Before You Share That Photograph

There are websites on this green earth that don’t do a hell of a lot to protect their users’ safety, and many of them strip their photographs of the information they contain before they’re posted. Every photograph you take comes with a wealth of information about you, which can be accessed in 10 seconds at a free website with two clicks of a mouse. That info is called EXIF data. When a site sees it as one of the most rudimentary safety problems, you can assume it’s pretty risky. Prolly not a good idea to bypass that safety mechanism by emailing your photographs to other members.

Smartphones and new cameras have GPS so that selfie you took of yourself in your bathroom (please clean your room) tells anyone who cares to check exactly where you live. Your longitude and latitude coordinates are embedded into your photograph. If you were smart enough to use an older camera instead, you’ve still given your home address away to someone who’s motivated enough to do a web crawl for other photographs taken with your camera because its serial number can be found with a few simple clicks, too. That also lays out a trail of breadcrumbs leading to your Facebook page and other social media accounts. If you’ve shared your phone number and employer on any of those sites, your photograph gives those away, too.

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Holy harlot, Mother of the Fetlife feed

Yesterday someone who didn’t know me from a barbed wire flogger unwittingly friended me on Fetlife. It’s not something I recommend, but if you’re not doing your homework, I’m afraid you’re going to find yourself wrapped up in that very same barbed wire I mentioned earlier. An hour later he wrote (and I paraphrase)

I wasn’t expecting a friendly takeover of my feed.

I admit it. I am a master of The Newsfeed Coups d’état.

Holy harlot, Mother of the Fetlife feed, pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our spam.

Here’s the thing. I work from home. Fetlife has become the equivalent of my water cooler. All those on my friends on my list? They’re my colleagues. I will stalk the shit out of their profiles. I will love every post in their journals. I will have conversations under their posts. I will send PMs. Most importantly, I add a level of absurdity to their lives that they may not have encountered before.

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Open Letter from Your Twue Fetlife Friends

Hello there,

We’re your Fetlife friends. Those Fetlife friends. You know the ones. The alpha Doms whose closets consist entirely of black T-shirts and leather waistcoats. The subs who type in slashy-speech because if T/they don’t remember T/their Twue position in their D/s Relationship at all times, P/poltergeists will surely punish T/them by haunting T/their homes. The same ones who don’t know how to spell ‘your’ and ‘you’re’. Your great new friend who tells you you’re not a real sub unless you’re into consensual nonconsent. The 19 year old Master whose avatar is of a shelf of toys arranged neatly on a purple satin tablecloth.

We all have a lot to offer your power exchange relationships, and we’re awesome friends to have. For instance, we’re predictable. Who else is going to tell the brats to fuck off and die? Or give their Doms a spiritual awakening by phoning them at work every time they drink a glass of water? Or generate enough vanilla-fear to make you change your favourite ice-cream flavour? We don’t think there’s anything weird about using our Fetlife nicknames in the real world. Are you saying that calling us ‘KittenSlut2000’ at parties isn’t sexy? Did you see the K&P post that read, “If You’re Poly and You Know it Clap Your Hands?” Hell, yeah!

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Social Media Members Speaking Honestly

OP’s Post


Check out this poetic mixed metaphor I wrote to prove that sadists can be romantic, and look! I can also tie these knots. If you don’t think that’s awesome, I’m going to complain about twuism in the comments section. Here’s some humble bragging, which is urgently needed because I had an argument with SirRonan yesterday, and I want to show him I’m superior to him.

Wow, everyone! Who would have thought? This is an Oscar-Awards-type thank you speech because being on K&P has finally made me a celebrity.



Comments

The Fan Club


It’s impossible for us to restrain ourselves from telling you that your words are as beautiful as butterflies in the African savannah. Tomorrow is full frontal Friday, and we need to break the ice before we remind you to check out our new selfies in the morning. We’ll show you ours if you show us yours. <giggles> We think it’s okay for you to use a cock shot avatar because we’re sucking up to you to earn some social status around these here parts.

