What Fuel Feels Like To The Narcissist



When I look at you and see the delight cross your face as you spot me across the room, I feel the flame of attention ignite inside me as the first sensation of power booms into life. I have learned that your smile, the widening of your eyes and your hurrying towards me is indicative of delight and happiness on your part. I feed from this allowing my eyes to drink in the fuel that emanates from your expressions. When I gaze at you beneath me, writhing against me, mouth open and flush of sensual desire spreading across your chest, the flames burn fiercer as I watch with such attentiveness the flaring of your orgasm. I study your reaction to our coupling, noting the detail of the way you twist your head, the slight flare of your nostrils, the flailing limbs. I watch and I absorb, committing your reaction to my memory as I avail myself of the fuel that you are providing for me. When I stand and stare at you, that baleful glare piercing you from my darkened ink-like eyes, I am savouring your trembling stance, the fear that you are trying to hide cannot be hidden as you clutch at the arm of the chair to steady yourself, your eyes welling with tears. I stand and I stare,my stare generating your fearfulness and at the same time absorbing the fuel that flows from your frightened state.

When I hear you call my name, that upwards lilt in your voice, the light inflection which denotes that you are pleased to see me, I feel the fuel embracing the fire inside me, allowing the flames to burn a little brighter and stoking the engine that provides me with my sensation of power. I do not feel delight,I do not feel joy, I will replicate the way you look in order to make you think that I feel them, but as I hear your fuel-laden words as they break upon my ears, all that I feel is power. Power than I cause you to feel so elated when you call out to me from another room or speak down the telephone to me on repeated occasions throughout the day. When I hear your shouted insults, the waves of fuel wash against my ears, emotion-laden labels which do not perturb me, unless I choose to feign that I do, in order to provoke you further. I hear the sound of birdsong, I hear the sounds of a cheering crowd and I hear the first strains of a piece of music that appeals to me, yet none of those things comes to close to making me feel the way I do when you shout, cry, laugh, scream, moan and sigh because of me. Your words of praise move me through the gracing of power far more than the strings of a famous orchestra. Your words of scorn generate a far greater reaction for me than the roar of a crowd as my team scores the winning goal.

When I taste, I taste so much more than the food in my mouth or the drink I have just taken a swig of. You bought me that drink and imbued within that mug of coffee or glass of beer I can taste your interest, your appreciation and your affection. Your empathic print is on all that you say and do, your actions and words are embodied in the cake that you baked for me. I tell you the slice you have cut for me is delicious and of course it is, you are an excellent baker, but what I really taste is the care and attention you dedicated to me as you made that cake for me. Every meal you place before me may taste of different ingredients but the one which always tastes finest to me is the emotion that you have imbued it with. Whether it is a lovingly prepared three course dinner or a slammed down plate of spaghetti bolognaise, the emotion you imbue into those meals always tastes better than the meals themselves.

When I smell that delightful fragrance I feel once more the power rising inside me as I latch on to the fuel that you provide to me. Your action in putting on that scent which I have told you is my favourite goes far beyond the pleasant smell of jasmine or sandalwood. The fragrance tells me how you want me to be pleased by your wearing it, how you wish to smell attractive for me and thus I am empowered by your action as my nose senses the fragrance. The smell of freshly laundered clothing or bedding, that clean scent is imbued with you caring for me, attending to my washing and the housework and once again the smell of this act of kindness, of affection and of caring provides me with the fuel that I crave. Even when I tell you that I no longer like a certain perfume you wear, in order to provoke a reaction from you, when you wear it as an act of defiance, you provide me with yet more fuel from this act which is encapsulated in the scent. When you stand fuming, cigarette in hand, the smell of the smoke contains your anger, your irritation and it smells as sweet to me as a blossoming rose might to you.

When I hold your hand and I feel your pleasure in me taking your hand in mine, the fuel flows once again. As I feel your skin beneath my fingers, I know that the emotions that erupt as I do so will fuel me further. From my lips against your lips through to moving inside of you, I feel as anyone would, but I feel so much more because I feel your emotion through my touch and your touch upon me. The emptiness that consumes me acts with the power of a huge black hole which sucks all the emotion you exude into me. When I feel your touch upon me, the fuel flows once again and you allow the simmering flames to rise higher because of the light application of your fingers on the nape of my neck. The pressure of your arms about me as you hug me tightly signifies the deep-seated love and affection which you have for me. It powers through me, invigorating and awakening, providing me with the power that I need to keep on doing that which I must do.

The sting of your hand as it slaps my face, punishment for another of my transgressions as I sought out the touch of another outside our relationship, will hurt my face, I am after all human in the physical sense at least. The sting that you have left however is readily dwarfed by the surge of power I feel inside me at your emotion-filled violence towards me. Touch me, stroke me, hold me, strike me, push me and pull me, it all amounts to a connection between you and I that sends the fuel flowing from you to me. When I no longer tolerate the affectionate and intimate touches, I crave instead for the terrified grab of my arm or the defensive shove to keep me away from you. I may no longer want you to hold my hand, kiss me or place a delicate hand upon my brow, instead I will welcome the physical manifestation of your anger, your frustration and your fear.

