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| If you've found me among your "Admirers", it's because I wanted to say hello but just didn't have the brain cells for a proper letter, so I bookmarked your page for later.
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"Reality? Your reality, sir, is nothing but lies and balderdash, and I am happy to say, I have no grasp of it, whatsoever!" ~Baron Karl Friedrich Munchausen.
I am not real. I play games. I like games, don't you? Games and stories transport us away from our dreary lives. One day I might be a bloodthirsty pirate, another a barberian king, another time a witty and genteel sophisticate. I can't imagine being one thing, all the time. How boring! I wonder how many fantasists here know the meaning of reality, as they proclaim themselves to be truly real domlydoms and truly real slave-souls. What is a slave-soul, if not the romantic fantasy of true love, spiked with a desire to no longer be responsible for anything? I am a writer. Fantasy is my trade, and I am a skilled craftsman. I enjoy living out my fantasies, and I would be pleased to find someone, or even several someones, to share them with. My fantasies are many and varied, and if you ask nicely, I might craft one especially for you.
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Oh, and just for the record? I don't give a DAMN if you're doing research, personally or privately, or even just borrowing to repost elsewhere. All of MY content posted to this site is hereby considered open content for fair use as defined by federal law. I do not post anything here, or on any other social networking site, that I would not consider to be fair use. All I ask is that proper attribution be included for any quotes or photographs used. That is all. Thank you.
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I've hit that part of the cycle where I'm bored with this site again. |
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I read an interesting article recently, which I am reminded of as I see profile after profile saying things like "no fakes" and "real only". The article related that, according to recent studies, your online persona may in fact be closer to who you *really* are, than your behavior at home or work. These people you object to are not fake. Cowardice, stupidity, and general douchbaggery are, alas, all too real. |
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sorry for not posting regularly, but this site kind of has me down right now, and real life has gotten interesting again. |
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Wicked Grounds has just reopened! I'm so frakkin happy! |
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Ah. That's more like it. I log on, my filters currently set to take in everyone, and I am confronted with the message, "I am just as normal as you" - Someone actualy came to this site expecting normal!
Well, I for one, an highly ABnormal. I rejoice in not being like everyone else. It gives my sad waste of a life meaning, that even if by the standards of modern society, I count as a total failure, I am still great street theatre.
How 'bout you? Any normal people looking for kinky love across the internet, visiting one of the most wretched hives of scum and villainy that you can access for free?
Didn't think so.
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My new years resolution was to write more. Been doin' a good job, haven't I? |
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New profiles proclaiming that "so-and-so is a fake" are commonplace, but I've just encountered a variant that is new to me.
Some sad embittered domlydom has chosed to proclaim for all the world to see that someone here is a "creeper". By this, he apparantly means that she is not a doormat, dares disagree with his lordly view, and has the audacity to respond to journal entries as if they were posted in a public forum for all to see.
How pathetic do you have to be to publicly call someone a fat sow, simply because of a comment which - given as verbatim by said sad pathetic domlydom - could only be called a respectful note of dissent.
Very sad. I'm tempted to seek out this woman and offer her a sympathetic comment, simply out of my distaste for acts of cowardice masked by sockpuppet accounts. |
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Jimmy, do you know the Devil?
No, but I'm going to! |
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So here we are again, gentle readers, full of sound and fury, unable to signify anything. I'm afraid I am simply out of bon mottes for today. The niggling details of my personal life have rendered my ability to sit here for hours on end finding amusing little things to comment upon almost nil. I do promise to do better after the new year has begun. |
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Hello again. It's always nice to have a sit down and chat here across our orthicon tubes. Christmas is now behind us, but New Years Eve looms ever closer. I enjoy waltzing in the new year with Our Lady of Redoaks. It's been something of a tradition for us for as long as we've been together. Even so, I have this terrible urge to be a stick in the mud and stay home this year. It's been a very long month, and I do feel as though I need a nap. I suppose this is evidence of a thriving social life. No doubt I'll feel more energized by the weekend. Until we have a chance to raise a glass in memory of those who have parted from us in days gone by, I raise a glass to you across your orthicon tube. Be well. |
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It must be Christmas. New profiles are pouring in like puppies at the pound. It's amazing how many attractive young women are offering themselves to couples only. Who knew Unicorns celebrate the solstice like that? |
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Greetings across your orthicon tubes!
