New Year’s Eve Can Go Fuck Itself with a Rusty Pole

New Year ’s Eve can go fuck itself with a rusty pole. In the days when I used to celebrate it, the year’s unmet resolutions would gather in the doorway to January as pitifully as used condoms, deflated and pathetic. My expectations of myself for the coming year would leave me feeling pressured as hell, and at the risk of stating the obvious, this was not conducive to a party atmosphere.

Every year, I watch the world breathe out in collective relief because 365 crappy days are over and another 365 days are waiting with all their new opportunities in tow, as though you can shut a door on your life just because you began using a new calendar.


I don’t fit into the world’s most popular definitions of success. I don’t think I should get married. I don’t measure my career triumphs by the number of zeroes on my paycheck. I don’t even feel less-than because my uterus remains unused. New Year’s Eve used to make me question my ladder to happiness because the top rung doesn’t look like most people’s do. My goals don’t fit into the New Year tradition, and my psyche doesn’t fit easily into colossal blocks of time. I need to chop my existence into serviceable chunks, and 24 hours are just the right length.

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Profile of a Fetlife Alpha Bitch


Orientation: None of your fucking business

Active: I’m too busy to be active

About Me

Like why are you still on my profile even? Why am I still on this trash heap of a site, come to think of it? Anyway, since we’re both still here, I should lay out my profile rules.

  • If you’re a cock shot avatar, fuck off.
  • If you’re looking for sex, fuck off.
  • If you have abs of steel, you’re too egotistical for me, so fuck off. That said, if you have a dad-bod, or are one of those fat shaming wankers, I will block you.
  • If you’re into girls and you’re a girl, fuck off. I’m only interested in shagging girls who are into guys. I dig gay men, too. If you’re not gay, fuck off.
  • If you’re still reading this profile, fuck off.

Right, that should take care of the housekeeping. I’ve been on this site too long to bother with Fetlife’s unwashed masses.


I identify as an Alpha sub, although labels can frankly fuck off, too, especially if they’re fucking whiners.

Unlike most people, I have value, so if you message me without reading this profile all the way to the end, I will know. I’ve put a seriously secret question in the last line, and if you don’t answer it, I will definitely tell you to fuck off. I suppose if you answer it, I’ll tell you to fuck off anyway, but you never know when I might have a good day, so I believe it’s well worth trying.

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Everything You Know About the Woman in Men’s Erotica

Inspired by Everything You Know About Me…

I’m basically a virgin and only became whorish when I met you: My Venerable Pussy Whisperer and purveyor of my sexual revolution. <genuflect>

My cunt lubricates on command.

I am amazed at Your Holy Penis because I’ve forgotten all 132 of the penises I saw before I met you. So forgetful. LOL.

My entire vocabulary is made up of 13 words:
-1) Cock
-2) My
-3) Wet
-4) Pussy
-5) Fuck
-6) Oh
-7) God
-8) Oh
-9) God
-10) I’m
-11) Cumming
-12) Ohgodohgodoh
-13) God

When I see an ellipsis, I… Oh god oh god oh god I’m cumming.


I’m super into numbers. 4, 3, 2, 1, Oh god oh god.

Yeah. I guess I cum a lot. Sorry.

I have fire where my liver and intestines are meant to go. I can still totally do anal, though, so no worries.

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He Asks Me If He’s Abusive

He asks me if he’s abusive towards his wife for the fifth time this year. His baby boomer history has taught him that abuse is always perpetrated by men, so he self-flagellates over the toxicity of his marriage. He self-flagellates for causing his partner’s bitterness. He self-flagellates for her screaming tantrums and weeks of silence because if he’s not the cause, who is? There is no answer to this question, and so he rolls around in his guilt until the sun sets.

His life has shrunk to the size of a snow globe, and inside it, he’s entirely alone. She hates his friends. She despises his social life. She begrudges his company. She has 170 tricks up her sleeve designed to force him into isolation. Silence is her favourite one, but he can’t figure out why it bothers him so much. He settles on seeing it as his own personal shortcoming and asks me, once more, if he’s abusive.


20 times this year, he has managed to sneak out to see friends while she wasn’t home. Those 20 visits represent the totality of his existence. The rest, he’s relegated to a landfill next to his quality of life and happiness.

