I started with a quarter-pill in September 2018 and bumped it up to about a half a pill during all of 2019. Dating had lost its luster, men their intrigue, my pain tolerance its infinite depths. I was beginning to feel my edges, my limits. Betraying my basic needs to feel seen, heard, and valuable was no longer the course de rigueur, it had become to feel more like the affront to my soul that it was. Then Covid struck the world and rocked my little chaotic, hurting life – and it was the biggest, fattest, juiciest red pill I’ve ever swallowed in my life.
It was also delicious.
I am free of injuries on insults, free of ignoring my inner voice, free of obligation. I have stepped into a sense of myself I have longed for for decades. Interactions with my ex-husband are opportunities to stand in my own righteous strength, my boundaries with my mother are better drawn, my equation related to the world and my energy crystal clear: nothing and no one is greater or more important than my own well-being. Not even my own inertia to destroy myself.
I haven’t been writing because this space originated out of a need to explore and devour and tell the world about it. I’m on the other side of all that consumption and am feeling contemplative and supremely private. I also haven’t been fucking around all that much, so what’s to tell? How every day is like Groundhog’s Day? Work, animals, child, parents. Repeat repeat repeat motherfucking repeat.
I guess I could have been writing about my dating app experiences. I’ve had a handful of little dalliances in my pocket. They’d burn bright with dicks and tits being slung across the ether at break neck speeds then the realities of Covid and comfort levels would crash into us and we’d limp away into the dark corners of our phones never to speak again.
The last time I wrote I was hopeful I was curating something fun and light. I put far too much faith into one so ridiculously young, but oh! how I wanted to believe in the bravado of this young 22 yo man! It puttered out as pitifully as you might imagine. Then there was the 30 yo lawyer whose drinking could have drowned a fish. His open and affectionate manner reminded me of The Golfer in some ways and our texting and sexting was delightful for 6 full weeks. And then he stood me up one Saturday and I ended things on Sunday. No wiggle room, no doubts. I will never, ever continue to see anyone – man or woman – who wastes my time like that.
I entertained the idea that something had “happened to him” for about .3 seconds that Saturday evening when I realized he’d gone MIA. The only reason I waited to tie things off with him until Sunday was simply to see if he’d break the silence first.
I said my piece, he apologized, offered up an “alternative solution” (“I’d be happy to be your booty call!”) to which I politely declined. “I no longer trust you and so I won’t be taking you up on that,” I’d said blithely. I forgot to add that I thought we were booty calls, but by the time I’d realized my omission I’d already lost any sense of giving a shit.
Today, February 1st, is the morning after my second date with a tall, fair-skinned Mexican man. He’s 28, has a graduate degree, and a fetching Spanish accent. He also grins ear to ear and bends over in tickled delight at things I say, which is probably for the best because he can’t see me looking at him wide-eyed with disbelief. Am I really that funny?? Apparently I am!
Our first date was at a coffee shop outdoors in 42º F (6º C) weather with no heat source. I sat as long as my cold butt could stand it then begged off. He’d said he’d be open to coming home with me, but sober and jaded as I was, I demurred. “I definitely want to see you again,” I told him, “but I’m not up for bringing you home tonight.” He didn’t seem bothered and when I asked if I could kiss him when he’d walked me to my car he nodded and blasted a grin at me.
Three weeks and several more failed attempts to see one another later he finally made it over to my house last night. I was observing myself more than him. A hot cup of tea cradled in my hands, minimal makeup, my knees drawn up against my breasts I sat practically guarding myself from him. He sat on the middle cushion of the couch while the dog took up the third. It was cozy, familiar.
He did the grinning, bending over thing some more, told me about his family back in Mexico, his friends, his life. Gushed over how genuine and different I was from any other woman he’d ever dated. I was flattered, but also searching for that connection I had felt at the end of our chilly date. I sensed tendrils of it, but we had been shitty texters in between these two dates. The water between us felt so cold, insurmountably so.
He was closing in on me, shrinking the distance from me to him. I smelled the woodsy scents of his cologne, could hear the crinkle of his leather jacket. “I’m so glad you’re here tonight,” I said looking directly into his beautiful inky brown eyes, “but I feel like some of our connection has been lost these past few weeks because we’ve hardly talked and so I’m not looking to have sex with you tonight.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “That’s totally ok with me. I just really wanted to see you and hang out.”