We've just come back from our first family holiday. Our sister-in-law enjoys taking the family to an upscale buffet over at the marina. That's one down, two more to go. I've traded my usual martini for a bit of eggnog. It's just so festive, don't you think? I can't help but think of my Grandma when I have eggnog. She was of the opinion that milk and eggs were never a bad thing to give a growing boy, so she'd make eggnog for me any time I'd ask. I just can't abide that syrupy store-bought stuff, so thick with stabilizers and guar gum that it might as well be a milkshake. This eggnog I made is light and frothy, made with good fresh eggs from a local dairy, and not too sweet. Usually I'd put a little whiskey in mine, but as it happens I've got some rum, so this is a proper nog I'm drinking for once. (a 'nog', dear reader, is a kind of rum punch. Eggnog is rum punch made with eggs. After prohibition, so many people took to drinking their eggnog virgin that now the alcohol component is considered optional). Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but the missus is off for a few, and I have just enough time to wrap a little something for her to find under the tree.
Merry Christmas, one and all! |
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Merry Christmas one and all!
It's been a hectic few days here at stately Redoaks manor, and all the elves (which is to say, me) have been terribly busy. I do apologise for not stopping to chat over martinis like I usually do, but I simply haven't had the time. Do forgive me, won't you?
I'm terribly anxious about the quality of gifts I'm giving out this year. So little time and so little money has stretched my meagre skills to their limit, and I'm afraid I failed the test. Our dear Lady Redoak has assured me that my baked goods are perfectly fine, but I can't help but notice that several batches did not come out like they ought to. It reflects poorly on me that I could not even get my shit sufficiently together to manage to make fudge correctly. It's my own damn fault. I decided to go cheap on the ingredients. I know better than that - quality of ingredient is one of the most critical factors for cooking. The canned milk I bought turned out not to be sweetened condensed milk as I had thought, but instead "filled milk". What is filled milk? I had no idea. I'd never encountered it before. Filled milk, as it turns out, is skim milk that has had emulsified and hydrogenated soybean oil added to it to replace the fat. In short, it's a mix of 1% and non-dairy creamer. Needless to say, it does not cook like ordinary condensed milk. It does not taste like condensed milk. One batch curdled - CURDLED - while I was cooking the sugar down to softball prior to adding the chocolate. Caramel cottage cheese in a pot. Fan-fucking-tastic.
I've been cooking in this kitchen for eight months, and I still haven't gotten the hang of controlling the heat from the stovetop. I managed to get boil-overs, spills, and messes so many times that every single reflector has carbonized sugar an inch thick on them, and they all smoke dreadfully whenever I try to make anything. Come monday, I'm just going to have to buy a new set of reflectors. Luckily, they're cheap. I hate electric ranges. Controlling the heat on a gas stove is so much easier.
In contrast to the fudge, my sugar-free ginger snaps (for various friends and family suffering from diabetes) are absolutely spectacular. It's a new recipe, created more or less by accident and on the fly when I had to make a few last-minute substitutions, but so good, I repeated the experiment and took notes so I could make them again.
Such is life at the turning of the year.
Happy holidays everyone! |
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Taking a break from holiday madness, it is now time to sit with a perfectly chilled cocktail and offer our greetings across the orthicon tubes.
My, but it's been a contentiius few days. It seems like Mercury finally went *out* of retrograde, and now everybody is saying what's really on their minds. Dear me, some days it dosen't pay to log onto the internet.
I've been afraid to peek at the fora here, dear readers. Over on (ahem) that *other* website, flame wars are bursting out all over the place. It's almost like Wicked Grounds was the only neutral territory, and without an all-inclusive space, everyone is fighting like rabid dogs over what's left.
I have two christmases and three new years parties left. I do hope this mood isn't too catching.
Wishing you a joyous and above all peacefull holiday, no matter what deity you worship.
Be well. |
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I am officially getting tired of my well-meaning hippie friends on facebook preaching their sermons on how we should be less commercial, spend less in stores, and make more ourselves. After this last week, I would simply *love* to have a christmas card show up early with a few hundred bucks in it, so I can take a frakkin' break from making stuff for a few days. |
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Greetings, dear readers, from across your orthicon tubes. Tonight, as the cocktail hour draws to a close, we find ourselves away from our palatial estate, enjoying overpriced gingerbread and coffee at a local cafe. It's been quite a juggling act, dear readers, getting things done without overstraining our budget. To compensate, we've been eating a lot of salad. My task is made more complex by having to fulfill my role as troubador, entertainer, and storyteller to My Lady of Redoaks during her frequent split-shift breaks from work.
