Women Should be Seen and Not Heard

I’m all for those “Worst-Dressed at X Awards” articles. I get a kick out of seeing hot and sexy stars looking like idiots. That being said, why are there no men on those lists? Is it that only women have a duty to all paparazzi-kind to look perfect at all times? Is it that the way men look doesn’t matter because we don’t sexualise and objectify them as readily as we do women?

I know I trip over this feminism thing with irritating regularity, but I’m powerless to stop it.

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A while back, a shit-ton of photographs went viral on Facebook throughout the year locally: they were of overweight women wearing shockingly ugly frocks. Know what did not happen? Pictures of overweight men wearing ugly suits did not go viral on Facebook even once that year, but overweight men wearing ugly suits most definitely mocked those photos of overweight women wearing ugly frocks in the comments section. Hypocrisy much?

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Personal Ad of a Sub Who Definitely Knows Exactly What She Wants

I’m looking for a man who can appreciate my perfect breasts and constantly wet vagina without ever wanting to touch. I’m basically celibate, and I have no intention of changing that, so I need a ragingly horny, psychologically sound lover who hates his cock too much to use it. I’m an authoritarian submissive so if you’d like to top me, you’d better know how to follow directions.

I love male dominants who go against the heteronormative grain by living a 1950s lifestyle. Think a cross between The Pope and The Original Dudebro—someone who shoots ABDL clown porn over the weekends before going to academic conferences and preaching about the necessary demise of homiletics. If you’re smart enough to understand quantum gravity, but not smart enough to get through The Cat in the Hat, you might be my perfect man.

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If that’s you, write me a concise half-page note about the Latin etymology of the word “epidemiology” as it relates to the last 300 years of modern and postmodern history. If it’s entertaining and relatable enough, I might consider meeting you, but don’t bother me if you’re into casual hookups or commitment like the last guy I dated (What an asshole). That being said, I’m not interested in pseudointellectuals, so if the words ‘postcapitalist theory’ have ever entered your vocabulary, kindly get back to pretending you like “Ulysses” and let the grownups get back to our Chinese Checkers.

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I Think My Vagina Sprung a Leak

Dear Toys R Us

I know my product’s warranty period ended 30 years ago, but what do you expect if your customers only get to test it out properly after adolescence? Considering how crap your merchandise is, I think you’ll see the sense in issuing a refund.

The packaging said that the product was self-lubricating and easy to maintain. Bullshit! For a start, with Ash, it barely got wet at all, and you’d think when I found the right guy, lubrication would be optimal. Well! When Jack took out his belt, my vagina… well, let’s just say I’d appreciate it if you’d ask your technicians to check if there’s a leak.

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As for the “easy maintenance” claim, are you sure you shouldn’t be writing Mills and Boon novels instead of vagina package inserts? I think fiction would be more your style considering the veracity of your claims. My pussy arrived hairless, which is what I fucking ordered. Did it stay hairless? Fuck you. I had to turn into a contortionist for 30 minutes a week just to keep it smooth. I would deal with the inconvenience happily if my vagina properly did what it was made to do in the first place: have tons of sex.

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A Sense of Duty is Not a Gift

I first found submission away from Fetlife, so I felt free to be precisely who I was without the sense of duty this site is so heavy with. The world of kink opened up in front of me like an endless field, and I got to run as far and fast as I wanted. There were no True Subs there, no terms like ‘topping from the bottom’, and no dominants with piles of expectations and entitlements that rose higher than the moon. There was only me, my dominant, and our happiness.

Without that freedom, I would never have found out that sexual altruism was above me. I’d have thought I owed you self-sacrifice purely because I’m a sub. I’d be too busy bending under the will of peer pressure to explore D/s for pleasure’s sake.

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On Fetlife, we like our subs to be passive and self-sacrificing. Me? I don’t get much out of sacrificing for duty’s sake so it’s just as well I got to cut and shape my submission like a bespoke suit crafted to fit me and only me. There was no Kool-Aid in my first D/s relationship. I got to wonder around this planet called power exchange and rummage in every corner, not just those corners that some Twue Dominant I’d never met said I could.

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Sexy is as Sexy Thinks

I don’t care how well you wield a flogger, nor do I mind if you break that cane in one strike. I don’t give a damn if you have only one whip in your collection as long as you own a belt and an imagination. I’m quite attached to my kidneys, so at the very least, develop your aim, but beyond that, the traits I find sexiest in a D-type are hidden far beneath the surface where nobody will ever see them.

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I was once involved with an artist who’d leave the room in the middle of sex, scrounge around in the kitchen, and return with some obscure object or another — Not the sexiest of behaviours until the 6-foot dude with the biceps breaks a broom in half in front of you with his bare hands and hangs you from the doorway with it. That man’s mind was built for kink. Creativity and intellect can give me five orgasms before my Lelo even has the time to turn on. Dominance, to me, is in the mind, under the skin, far beyond the physical.

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Why My Knickers Are Made of Marine Grade Carbon Steel

My pants might as well be made out of carbon steel for all the accessibility they provide. It’s that hard to get into them. It’s not that my sex drive sucks. I love sex 187 times more than Joe Average. It’s just that I love my life, too — far too much to exchange it for a mediocre relationship.

I’ve been lucky enough to spend time with men who have made me spectacularly happy. I’ve travelled to the stars and slid down every rainbow, so I’ve learned what kind of men I adore: those who love their lives as much as I love mine because that’s the only way I get to keep all my magic.

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If you’re the type who wants to weave your partner into every aspect of your life, I’m definitely not The One for you. I don’t want to go to every one of your parties. I don’t want to join you for every damned visit to the shop because I don’t want to kill every sparkling piece of intrigue between us until all we have left is domestic boredom. I prefer passion and keeping my beautiful life intact. Those hours apart are valuable. I treasure them even though I treasure you.

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