We talked some more about our desire for a stronger connection and committed to keeping the water warmer between visits with one another.
Eventually, three hours after he arrived all tall, dark and handsome, he said he needed to leave. It was 10:30 on a school night for the both of us after all. I walked him to the door and tilted my face to his and closed the gap between us, careful to press my heavy and untouched breasts into the bottom of his rib cage.
Our hands slowly explored one another. One of his cold hands cupped the side of my neck behind my ear. The other slipped beneath my t-shirt. I tried not to move away from its iciness. I sneaked one beneath his jacket and the other ran through the short hair behind his ear. His lips soft and pliant opened against mine and we melted into one another, a tall dark moon against a short bright sun.
The dog barked at us and we chuckled into each other’s mouths. It was time for him to go.
Later, as I got ready for bed, I felt so incredibly happy. And safe. I felt so completely safe because I had been true to myself through and through and hadn’t done one tiny thing that the whole of me wasn’t behind. The red pill I started to take 2+ years ago means so much more to me than simply seeing the Matrix for what it is. It has also been the gateway to regaining my own trust. Because if I can’t trust myself first and foremost, then how in the hell will I ever be able to trust anyone else??
For the first time in my life, I am feeling truly myself.
I opened my door with an easy swoosh, but my insides were flipping. What was a 22 yo doing on my doorstep?
We’d met a few days earlier on some app, he’d said all the right things, was bold and cheeky with a bunch of respectful thrown in. “Would you like a romance with a younger man?” he’d asked me via text. It didn’t make sense to say Yes to his requests to see me, but then again, What if this miraculously turned into something great??
“I’m open to absolutely anything,” was my answer. And that’s true. I don’t know the prescription for happiness.
He stepped inside and set down a tiny Tupperware container with rum and two blood red cans of Coke. “I don’t know what the open carry laws are here,” he explained when I laughed at his contraband.
We talked for hours. First outside in my papasans, then on my couch. He was long and lean, pale with soft, feathery dark brown hair that flopped over one of his blue eyes. He’s not your average young man. He’s lived a life of a 30 yo, to be sure. Wise, hurt, hungry.
Something was wrong with my clock because each time I looked up at it it was two hours later than the last time I looked. Well past midnight I made my move and put my feet on his lap. I had had enough wine to warm my veins and he’d tapped into my whiskey.
His warm hands held my feet and ankles and explored my bare calves. I hadn’t been touched in almost a year – was this real??
I leaned in and twisted a handful of his oversized t-shirt in my hand and pulled his sweet, pretty face to mine. Our lips touched and I breathed him in, pressed further and felt him melt against me.
I ran my fingers through his silky hair and moaned a little as his warm, wet tongue met mine. Holy shit, I thought, I’m alive. I’m real. I’m seen.
But it didn’t go further.
Despite asking if he could stay the night before he came over, he begged off. It was 2 am and he was tired, he said.
The morning after I felt light and heady, but drained. Covid, 22, ugh. But also: a year.
Sadly, he’s dropped the ball since. He’s said he wanted to see me twice since that night, but never selected a night. It’s a week from our date and he’s been quiet for the last 36+ hours.
Since Covid some things have become clear: I don’t make people do what I want. I wait and see what they do, then I make a decision. That goes for friends, too. With this kid it was a sweet, but singular night. PG. Not even -13. I’m not going to make it more than what it was.
Today is the 3rd of October. I think it was almost exactly a year ago that I met Francois and we had a beautiful, hedonistic week together. One whole year of not being touched, of not being interested in anyone, of not being thought of by someone.
Covid has been a time of reckoning for me, as it has been for so many others. As my country crumbles in the most disgusting, abysmal, terrifying way, so too have my self-annihilating ways. I have no stomach for mistreatment, no patience. I’m not betraying myself anymore. It’s scary to have no playbook.
I look back on my life and there’s all but one relationship that has no substance. The bulk of my life – my sex and love life – has zero substance. Dating and loving men who don’t love me back, who don’t care about me. I’ve slept with so many men, triple digits, and how many have loved me? Maybe two. How many have cared about me? Maybe none.