One domitor whose profile I perused a while back declaimed, "rednecks need slaves too". He, like I, does not come from the comfortably affluent Dick-and-Jane version of America with its huge McMansion homes, front lawns like football fields, and surrounding white picket fence serving not so much as a boundary of warding as an inviting middle-ground for neighbors to stop and chat.
Too often, I see profiles demanding that men have not only jobs, but careers, and drive, and passion. I understand some of the underlying factors behind this, and I acknowledge that some litmus test must be applied, but I still find myself feeling sorry for these women, and for the men thet've psychically destroyed by basing all value and self worth on the western materialist concept of "success".
I have known too many people who have trod that path, only to have it destroy them. By such standards, I am no success. But I am, for the most part, happy.
Wisdom to ponder, as we lift a glass to one another's health from across these orthicon tubes.
Be well. |
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Ah, holiday cheer. I have just been informed by my smiling wife that we'll be enjoting christmas eve with her family. Now, don't get me wrong - I'm quite fond of my in-laws - but that was seven people I was sure I could hold off on finding gifts for until january. I now have six days and a patheic budget to come up with something. |
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We're starting the cocktail hour a little bit early here at Redoaks today. Do forgive us, we've spent today and yesterday trying to find as many ways as possible to fulfill our holiday obligations without overextending our horribly strained budget. I cried when I saw the $250 christmas tree. This year, we have a wreath. Coming home after all of that, a nice martini is a way of telling ourselves that it's okay to slow down for an hour.
Thanks to that hack Ian Fleming, who knows just as much about drinking as he knows about women and firearms (a fantasist after my own heart, but a little research wouldn't have killed him. Even John Norman eventually learned that a woman gets wet when she's actually interested in her lover), I am regularly asked that perrenial question, "shaken or stirred?" Our preference is for neither. A civilized person who regularly indulges should keep a little space in the freezer for the gin, so that it is always the perfect temperature. The martinis are then mixed by gently pouring the combined gin, vermouth, and bitters back and forth from one container to another. Currently, we're using Peychaud's bitters, which has an aroma that mixes beautifully with the extra dry vermouth. Tragically, we've run out of gin, so I'm drinking a vodka martini with a twist of lemon. With holiday madness in full swing, I doubt if I shall have time and opportunity to restock gin or whiskey prior to the new year.
But for right now, as the sun sinks toward the western horizon and helicopters sedately circle the latest protest, we wave farewell from across your orthicon tubes. Be well. |
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The holidays continue to exert their inexorable pressure. I've never much bothered with new users before now, but the cavalcade is interesting. At Halloween, there was a surge of kinky roleplayers like me. Thanksgiving rolled around, and every miserable speck with self-esteem issues crawled out from under a rock - no doubt fleeing their families in hopes of a better life somewhere far away, chained in a basement, licking dog shit off of shoes. Now that christmas is imminant, there is an upsurge of Oneists in search of holiday snuggly-fuzzies with their soul-mate. Come february 14, I suspect quite a few will be back, volunteering for the boot cleaning detail. The parade goes on. |
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I don't hold much truck with leather fetish. I know its a major thing with some people, and I give props to any Old Guard player who has earned their leathers, but all in all it's just playing dress-up as far as I'm concerned, and using a horribly drab color scheme at that.
But then... I have this jacket. It's a reproduction of an old bomber jacket, something I found at a thrift store. I'm fairly sure the original owner died from the lung cancer he got from smoking enough cigarettes to get the damn thing in the first place. I nearly live in this jacket during the cold half of the year. The sleeves are specked with little dabs of paint now. This jacket smells of good old leather, and wind and rain and old burning leaves, and it matches my natural scent to make a kind of cologne.
Sometimes, when I'm wearing this jacket, my wife comes up to hug me, then inhales a deep breath, and I feel her relax in my arms as that cologne relieves twenty years of pent-up tension. At times like that, I can kind of see the attraction.
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At home relaxing after a loveley evening. In retrospect, I didn't drink that much - my flask was still 2/3 full when I got home, so I must have been pouring myself smaller than usual martinis. I was a little downcast that my wife went straight home after work instead of coming out, but there's always next time. |
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It's a slow evening here ay SwingGoth, and I'm starting in on my fourth martini. Don't look at me like that! I brought enough to share, but nobody else is drinking. This place is like the polar opposite of Collarme - a surfeit of beautiful women, and no men to get in the way. Now if only I hadn't messed up my leg last monday marching with all the other lemmings. |
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Greetings once more, Dear Readers. The cocktail hour has been postponed until later in the evening. We've arrived at the stately Danzhaus venue in fashionable south-of-SoMa south San Francisco, with only a few adventures along the way. We were of course compelled, as we walked past Folsom, to visit the lamentable address where an empty storefront now stands, where once had been Wicked Grounds. So now, as the next round of lessons are about to begin, we say goodbye for now. May you all find a place to be your second home.
