • “I hurt myself; I’m in control of the pain,”

it becomes:

  • “He hurts me; he is now the structure, the focus, the reason I don’t spiral.”

That kind of transfer can feel like healing.

It can also be a very fragile sobriety if the entire scaffolding is built on one person.

The piece doesn’t resolve that for you.

It just holds the tension:

“She feels more whole than ever, and that wholeness is extremely precarious.”

Confession, Devotion, and the Savior-Shadow

She “confesses” to me:

“as if she was confessing to a higher power to save her soul from her own damnation.”

That language matters.

I’m not just:

  • a boyfriend,
  • a Dom,
  • or a kink partner.

I’m positioned as:

  • priest,
  • judge,
  • and redeemer.

She builds a story that:

her truest self = servitude in a dynamic with me.

And I, being who I am, talk about:

“plans to build a lifestyle household”
“my vision of utopia”
“a place of sanctuary from the outside world”

None of that is neutral.

It’s hot.

It’s intoxicating.

It’s also exactly the kind of thing that can tip from:

“we built a safe little universe together”

into

“I have no identity outside of you.”

Which is why the last lines matter so much.

“We Could Have Been So Close to Never Happening…”

If you just read the middle, it sounds like a done deal:

  • Devoted slave.
  • Obsessed Master.
  • Household manifested.
  • Forever locked.

Then I break it:

“We could have been so close to never happening, unless we were the dangerous type.

It hasn’t happened yet. It hasn’t happened.”

That’s me pulling back and reminding you:

  • this is a path, not an inevitability.
  • this is fantasy, memory, possibility braided together.
  • it’s dangerous precisely because it could happen and feels so right to both people.

“Dangerous type” isn’t just about her.

It’s:

  • her history,
  • my wiring,
  • and the way those two resonate in a way that could be holy or catastrophic, depending on how it’s handled.

I don’t tell you which way it goes.

I just admit:

“I know this door exists.
I know exactly what we’d be like on the other side.
We’re both the kind of people who might actually walk through it.”

That’s the threat and the allure.

On the Companion Track: “Dangerous Type” – Letters to Cleo

The song pairing isn’t random nostalgia.

“Dangerous Type” (the Letters to Cleo cover) lives in that same space as this piece:

  • sultry,
  • obsessive,
  • slightly toxic,
  • impossible to fully turn off.

It’s the soundtrack of:

  • “I know this is a bad idea,”
    and
  • “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

The title alone does most of the work:

Dangerous Type =
the person you know could wreck you
and the one you keep walking toward anyway.

That’s the orbit this whole Jupiter post is in:

  • oversized gravity,
  • oversized longing,
  • oversized risk.

If you’ve ever had someone who felt like your self-harm, your savior, your Master, your addiction, and your home address all at once?

That’s the frequency this is tuned to.

I’m not handing it to you as a recommendation.

I’m saying:

“This exists.
I’ve lived close to it.
If you recognize yourself in it, don’t pretend you don’t know how dangerous that is.”

Cycle I – Coming on Strong · 17 · Commentary (v1.00)

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