It’s a devastating realization.
I have lived a life. A big, loud, exciting and robust life. I have done whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. I have been fearless and charismatic, eaten up anyone in my path with a hunger that was bigger than me and now, in the quiet of a pandemic, I’m hogtied to isolation for survival. The quiet is deafening.
I planted no seeds to sow, my fields are fallow and I am alone. Naturally.
I have felt like writing many times over the last several months, but why and about what? My personal revolution? How boring – and selfish. Would you want to hear about me finding myself sometimes at the bottom of a bottle or at the bottom of a tea kettle? I can’t even be consistent in my vices – it’s either yoga or booze. Sometimes a combination. Ok, usually a combination.
Not only am I 1000x more boring than I was before, but my boringness means I’m focused on myself – not the dipshits I let in my life – and I’m a lot more private about my own shit than I realized. My traumas that were triggered in September of 2018 with the Kavanaugh hearings have rolled through and over me time and time again ever since. I can’t unsee my own pain and hurt, and most importantly, now that I am awake, I can’t abuse myself with men anymore, either.
It didn’t happen overnight, obviously, but I was already getting there before the Coronavirus hit us. I hadn’t had sex since October of 2019 and maybe only had one or two dates in December and January. I had put out my feelers for men in the London area for Eroticon 2020, but my heart was never really in it. And now here we are. October of 2020 and I have kissed exactly one human and hugged approximately 5 all year. It’s been brutal.
I fear for the safety of my parents and myself and some shitty dick isn’t worth the risk, so I don’t go out. The 22 yo was a total anomaly and seeing as I’m not interested in convincing anyone to be with me I will be alone for how ever many more months it will be until I have the energy and bravery to be with someone again.
I miss you all. I miss the way it was. It feels different now somehow. New guard and all that, totally normal. The old trees die and give way to and feed the new growth at its feet. I used to watch those time-lapse National Geographic videos of a forest that burned down and the green sprouts that would miraculously push up through the dark, rich soil. Unfurling like little dancers in the beams of sunlight that broke through the treetops. It was mesmerizing.
And now I am that little green sprout reaching for her sun, but I’m not sure I’m in the same forest.
My energy for dating has been exceptionally low over the last 9 months or so. Mourning, processing, working, mothering. There’s barely been any time for fucking.
It also doesn’t help that out of every 50 guys I match with, 35 of them keep asking me how my day is/was, 5 completely ignore me and another 9 send me an unsolicited dick pic or expect me to invite them to my house so I can spread my legs for them.
If you were doing the math, that means only about 1 men out of 50 behave relaxed and non-threatening, show intelligence and interest, and maintain a line of contact that is both intriguing and comfortable. And are fucking hot, of course. Mama has standards, y’all.
And to be perfectly honest I’d say that number is probably closer to 0 – .5 per 50, but there’s no such thing as “half a man,” so we’ll just have to go with the whole guy for every 100.
It sounds exhausting, but really it’s not! Though there’s a lot of initial up front work planting seeds in the row, within hours I can see what’s going to grow. The little shoots that will turn into eggplants show themselves almost immediately.
BAM! Mother fucking eggplant.
The guys who like to make sure your day is going well every morning, noon, and night reveal themselves next. They grow paltry little leaves and have a fallow, weak color to them. like a houseplant starved for sunlight.
Gotta just let those die on the vine.
Obviously the men who never connect never break the soil’s surface and I forget they were even there.
And when that one little glorious seedling pushes through the dirt and uncoils steady and bright towards the sun, oh that is the best feeling.
It’s a little miracle watching it unfold and grow tall, sprout leaves and strengthen. It excites me to see how it just seems to know what to do with little help from me, yet it flourishes with a little water and all that delicious sun.
Holy shit! This one’s palatable!
These are the special seedling men, like Francois, who make all the work seem worthwhile. I’m not trying to feed a village, after all, just me. One little woman, one little soul, one little hungry body and they’re easy, beautiful, warm, and bright. Perfect examples of the intangible “chemistry” we all seek.
And, my friends, my latest planting has some promise: I have found a new seedling worth waiting for.