Best Wishes. |
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Tonight, Dear Readers, we shall be heading for the steampunk swingdance review at DanzHaus in San Francisco (1275 Connecticut street, if you're interested in joining the fun. $7 at the door, open dance from 9pm to eam, free swingdance lessons starting at 6pm if you need a little help - or, in my case, all the help you can get). |
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Greetings once more from across your Orthocon Tubes. Once again, here at Redoaks, the cocktail hour draws to a close. This time, while enjoying a perfectly chilled martini, I had some loveley gouda to nibble on, which made up for the fact that we've run out of olives. The cats, of course, are the most loving creatures on earth when there are nibblies to be had, which reminded me of the First Rule of the house. This has been a standing rule for quite some time, and is used to establish and define the household hierarchy. That rule is:
ALPHA MONKEY EATS FIRST.
Now, it may seem a bit silly to phrase it that way, but right now there are two hairless apes and two cats in the house, and our cats clamor for food the way a Horny Net Geek clamors for masturbation material. Which brings us to our second rule, which defines obedience and the rewards meted for proper service:
IT LEARNS TO READ, OR IT DOSEN'T GET THE HOSE AGAIN.
In their own idiosyncratic way, these two rules sum up a great deal of our values, our protocol, and established precedent. Although, of course, they both must be elaborated upon.
Still, we continue on our merry way for now.
Until we once more lift a glass and toast for Aulde Lang Syne, may you be healthy, merry, and wise.
***
An addendum in the post-script, darlings! Our dear lady wife has reminded us of another cardinal rule, one we agreed to at the start of our courtship fifteen blessed years ago, and which we have held to as an iron-clad law:
SEX IS NOT SERVICE.
So there you have it, Dear Readers. Three Rules scriven by the Thunderbolt of almighty Jove, simple enough for Moses to explain to a rag-tag band of escaped slaves, complex enough for Talmudic scholars to argue over for the next three thousand years. |
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I keep seeing this idiotic cut-and-paste meme, both here and on that other site, where people threated dire legal repercussions if any of their information is used without permission. Here's a few things you may not know:
*If you insist on using a pseudonym without first filing a fictitious name statement, that pseudonym is a legal non-entity. The same anonymity that protects your personal information also strips you of any claim to the information used under your pseudonym.
*Information on this website is considered to be published in a public forum. Fair use allows researchers to use any publicly available information for purposes of illustration, so long as the source material is cited.
*Copyright, including the right to use your likeness, is not self-enforcing. Hiring a lawyer is expensive, as is filing a lawsuit. Unless the infringing party has made a substantial profit, you can't expect to reap a single thin dime for your effort.
It's fine to say that third parties do not have the right to quote you, but don't expect a cookie-cutter message to offer you any more protection than posting a "no trespassing" sign on your fence. |
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Despite my recent melancholy, I still find the time to send brief introductions out to various people. Did I mention my weakness for red hair and blue eyes? Yeah, this one didn't respond either, but at least she bothered to look.
I can understand the one-liner. It's mentally and emotionally exhausting just to send out two or three friendly hellos, with no expectation beyond a little light conversation. When you see a profile, you often have one chance before the page reloads and they're gone.
Of course, I always *try* to put my best foot forward, but I am only human. Even I can run out of words.
Be well. |
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Hello again Darlings!
You may have noticed that the profile has changed, and is no longer listed as a couple. We have set up a separate profile, as part of our Trulyreal Domlydom game, under the username Redoaks. We've hidden the profile for now, but not before our poor lost and lovelorn admirer came upon it. My goodness, but he is a needy little wretch. We were treated to a whole paragraph of boot-licking dialogue in the time it took to create the new profile. Apparantly, his first attempt really was the best he could offer. Still, we have neither deleted, blocked, nor responded to his desperately urgent plea for attention. Our little Maison D'Ettre is not yet ready for public display. You will join us for the nonexistant housewarming, won't you Dear Readers? There will be theoretical mimosas on the imaginary veranda.
Oh, don't worry. We'll make the rules of the game as clear as possible. We just wish to see who decides to play along.
Be well, darlings! May the life you lead be as wonderful as you can imagine. |
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As the cocktail hour draws to a close here at Redoaks House, I am reminded of that great poet laureate Percy Dovetonsils and his familiar "greeting across the orthicon tubes".
