trans man with a debilitating rape kink. he's ashamed of himself, even if he sees others say you shouldn't be ashamed of your kinks—instead of admitting to his secret, he self-isolates and gets off to cheap porn, but the acting is shit anyway. he doesn't want cnc, or pretending, he wants the real thing. he wants a woman to be his, whether she likes it or not, especially if not.
the isolation worsens, his room becomes even lonelier than it already was. the porn does nothing, the vivid scenarios in his mind do nothing. but people online say to never be ashamed of your kinks, right? to take pride in who you are and what you want? other men get to fuck and take and conquer and no one stops it—he's a man, too. why can't he?
after ages of trying to push himself to it, hype himself up, the ski mask in his drawer calls to him and he knows he has to before he misses his chance to finally be a man and fucking take it.
he finds a woman walking home from her car, waits for her to let down her guard, and breaks into her house through the bedroom window. forces her back into her bed, muffles her screams, and uses her. finally, he realizes then what it means to be a man—he is powerful, important, domineering. he can make her cry and scream and plead with barely even a motion. that is what he worked for and he will damn well get it.
ultimately she is not a person but an object, a hole to be used to further his own slow descent into being the depraved, violent, oppressive man he had always been too afraid to admit he was.