Nothing more humbling than a four legged alien who’s plotting to kill you.
Or a 27-year-old man who thinks he knows what’s up.
Picture this: A Bumble match with a very tall, lanky muscular fella whose profile says that he’s there because the girls on Grindr are too hairy matching with me, a mid-40’s woman who says she’s not interested in men with “outdated views on sex, women, and the world in general.”
He asks me what that means, so I decide to throw caution to the wind and really dig in, throw the whole damn book at him.
The misconceptions that sex is all about erections, women who fuck on first dates aren’t worthy of more, and how it’s a man’s job to perform for the pleasure of all.
He’s diggin’ it, parrying beautifully. I’m intrigued, excited. I tell him all my philosophies and he’s right there with me. And then…
“So… I feel like now is the time that I ask to see you naked,” accompanied by a couple of kissy faced emojis.
I balk, say that this is why I don’t go there with men because it can be confusing and I ask him how I gave him the impression I would send such images before meeting him.
He calls me rude, condescending, and pretentious.
I am laughing in my kitchen, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. The boy’s feathers are ruffled, but I don’t want to let it go. I press my case, point out his defensiveness isn’t beneficial to our discussion. He apologizes and I explain my point of view. He apologizes again. I still want to fuck him, but now he says he’s too scared.
He wants to bang, but now he’s afraid because he’s intimidated even through the ether and what if – God forbid – we get together and he can’t get hard.
It’s like he never heard me. I don’t care about a man’s hardon, but I care about him caring that I’m in the room. He doesn’t get it, can’t get it, won’t get it.
I might still see what happens over a drink. Let him see my short, curvy stature, a deep line of cleavage and my piercing glare; maybe take his hand and let it rest on my thigh. See what happens.
Or maybe I’ll let him watch this ride coast right on by.
First, I would like to like to say that this post is dedicated to Ferns in honor of her Day of Birth. She is my friend, my Fairy Domme-mother, and an inspiration to us all on how to have and hold boundaries, be open and communicative, and be damn funny.
Second, I would like to more formally introduce someone who’s been in my life for nearly a year, but has gotten little to no blog air time, an Irishman I met on a D/s site. Originally we were going to meet while I was in London in March this year, but I called it off just days before because it didn’t feel right: he’d be on borrowed time so as not to hurt a vanilla woman he was seeing and I didn’t want to be #2. He understood and our friendship remained and blossomed.
We grew closer as he opened up about his challenges dating in little bitty Ireland as a kinky man. His real life relationships are all vanilla and traditional and he spends an enormous amount of energy avoiding babies and marriage. He has no interest in either.
He tenderly focuses on one woman at a time, but is very much an “in the moment” only kind of guy. I sympathize with his plight and share any warning signs I might see in a new lady of his. And he counsels me on The Golfer and Peter.
“They’re assholes, Hy, and I don’t know why they’re treating you this way. I would never treat a woman like that.”
“That’s how American men do ‘casual’.”
“Well that’s bullshit… though I do think The Golfer secretly has feelings for you and he’s just pushing you away because he’s afraid of his own feelings.” He’s irksomely optimistic about me and my love life. It’s kinda cute.
He’s also sweetly empathetic when my endeavors with other subs fall through, but one of my all time favorite things that we do – that I do to him – is sharing the contents of my inbox with him.
He roars with laughter and guffaws with appall at what men send in hopes of “catching” a woman and so I thought that maybe I would share some of them with you. And because Ferns.
What’s important to know about all of these emails is that in my profile I very clearly state to 1) not call me by an honorific, 2) not ask me for anything, and 3) tell me their favorite color. If all of those things are adhered to and they meet my other specifications such as being local and fit I will reply. Otherwise, they get zilch. Clearly, the Irishman was a location exception for me and I have no regrets.
I gave all of these guys a huge benefit of the doubt and assumed that any personal info included was true and accurate, so I’ve edited their notes to obscure any identifying facts. I’m not sure I needed to do that seeing as some of what they wrote is completely fucking ludicrous, but you know: better safe than sorry.