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What to Do When Your Buzzy Toy Loses Charge Halfway through your Orgasm

  • Kill it with fire.
  • Try forgiveness.
  • Fuck that. It deserves to be killed with fire.
  • Tell Buzzy McBuzzFace you never really loved him so you don’t fucking care that he’s dead. You were faking it all along anyway. So there.
  • Consider maybe getting a boyfriend.
  • Decide against it because your buzzy toy provides better orgasms and doesn’t play Drake or force you to eat tacos.
  • Sing Unchained Melody while gazing at your toy adoringly because love can cure a thousand ills, even the electronic kind.
  • If it doesn’t charge in, like, three seconds, tell it you’re replacing it with a Symbian that’s not only buzzier than it is, but also comes in Blissful Blue with a storage cabinet and eight premium attachments.
  • Write a gratitude letter to your butt plug for never leaving you in this situation.
  • Hold a funeral to process your grief over your orgasmic loss: “For as much as it hath pleased my almighty vagina, in her wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of our deceased orgasm, we commit its pathetic, nonstarter of a life to the ground, Ashes to ashes, silicone to silicone.”
  • Hold a chill moonlight serenade to soothe your vagina’s sense of loss.
  • Consider the pros and cons of fucking the carrot in the fridge.
  • Decide what’s more humiliating: the idea of putting a condom on a salad ingredient or the fact that you just built a mental list of all the dildo-shaped food items in your kitchen.
  • Look back at the last hour and realise you should probably buy yourself seven cats and a pair of Crocs.


Profile of a Fetlife Cyberdom


Orientation: Doom-slayer of the Interwebz’ Many Pussies

Active: I live as a cyberdom when mumsy’s not home.

About Me

My name is Maximus Decimus McInternet, commander of the slaves of the North, General to the Cock shot Legions, loyal servant to Chaturbate. And I will get me some wank fodder on this website or the next.

I can take control of a slave with only a winky smiley and a series of highly suggestive ellipses. I’ve been a Master for 50 years—IOW since the internet was invented by Abraham Lincoln, and this extensive experience has taught me some important domly skills. F’rinstance, I can type a sentence almost entirely in acronyms. B/C FWIW IMHO I am NaN, but a GR8 Domly Dom, and I WYWH XOXOXOX.

I also know how to use Unicode to express the state of my boner.

I know my talent is kinda intimidating, but don’t worry. I don’t require my slaves to use acronyms as well as I do. Sweetheart, all you need to know is how to make a video clip of your vagina.


If you want to join the queue of slaves waiting for my attention, please check that you meet my criteria. My slaves:

  • Are willing to fuck bananas and other assorted fruit while listening to my descriptions of the litres and litres of cum shooting across the room.

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The boundary between coercion and persuasion can seem gossamer thin sometimes, but they’re not even built from the same clay. To coerce is to use force. To persuade is to sway, to lead, to inspire. Persuasion is the most delicious trick D/s has to offer. It’s powerful enough to throw me from one side of the continent to the other with a force I can neither see nor feel.

When I see aggressive “dominants” throwing their weight around as though it’s worthy of admiration, I think about how a persuasive dominant would crush him under his thumb without stopping for breath or burning a single kilojoule of energy.


Their insistence that they can force a sub to do anything they wish is a clear sign that they haven’t even reached the adolescence of their kink role. There’s only one ticket out of that kind of perpetual immaturity: It’s called humility. The trouble is this kind of person rarely seems to find it. They’re too terrified to even acknowledge their insecurities. Humility would seem too dangerous under those conditions, and so they keep on flexing their rage as though it has power.

And it has no power at all.

Dominants who understand submission don’t need domineering words to have sway. You will find yourself drawn towards something you once swore off entirely and have no explanation for your change of heart. That’s one of my life’s most exquisite pleasures because its power only becomes discernible when it’s become strong enough to knock my entire body from underneath me. It feels like magic.

It’s as though he has a seat in your subconscious mind. The truth is not so magical. It’s only love… Well, that and knowing a dominant who is worthy of love.

“Time will explain.” – Jane Austen, Persuasion