Some women like abs, some women like forearms, some women like eyes.
I like cocks.
Cocks are my thing. They’re my favourite body part. I admit that cocks give me all kinds of shivers when I’m feeling, and not seeing, them. But that’s not what makes me love them. Well, okay, it’s not the *only* thing that makes me love them. I love looking at them. I think they’re the spunkiest thing that was ever invented. I’ve heard that some women like to look into their lovers’ eyes after sex. Some like to lie on their chests and cry, or have long and profound conversations. Some like to feel as though they’ve just travelled through the universe and collected a thousand stars along the way after sex.
But I like cocks,
so after sex I would rather lie all the way down on that man’s stomach and [censored]. This has added benefits, because sometimes it ends in more sex. But that’s not why I [censored]. No.
I really, really, really like cocks.
active: I Live as an Asshole When I Can
is looking for: A slave
Ok, well, as my profile says I am an asshole. I know that is not very popular on this site as it is filled to the brim with feminist [s plural]. However I really do not care what they think about me, so here it is.
I have come to realize that in many ways I am a very big asshole. I do not believe in condemning my inner fuckwittery. I believe in my fantasy of the old ways of doing things when [the] desire to worship assholes was an immediate realization upon meeting them. I will not stand on ceremony unless there is a ritualistic or highly sexual aspect to it, as all tallywackers surely understand. I get that ceremony is, by definition, ritualistic, but making nonsensical rules gives assholes a lot more ways to get our rocks off.
I do not believe in sitting a woman down and going over a checklist of what brands of fuckwittery she will accept when it comes to her submission. If you are not in tune with her enough to know if you are truly hurting her then you are an asshole, which means you are exactly like me. I also do not believe in allowing her to top from the bottom as most submissive women I’ve met since yesterday have tried to do; submission means exactly that! Dominance means being an asshole and ultimately allowing submissives to take you to places you have never been before.
Anorexia fetishists target those with existing anorexia or coerce anorexic behaviour and thinking in their subs under the guise of kink. Their kink is not my kink and that’s not okay.
Dear Anorexia Fetishist
This is my positive, healthy, pretty story.
In primary school, I resent my mother. She has divorced my father and he has disappeared. Struggles for money become the fuel that drives her days. She sits at the dining room table while my sister and I eat. Food is as precious and rare as her presence in my life—she is hardly ever home. If I put down my cutlery before my meal is finished, she’ll talk to me. It doesn’t matter that her words will be angry. It only matters that they are words and that I feel a sense of control over a life that has spun around and become something I can’t understand.
Lesson One: Food is a way to control and get love.
In my early twenties I enter the fashion industry. I know that my low weight will always be an asset. If there is anything I know how to do, it’s to stay thin. The more weight I lose, the more I am complimented. A size zero suits the clothes I’m expected to wear. If zero is good, smaller must be better.
Lesson Two: Food is a way to gain admiration.
On Fetlife, every curve, concave, droop, dimple, and wrinkle gets celebrated in the comments underneath. Round and old? “You’re beautiful.” Round and young? “Beautiful.” Dark and slim? “Beautiful.” Pale and lithe? “Beautiful.” Short and drooping? “Beautiful.” Some get more ‘beautiful’s than others, but everyone gets a ‘beautiful’.
Dirty room? Not so much. Fetlifers don’t like dirty rooms.
Comments about weight by the poster with the photographs? Not so much. Fetlifers love to troll, and troll they will. Criticise yourself and you will be criticised.
But present yourself as you are, with your insecurity hidden away from the monitor, and Fetlifers will tell you you’re beautiful. They’ll also tell you you’re fuckable, lickable, and a ‘good girl’. These are not always welcome comments, but we are getting more than what we’d get on the rest of the internet where one large woman wearing a tight orange dress travels Facebook in a day of mockery that reaches millions.
Kudos, Fetlife! Fucking Kudos.
I say ‘fuck’ more often than Mark Manson does. The reasons for this are as numerous as the stars in the sky…okay, there are not that many and they are not (usually) that romantic. ‘Fuck’ is a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, metaphor, pronoun, interjection, and determiner. It’s the Swiss Army Life of the English language. It fits in my pocket when it should effectively need to be contained by a large toolbox. I am a word connoisseur, but not in a wine-glass-swilling taste-and-spit way. I want my words to do stuff. I want them to do the job they were hired to do. ‘Fuck’ is a worker that buckles down and does what it’s told. It fixes the sink rather than fidgeting around with it showing off its fucking plumber’s crack.
Thou wimpled doghearted miscreant!
I often rephrase this statement as ‘fuck you.’ I don’t know what that phrase really means, because fucking you would probably be a fantastic experience, and saying I will do it could thus not be categorised as a slur. Nonetheless, ‘fuck you’ is more insulting than history’s most insulting insulter. Allow me to demonstrate:
Shakespeare: Thou art as loathsome as a toad.
Me: Fuck you.
Shakespeare: Thou paunchy tardy-gaited horn-beats!
Me: Yeah? Well fuck you.
Shakespeare: Thou fusty spur-galled vassal!
Me: Fuck you even more than the last time.
As you can see, I won that war without raising even the smallest thesaurus, and when I did, I felt fucking fantastic.
92F Sub (Antarctica)
active: I Live as Gorgeous 24/7
“Be graceful, especially when kneeling and twirling. But never forget your inner pain.” — Me
Ok, well, as my profile says I am fucking gorgeous. I am also a sub. I have tried all the other orientations and this is def the one that is most popular among the K&P celebs. I consider myself an Alpha-Sub: sexy, powerful, sexy, gorgeous, powerful…I’ve suffered a lot of pain, so sometimes my shadow side comes out. It is, however, coming from a place of sexiness, so I believe it is always worth it.
If you PM me, then follow the following format. I will block messages that fail to follow it and punctuation counts guys this is the format. (If you are an erotic photographer, you don’t need to use this format.) (Oh, and if you’re real life friends with Sir_James_ or any of those guys in the Dom Island posts, you don’t have to use the format either.)
Format for PMing Arendelle
Dear Arendelle (If you misspell my name I will block you.)
- Years of experience as a Dom:
- Years of experience on Fetlife:
- Number of K&P appearances:
- I have dick pics in my photo album (yes/no, and NO EXCUSES, just yes or no.)
- Are you Mr Cocky?
- Specialty (Rigging, spanking, penis size, looks out of 10)
100 to 150 words and no more than 600 characters about what you can add to my life. If you cannot follow instructions, you are clearly not capable of being my dom, so don’t bother if you can’t count words.
Thank you for reading my PM.
H was an artist. I became his favourite subject. He’d hang me impossibly and forever so that everything he offered hurt. Then he’d hang the evidence in national galleries. I was sold in that way as H’s property, never branded but signed in Spanish red, indigo, and cadmium yellow. After five years, I’d collected sacks full of fetishes, but when H left, I let them go.
R wanted many things that weren’t me. E promised he’d be the same. Knowing what they felt exploded my own senses so much that the line between their awareness and mine was impossible to glean. H was happy with me alone as long as I varied my palate and told him the tale. C told me I had to wait because he wanted to start with trust. I felt disappointed. After them, I settled in the belief that their kinks were apparitions I’d never see again.