Without further ado, I give you:
Subs Attempting to Attract a Domme and Failing Miserably and Instead Highlighting Their Ridiculous Sense of Male Entitlement and Privilege and Basically Making a Complete Ass of Themselves:
Mistress i am 24 years old sub. I like feminization and anal play very much. You can keep me in chastity or make me have ruined orgasms. I used wear panties all day for my last mistress. You can do a lot with me, But because of many fakes here i would like to know you a bit more, Have some connection so that both of us are comfortable with each other. If you like we can talk a bit. i have and i am fine with you not opening cam
This guy was from the Middle East, which is definitely local. Plus, he’s obviously read my profile. I’m so glad he wrote to me.
Hi, Another Dude Who Doesn’t Read.
Impressed with you profile, thought to reach out.
I have been a closet sub for long and have recently ventured out to seek a Goddess jus like You who I can worship, serve, adore and devote myself, i have read a lot about serving a true Lady and believe have enough knowledge to be a good sub, am willing to learn what you like, dislike, wishes and serve You accordingly.
I like to be a devoted service sub and will focus on pleasing You by various means like providing relaxing massage when you arrive home, foot worship, foot rubs followed by foot bath n tongue massage, serving as shower boy, etc. I am very humble, obedient and respectful all times, its not about satisfying my needs but its always about focusing on Your pleasure Goddess.
Would you like to chat Goddess?
Not humble. Not obedient. Not even remotely appealing.
you have a great build maam.
do you like sounding maam?
It’s like talking to a walrus.
Good evening Goddess
good afternoon Miss you do smoke cigarettes?
Would i know Your Goddess Ass more closer? I’m just a slave.
My “Goddess Ass” will stay right here, thank you.
I am interested in meeting you to see how we like each othe.r I am very healthy man living in your city. I have been single for a while, and I want an ongoing, perhaps permanent, relationship. I am an educated and creative man I work seasonally, and I am off for a while now I am working on developing some websites, and look forward to this new career. Spiritual awakening is at the center of my life. I am mostly in the western esoteric tradition, and I may be studying to become a woo woo practitioner. I practice yoga and cultivate health and happiness. I have been told I am well hung, and I am sexually potent I am very open minded to new sexual experiences.
Will you meet me?
This lovely form letter was accompanied by a photo of a what could be a serial killer in sandals and bright purple pants. Send halp.
26, 8 inch.
I kinda appreciate this guy in Germany’s brevity.
You have a nice profile and I wanted to introduce myself to you.
I am a very obedient, mature, educated and financially secure sub I travel a lot and been in the lifestyle for many years.
I live in Denver but distance is not an issue for me I am looking for something real, serious and not looking to waste your time.
I hope that you will find it worth replying back to me.
Have wonderful day.
You. Are. Not. Obedient!
Dear gorgeous Miss Hyacinth,
This subhuman slave applicant is looking for an extremely cruel and sadistic goddess to belong to completely and would like to be allowed no right, no limits or safewords at all. So far it seems to be too extreme for every mistress this creature spoke to
May this subhuman piece of shit ask if you would be open for a very special consensual blackmailing agreement, your Highness, in case you should accept this creature as your property?
This pathetic toilet does have very extreme material that will send it to prison for a long time. It would beg you for the only consent being that you will someday use the material and send this piece of shit to prison, when you are done with it, drained and destroyed it completely and there is nothing useful left for you.
You could even make sure prison would not be an easy way out for this pathetic piece of shit by eg tattooing it with things like shit in here on the upper lip, kick to flush above the cock, cumdisposal on ass or forhead, even torture me all over its body, before using the bm material to send it to prison.
Of course this scum will write all that down and sign it, and record a video stating this as well, to hand over along with the bm material when it arrives, beautiful Miss Hyacinth
This subhuman creature would like to experience hell on earth, a true nightmare with no waking up, a life without any hope or joy, an existence in constant pain, despair, misery, abuse and way more suffering and torture than this pathetic subhuman piece of shit could have ever dreamed of, hoped for or even feared gorgeous Miss Hyacinth.
Yet another brilliant example of entitlement. I am no where in this laboriously created prose because it’s a form letter. Pretty sure this dude just replaced whatever other woman’s name was there with “Hyacinth.” Also, this fella might need a hug. Jesus fucking Christ.
Miss Hyacinth you are holding great for your age.
Croatian men sure know how to flatter a gal.