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The Shy Fangirl


I’m agreeing with the fan club because I don’t have anything interesting to say besides <sigh>. I changed my avatar to this photo of me with a duckface before I commented on your post because you have great abs and I’m embarrassed about my face. <sigh>

The Competitor


I’m definitely a fangirl, but if I don’t admit it you’ll choose me over those hussies who keep drooling all over your awesome knot-tying talent.
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The Rarest Dom

My last dom made the kind of demand that is seldom spoken about on Fetlife: He wanted me. He wanted to be exposed to the odd, sex-crazed, hysterical laugher and deep thinker that is SpanishRed. We met on that rare planet that is seldom used to start D/s romances: the boring vanilla world. I caught his attention in that rare way that is seldom mentioned here: by being myself. He didn’t want the sub in me. He just wanted me. He didn’t even limit his desires to the bright, pretty parts of me. He wanted me when I was sleepy enough to speak gibberish. He said when I was barely coherent and my eyes were half shut, he got to see a part of me that nobody else did—the real. Because he loved the real, I gave him more authenticity than I’d given anyone before him.

My last dom made the kind of demand that is seldom spoken about on Fetlife: He wanted to be himself. He wanted to show me all his dark and vulnerable corners. He wanted me to see the depraved parts, but first he wanted to show me his vanilla. I knew he was my kind so I knew our power exchange would also be my kind, even when it didn’t seem as though it might be. He always proved me right. That’s why he got a hundred first times out of me.

My last dom asked me for something odd: Say ‘no’. Say ‘stop’. Say ‘never’. Say ‘I want and need.’ He wanted me to have a full life, and he asked that I never allow power exchange to take priority over my values and health. He wanted me to put my autonomous life first because he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could do that for me.

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I’m Slim. Shoot Me.

In my twenties I was living the age that perfection loves to hang out with. I’d dress up in a low-rise skirt and show the world what a gymnast’s line was all about. Then I’d get together with a few friends and paint the town neon pink. Wrinkles were a fallacy and grey hair was too far away to be real. Inevitably, if I didn’t bother to hide my body under 50 shades of baggy fabric, I’d hear the words, “You’re so slim. I hate you.”

In part, it was intended as a compliment, but it couldn’t mask the resentment that was behind it. I wondered, over and over, what would happen if I reversed the comment and replied, “You’re overweight. I hate you.” It wasn’t a statement I would ever have thought acceptable. I struggled to understand why such opinions were seen as okay as long as they referred to the slim rather than the under or overweight. I knew that one day, my years would catch up to me. I’d gain extra pounds and my premenopausal hormones would redistribute my weight. It hasn’t happened. I’m still slim. Shoot me.

A recent blog post listed all the reasons that you wouldn’t want to date a slim woman. ‘Insulting’ is too generous a word for it. Admittedly, around the same time a post popped up that insulted obesity equally much, but the latter view is expressed far more seldomly and is seen as unacceptable. Society deems it okay to denigrate thinness, discriminatory and hateful to denigrate the overweight.

Slim women are often described as not being real women. They are described as people nobody would want to enter a dungeon or bed with, because who wants a body that can’t be held onto?

If it became as acceptable to treat the overweight and obese as it is to berate the thin, we would hear statements like this and think nothing of them:

  • Who would you rather fuck? A fat woman or a real woman?
  • You’re too fat. Somebody needs to stop feeding you.

The list is too distasteful and hate-filled to finish. There are people in the world who say things like that all the time, but their attitudes are challenged. Their statements are known to be so far outside the lines of ‘acceptable’ that those who speak them are confronted in anger. Not so with slim women: Say, “She’s thin. Somebody needs to feed her,” and you will be treated as someone who has a healthy attitude towards beauty and eating. That’s a fallacy.

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The Last Living Heterosexuals in the Kink World

Heterosexuals are the most threatened species in the kink community, so rare that myths about them abound. Some believe the heterosexual is already extinct, only ever having heard rumours of its existence. Others have been fortunate enough to have met a real life straight person, but seeing doesn’t always mean believing—some think heterosexuals are merely bisexuals in denial. This is not true. The kink world is, indeed, a habitat that still supports members who are only attracted to the opposite sex.

The International Union for Conservation of Nature on Fetlife (IUCNF) once worked to protect the survival of the heterosexual, but recently its policy changed. The vice president of IUCNF, David Kinkborough, said, “Why conserve a species that is less adaptive to its ecosystem? In layman’s terms, why bother to preserve a breed that can fuck only half the people that bisexuals can? Sex is, after all, what the world revolves around.”

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