“A-U-T-O-matic, just tell me what to do oh ohh
A-U-T-O-matic, I'm so in love with you”
—————————————-
I was seven, maybe eight—way too young to know about desire, but old enough to know that forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.
It was the 80s, and the world was grey except for Prince: a holy fever dream on wax, on film, on my parents’ turntable after midnight.
My parents were strict, churchgoing, cautious—the kind who loved music but not that music, not the purple, not the dirty.
Except- Ever curious “Me” looked at their music collection. There it was!!!! Records hidden in plain sight:
Prince—“naked” astride a winged horse, the image blurring the lines between sinner and saint, masculine and feminine, the angelic and the filthy.
Dirty Mind—lingerie and attitude, a catalog from a planet where gender is just a costume you rip off when the lights go out.
It scared me. It called to me. It promised something nobody ever talked about. But the real danger came late at night, the television glowing blue, MTV breaking every rule.
Automatic came on, a song that didn’t just throb, it possessed.
That synth? Those drums? That voice?
Not just Prince, but Camille—his haunted, holy other half—singing in a falsetto that wasn’t boy or girl, just pure want.
And the words:
“I’ll do it automatically for you.”
And then the images: Prince tied to a bed, writhing, punished, not just enduring but inviting it, loving it.
The domme in the video wasn’t cruel—she was divine, a priestess.
He surrendered and worshipped in one long gasp.
But me? Even as a kid behind the couch, I knew:
I wasn’t dreaming of being tied up.
I was dreaming of being the one tying.
I wanted to be the one with the power, the one whose very presence made someone else beg to give up control.
The one who others would choose to please, to worship, to fall apart for—automatically, because they couldn’t help themselves.
——————————————-
Lyrics
(I remember how you kissed me)
(Not with your lips but with your soul)
(With you I'm never bored, talk to me some more)
(I can hear you, I'm going to have to torture you now)
——————————————-
Something sacred and profane flickered to life in me—a knowledge I shouldn’t have, a hunger I couldn’t name.
I thought later in life that Closer by Nine Inch Nails was my awakening.
But no, that was just when I found words for the fire.
Prince was the match. Prince was the spell.
“Automatic” is not a love song.
It’s a liturgy for the ones who know that power isn’t always about taking—
Sometimes it’s about making someone want to be taken.
It’s about commanding devotion, about seeing worship in someone’s eyes, about demanding surrender and watching them melt, trembling, hungry to please.
Prince taught me—
That submission isn’t weakness, but power is in knowing what to do with it.
That androgyny is just another way of being more.
That pleasure and pain are sisters, that devotion and desire are twins, that loving someone enough to own them is holy as anything in any church.
————————————
Lyrics:
“When it comes to you I'm automatic baby
There's no one else like me
I'm the best you'll ever find
No one else could understand you, you're too complex
They say nothing's perfect, but they don't know you
That's automatic too”
———————————-
I grew up wanting to tie, to worship, to make someone mine.
I wanted a woman who would kneel and rise at my word—who could give me every part of herself: the queen, the servant, the animal, the child—
And I’d say, “Come here. You belong to me.”
I wanted to be the altar, the fire, the force that makes her want to lay it all down.
That’s what Prince showed me:
Sex isn’t just about skin and sweat.
It’s about someone trusting you with their soul—
Handing you the keys to their kingdom and saying,
“Take me. Use me. I’m yours. Show me how deep your darkness goes, how bright your love can burn. Push me until I beg, and then hold me when I can’t speak.”
So when I tie a woman down, when I call her goddess as she trembles for me,
When I make her scream and pray at the altar of my body—
It all goes back to that moment.
That one wild night, the TV glowing, Prince moaning, Camille (Prince’s feminine alter ego). whispering secrets my parents hoped I’d never learn.
But I learned.
And I’m still learning.
And every time I hear that synth line, or see that flash of purple, or taste the memory of a woman surrendering to me—
I remember:
I am not afraid.
I am not ashamed.
I am awake.
And every act of devotion offered to me is a little bit of God.
So if you listen to my words and think that I cast spells, know that I even I am just a student!
Listen to the Master for yourself:
——————
Don't say no man has ever tasted your ice cream 🍦👅💦
Baby you're the purple star in the night supreme
You'll always be a virgin for no man deserves your love 😇
I only pray that when you dream, I'm the you you dream of
I pray that when you dream, you dream of how we kissed 🫦
Not with our lips but with our souls
Stop me if I bore you
Why is it that I think we'd be so good in bed?
Can you hear me? Why do I love you so much?
It's strange, I'm more comfortable around you when I'm naked, 💋
can you hear me?
I wonder if you have any mercy, don't torture me
Stop the music baby, automatic fool
Thank you 🌹Rosie for helping to remind me 😱