Everything that you say and do will be absorbed through my senses, what I see in you, what I hear you say, what I taste, what I smell and what I feel from your touch, they all provide conduits for me to gather fuel. I am a vast machine which is sucking the emotion from you through all of my five senses in order to try to fill this immense emptiness inside me. You make my senses come alive, albeit it for one purpose and this happens in a way that causes the sensations you feel from the use of your senses to pale by comparison. You truly fill up my senses.

20 thoughts on “What Fuel Feels Like To The Narcissist

  1. Tired says:

    This article made me feel ill. Perhaps I’ll burn his dinner tomorrow. It’s all fuel anyway, right?
    The more I read , the less inclined I feel to do anything I know will please him.

    1. HG Tudor says:

      The more you read, the more you should apply GOSO.

      1. Tired says:


        I’m trying.
        How long would you estimate that some of your readers here in long term marriages took from the time they got here until they actually jumped and filed for divorce?

        It’s so much material to absorb and understand.

        1. HG Tudor says:

          I don’t have access to sufficient information to provide you with a meaningful response, Tired. All I would state is that it does not happen overnight and that is understandable, but achieving freedom (part of which is filing for divorce) is eminently achievable through my work and following my direction.

          1. Tired says:

            Thank you, HG.
            I’ll be clinging to you instead of my narc for guidance when the time comes.

        2. Ellen says:

          It took me, personally, three years from the beginning of devaluation. Married a total of 12 years. Thought I was going insane. Current husband (17 years) is not a narc. I was very careful about that.

          1. Tired says:

            Thank you, Ellen . 🙂

    2. Violetta says:

      It seems to me that the long-term purpose of Narcsite is not learning how to deal with the Narcissists, but breaking the addiction so we won’t have to deal with them at all.

      The management techniques are specifically for things like court appearances or the occasional ambush (if you have changed your work commute and shopping patterns, but couldn’t afford to move away). They are meant to minimize interactions and expedite getting the f away as soon as possible, to avoid feeding the Narcissists fuel or your own addiction.

      Deprive them of sufficient fuel, and they’ll.go feed off someone else. Which is sad, but that’s how it works.

      Every now and then they may pop back and see if your pumps are working, so be closed for business if they do.

      1. HG Tudor says:

        You cannot successfully continue to deal with a narcissist, anybody who thinks that they can do so is suffering from ET.

  2. ANK says:

    HG, could you please do similar/more articles from the female narcissist perspective.
    Thanks in advance.

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Hello ANK, there is no difference between the female and male perspective, they are precisely the same. The differences lie in the sub schools. There will be some slight differences of how the perspective MANIFESTS owing to gender differences, but understanding the perspective is equally applicable. Just substitute “she” for “he” in the articles.

      1. lisk says:

        Your work really cuts through so much psychological and sociological theory aka “crap.”

        When I was going through crazy times with a Somatic in college, my feminist friend tried to tell me my relationship issues were due to how I was brought up and viewed *as a girl* in my family, blah, blah, blah. It did not resonate with me. I did not buy her feminist crap then and I do not buy it now, especially after reading KTN. Same with so much psychology.

        It’s no wonder that your work does not get more play in the real world, HG. Everyone’s trying to protect their own slice of the theoretical pie.

        Meanwhile you’ve baked a great big reality pie from which everyone can eat.

        1. HG Tudor says:

          Thank you Lisk, the pie analogy is accurate and amused me. Yes, it´s a combination of ignorance as to what is really occurring and people being defensive in terms of maintaining their own line of business, erroneous as it is.

      2. ANK says:

        Thank you HG.

        1. HG Tudor says:

          You’re welcome

  3. sharyn227 says:

    Yes HG, but what a conundrum for you!

  4. Bluecoffee says:

    He refused to say, “I love you.” So, I would ask, usually while in bed…

    Me: “Why do you love me?”
    Him: “When I am with you, I feel safe inside my head.”

    Oh, little did I know.

  5. Ashley says:

    My ex boyfriend had an obsession with one of my perfumes. I alternate between four depending on my mood, the weather, my outfit, etc. He sulked when I didn’t wear the one he loved.

    1. Intrepid Traveller says:

      Yes, they dont want to understand the variation of your moods do they. Because they dont have them and want to be in control of yours.

      1. Ashley says:

        Yes reminds me of the ONE time I cried in front of him about something sentimental & he had an odd reaction to it, especially for a mature man. He was irritated by it, uncomfortable, almost awkward. He didn’t even pretend to put the facade on in front of people; I thought it was strange.

Vent Your Spleen! (Please see the Rules in Formal Info)

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Previous article

A Bowl of Cherries

Next article

Thought Fuel