[Ed. Note: Are we tired of reading these yet??? I’m not sure I’m ready to quit just yet…]
Hello, how are you doing?
Doms are so funny.
Hello. Sub looking to meet. I would like to write you a quick note to introduce myself, hoping that you might reply back. Well a bit more about myself: Physically I am 6 foot 1, 185 lbs, athletic build, clean cut look, other characteristics are that I am college educated, undergrad in engineering with an MBA from BYU. I am also outgoing like to travel and communicative currently live and work in PNW. I am 45 years old but nobody thinks I look my age. Will answer any questions that you may have of me, Hope to hear back soon, bye for now Bob
Thanks, Bob, for telling me things I could see in your profile next to height, weight, and location. Also, thank you for telling me a bunch of meaningless bullshit then telling me that if I want to know more I have to do all the legwork. Sounds great. Talk to you soon! xx Hy
May I please still ask if you kiik or s k y p e with subs at times in hopes of making your acquaintance and being of use to you as you see fit? I apologize to not be in a position to fully respond to all your questions as I’m driving.
Friends don’t let friends drive and sub. Also, I didn’t ask him anything, though this is the second time he’s asking me for my KIK and Skype.
[Ed. Note: Apologies in advance, but I’m too worn out from exposing myself to all of this to correct punctuation on the next email. You’ll still get the gist.]
Good Day to you my Lady,
You will doubtless get scores of messages each week from idiotic jerk off merchants but I am seeking to return to my natural state of being
I saw your profile and read it I believe that I may be of some practical use to you in the near future That will depend upon the establishment of mature and fruitful dialogue and the building of trust between us I will not suit every womans needs but may well suit yours It is nothing strange or weird but it is not conventional either So if you are actually engaged in securing the services of one such as myself to own as legitimate freehold consensual property I may well suit you
Until 8 years ago I was a Bonded Manservant to a Dominant Lady who was a Professional Career Lady in a high profile role She was of Lesbian sexual orientation and had been a clandestine practitioner of the alternative lifestyle
She had a number of women friends who were professional women of all sexual orientations who like here had certain interests outside of their professions that back then would have been catastrophic for their careers
She wanted to acquire a male who would be as legally close to a traditional slave as possible in the modern world so that her manservant did the bulk of the work and she could relax in her home and not bother with the tedious domestic aspects of life She consulted with Attorney friends and it was suggested she adopt a number of voluntary power exchange enactments to achieve her ambition These ranged from Adult Guardianship Order, Adult Adoption Agreement, Durable Power of Attorney, Voluntary Worker Agreements with Employment rights waivers and more besides
When aged 23 she and several of her friends interviewed me after I had answered her Advert in a then contact magazine Several further interviews took place I had to sign a number of documents and also agree on tape and on video to serve her for an indeterminate period of time and to forgo any and all contact with family and friends I had no friends and no close family so that posed no problem for me
Her house was large and had private walled gardens and was in a leafy suburb with few other houses nearby and had plenty of security and the residents paid for a private security company to have two employees patrol the area 24 hours a day
Initially I worked 8 hours each day in the home and attended college to learn culinary skills, and Stewarding skills and took a few do it yourself courses Then I worked variable hours from 12 to 16 daily I had no days off and no vacation leave and this was by agreement I also had to con towards my own board and lodging and utility bill share I was orphaned as a baby and left a legacy in my parents will and a firm of accountants and another firm of lawyers oversee the legacy and I am paid a set sum each month which increases periodically with inflation
My Employer who was in effect my Owner in lifestyle protocols was 70 when she acquired me and the age gap was significant but she had wanted a young, fit and healthy male Bonded Servant, effectively a consensual slave I had for many long years sort to become and remain a real slave and so the opportunity was gred by me when presented to me Yes it was unorthodox but it was sensible and practical and served her needs and my own She also had a female maid companion who oversaw my daily servile labors I was not permitted to speak unless spoken to and had to remain in the background I had to bow my head in respect when a lady friend of hers past by as I engaged in my work and had to kneel down in front of her when summoned to her My accommodation was small and Spartan I was not allowed to use the Telephone, Write letters, use the Computer, Watch Television, listen to the Radio are read any Newspapers I cooked meals, vacuum cleaned the floors, scrubbed and polished kitchen and bathroom, aired and made the beds and changed linen, washed and ironed cloths, worked in the Garden and more besides I was also subject to physical chastisement as and when she are any of her friends required it and that was not in the least pleasant and often painful but tolerable I was also frequently kept in another required state
She died suddenly at her practice 8 years ago after I had been in her service ownership for 12 years and she was 82 at the time I was automatically released as none of her friends either wanted to or were in a position to acquire me
I have now been searching in vain for 8 years to become owned again and am now 43 years of age
I still live in hope of becoming and remaining a Bonded Manservant again My future lady owner can be of any occupation and social class,any race and color, physical disability, sexual orientation, married, single,divorced,with are without children, as the only requirement being that they have a genuine want and need to own a bonded manservant as their voluntary servile property I relocated to serve and be owned by her and can certainly do so again after travelling to a series of face to face meetings at my own expense I no longer have a profile because nowadays if you wish to change a single word and do so the profile either takes months to be reviewed and approved are is not approved at all I am of muscular build, 6 feet 3 inches tall, with a large but flaccid masculine endowment
TL;DR: I’m full of utter shit, read some historical romances and thought I’d emulate a really bad one.
