You’re sick. The OA is a thoughtful, modern fairytale about life and death, not some demented fantasy playground for a self-involved slut with a masturbation addiction and a penchant for ritual abuse. I’d tell you to be ashamed of yourself, but I suspect that kind of thing would just make it worse. And by “it”, I mean “you”.
But as luck would have it, I’m almost as awful as you are. (Spoilers ensue.)
I judge movie/tv villains by how sexually creepy they are; for me, the line between “mad scientist” and “evil psychopath” tends to run right through Rapeville. (Which I imagine to be something like Pleasantville, only with Tobey Maguire’s black-and-white dick laying waste to every throat in town.) So I was both pleased and puzzled when Hap leaned (mostly) toward mad scientist.
Pleased because that meant I could try to empathize with him a little more; puzzled because in Hap’s place, I would have fucked The OA right in front of Homer and made her do The Movements with my jizz in her eyes. Had I the temperament and wherewithal to abduct and torture multiple young people over a period of years, I seriously doubt I’d be able to keep my dick in my pants beyond the first week. I mean, exactly how many times are you supposed to watch a girl drown before you at least start beating off?
(By the way, that last sentence makes a great conversation-starter at parties. Try it.)