Would you like spanking my pathetic manhood with a wooden ruler, spatula or other item until it cums from the pain?
Not today Mr. Guy From the South. Maybe tomorrow. HMU.
I’m a submissive male seeking to serve a genuinely dominant lady which is why I messaged you.
I seek to serve you in anyway you choose, without reservations Im humble, obedient, sincere and dedicated. Please consider my request. Waiting humbly for your response.
He’s still waiting, obvs.
[Ed. Note: Ok, I’m tiring…]
hi Miss my name is sam. i am a divorced male, very successful, yet i struggled for much of my life with awkward feelings when around powerful Women. it took alot, but i finally learned my place as a male. i have been reading alot about female domination, and i know it is becoming the norm for todays males, even though many males dont realize it. when i was young i was raised by a very strict mom and she instilled fear and respect for Women in me. She made sure i was always kept in place while at the same time she tended to boost my sister’s ego. She restricted me but gave her freedoms i never knew i tried rebelling as i grew up, i tried to act like an alpha male around Women, and even into my marriage, but that didnt work out so well for me. i am now divorced because i didnt focus on putting Her needs first but since then i spent time reflecting on what i am, i read, learned, interacted, and i finally fully accept my place as a male, which is rightly at the feet of my Superiors and in servitude
Or… she might have divorced you because you. don’t. listen.
Hello Miss, how are you doing? Please don’t hesitate to humiliate and punish me for my tiny cock
Sure thing, Bossypants. Please hold.
Hello. do you accept online pay piggie slaves?
I’m pretty sure I’m leaving money on the table… Will research later.
Hello Mistress, im a 27 year old virgin slut with an uncut cock. I want to be kept by you and trained to be a good whore, i want more than the anal pleasure i give myself. Keep me Mistress
Is it feasible to achieve virginal slut-hood??
Ok, I’m finally done now. I’m exhausted.
No wait! Let me leave you with just one more from Adult Friend Finder:
I want to fall asleep between your pussy walls with my tongue licking up and down both of your warm and wet holes, then while gently sucking on your click (pearl tongue) like a pacifier, go night, night. “Imagine That”
I’d rather not. Fucking A, man. Anyone else’s retinas burning??
Ok. Now I’m done!
Happy birthday, Ferns!!!
This past week was a great big, fat downer in my World o’ Mens. I summed it up in my last Instagram post:
Let me tell you about the last week of my life in relation to men. On Monday The Golfer ignored my text about our previous night (blog post; link in profile). On Wednesday he told me he’d “let me know” about getting together this weekend. Meanwhile, The Vet and I made and confirmed plans for Sunday afternoon – day drinking, bike riding, pool, dinner, and banging – and we texted a little every day. Peter asked to see me Friday, but I had my kid. Saturday I texted TG a sexy pic and said to “Win golf!” He ignored the pic and said he was losing. He never did get back to me about seeing each other. I deleted our thread, but he’s programmed in my phone. Then at 10 am Sunday The Vet texted to say he’d had dinner with his exgf the night before – and while they didn’t talk about reuniting – he realized he couldn’t even handle something casual so he same-day cancelled on me. I told him to hit me up when the timing was right for him, then deleted the thread without ever programming in his number. I actually don’t give a shit about a jerk who can’t handle himself. I’ll never hear from him again. I texted Peter hoping he could pinch hit, but he never replied. I figured he was dead, but he texted yesterday, Monday, to say he’d been camping. I invited him over, but he was busy, so he suggested he could come over tonight. I gladly accepted his offer. This morning he texted me how excited he was to see me and then at 4, two hours before we were to get together, he texts that he’s “in a mood” and needs to reschedule. I told him it’ll be a couple of weeks and I’ll let him know, but the truth is I won’t. I deleted his thread, too. If he texts me, great, but I’m not chasing anyone down. So then I reopened all my dating apps and got to swiping only to run into my ex, TN, and two old lovers. Time for a new batch, I suppose; hopefully with men who respect me, my time, and my little broken heart. ?
So I’m currently just gonna chill and not reach out to anyone. It just doesn’t seem right.
And I was wrong about The Vet; he texted me yesterday. An image of the back of his cat’s head looking out over the river from his balcony with the caption “Chillin’ with my villain.” I responded with “Dragon kitty!” and he lol’d. That was it. Not sure what the fuck he wanted [from me].
I ended up grabbing a drink with another fella named Peter (Peter 2.0) the night Peter late-cancelled, but I didn’t feel a thing other than total wonderment that he asked me so many questions about my life; deep, meaningful questions. He lost me when he said people have described him as Eeyore… this Tigger doesn’t have time for a project like that.
I suspect Peter thinks I’m pissed so he’s avoiding me.
And The Golfer… I don’t even know what to say about that dude. I haven’t heard boo from him. I’m just trying to get to California with my kid despite cancelled flights and thunderstorms. I don’t have time for any of this bullshit.
Oh! And I almost forgot! Remember “Early Afternoon Lunch” guy?? He was this guy back in February that I chatted with a bunch for about two weeks. I gave him my Saturday night on a custody weekend (those are extra precious to me) and then that morning he texted simply, “Early afternoon lunch.” Uh….
I didn’t appreciate the downgrade to a fucking brunch so I asked for clarification. I never heard from him again… until yesterday when I noticed he’d liked me on OKC so I swiped right, too, to see what the fuck he wanted. The chat went like this:
Him: Hey Hyacinth
Me: Hey Early Afternoon Lunch Guy
H: How you been?
M: Good, you?M: Lemme think on it
He texted me every day for two weeks. Parried and played with words, flirted and flitted about my little phone screen.
I told him I could be free either Friday or Saturday nights, but it all depended on Pey and my parents and which night they wanted to spend together. He said he preferred Saturday and then it all worked out. Saturday it was.
No, he didn’t need help picking something to do because he was brand new to town. He’d be happy to figure something out. Yes, he’d follow me to the table to check out my sexy rear end because he prefers meaty women like me. Of course he’s certain I look cute every day. Wow, he thinks I’m really pretty! Morning darlin, he said practically every morning. What are you wearing today? And we’d joke at how filthy such an innocent question sounded.
And then on the bright, cold morning of our date I read the following text:
Early afternoon lunch
No punctuation. No context. No more anything.
I responded with question marks and confusion and lots of space so he could play with the rope. By late afternoon I couldn’t help but send one last text to at least acknowledge the event that was occurring:
I get the feeling we’re not having our date tonight since I haven’t heard from you since that 8 am text about an early afternoon lunch…
All the words, all the darlin’s, all the flirty, flitty, parrying, and playing amounted to one big fat fucking black hole of my energy and hope. And a last minute appeal to a girlfriend so that my rare Saturday night would not go to waste.
Thanks a lot, Mr. Forgettable. May you get a nasty rash and wake up 30 minutes too early for the rest of your selfish and impolite life. Now excuse me while I go deal with my quiet, impotent rage over the betrayal of a simple social contract: do what you say you will and if you cannot then you say so.
Have a nibble on that for your bitch time slot early afternoon lunch, why don’t you?