Our unrequited admirer has returned yet again, Dear Readers, and this time he mustered the evolutionary power nessesary to utter not one but two sentences! Sadly, the effort seems to have broken his brain, for he forgot basic grammar and punctuation in the process. For his effort, I did reward him with a reply, rather than simply reporting his message as spam and deleting it. True, it was less than complimentary in tone, explaining to him in no uncertain terms that we are NOT actively accepting any subs of any type (which is true. Our Trulyreal Domlydom game is but an intellectual exercise). In the midst of our gin-feuled retort, there was valuable information regarding our criteria for freindship, which an assiduous Trulyreal Slavesub might parlay into an opportunity to service. We shall see if he rallies to the challenge, or if, as I have suggested, the mold I found in our refrigerator turns out to be the better man. Stay tuned, Darlings! |
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In the narrative of the Trulyreal, the Domlydom simply *must* hail from some estate or other. Even the shabbiest of Domlydoms must make some effort of pretense at this, for the Iron Law of the Trulyreal is writ large as the Rules given by the Master of the estate. To keep up with this pretense, in order to play our little game, we shall hereafter refer to our little domestic household by the name of Redoaks, and keep it as an estate de facto, wherever we may happen to call home. |
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I believe that I have related before, Dear Readers, how I have had experience in the Real World, despite many years of obscurity brought about by my long standing state of conjugal bliss? The majority of my time spent in the company of lifestyle kinksters was many years ago, yet I find little difference in the attitudes and beliefs I encounter today. Now, mind you, this is not the realm of the Trulyreal Domlydom or his counterpart the Trulyreal Slavesoul. Thus, my experiences reflect the community of which I am a part and the people with whom I choose to associate.
The Justplain Leatherfolk with whom I associated - many of whom I still associate with on a non-kinky basis - were a diverse range of people, largely rather down-to-earth about such subjects as dominance and submission, and outright casual about their kinky habits. This tends to be a truism here in the Bay Area (San Francisco Bay, for you outlanders). Here on Collarme, I have often heard it remarked that our leather community is rather drab, our events downplayed. The main exception, of course, is the annual Folsom leather fair, but honestly, that's for tourists. Early on in my residency, I pondered this mystery. We don't tend to throw fantasy spectacles like the leather communities in other areas. I eventually decided that we simply don't feel we have anything to prove.
We are a strangely insular lot, who won't travel ten miles to an event because it isn't local. This is ot simply a quirk of the leatherfolk, but all who have become true citizens of the Bay Area. We often feel as if we are intruding, if we travel to another city to attend a munch. Now that Wicked Grounds has sadly closed her doors, we have no neutral ground any more.
My first dom, the man who happily bought me dinner, took me home, tied me up, beat me until I was weeping, and finaly took me to bed and gently deflowered me, commented once that he liked the fat that I didn't feel the need for leather and costumes. He was an older gentleman, and this was nigh on twenty years ago, so he was very familliar with the pre-stonewall Old Guard.
I suppose I should point out that, while I settled eventually into a heterosexual lifestyle, my early experience was with the radical queer community. One of these days, I need to join the local Society of Janus chapter, just to see how the heterosexuals do things. Because of this early association, I will tend to reference certain milestones in Takei History as if everybody knew them, because for my circle of associates, everyone does. San Francisco has a proud oral tradition.
It is my past affiliation, Dear Readers, with the Justplain Leatherfolk, that causes my fascination with the world of the Trulyreal Domlyoms and their many obscure and pointless rules. I have no way of knowing how many of these Trulyreal Rules are normal for heterosexuals, or how prevalent such Trulyreal Rules actually are among the Justplain Leatherfolk who dwell in the Outlands.
I remain but a humble chronicler of fable and crafter of fantasy, sitting on the shores of the Trulreal Sea, and watching the waves go by. Until we met again, Dear Readers, be well.
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On a related note, a fascinating item was posted in the profile of one young lady:
"One-liners will be deleted unread"
I am enchanted by this! Neither Karnak the Magnificent, nor his esteemed predecessor, Matzoh Hepplewhite, have cultivated sufficient clairvoyance for this feat of ledgerdemain. In all my years coming to this place, in all my many guises, I have *NEVER* been able to accurately determine the contents of a personal message without first opening, and then reading it.
Kudos, young woman. You should contact The Amazing Randy post haste. You have a rare and beautiful gift, proof of which he is willing to pay one million dollars to see! |
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And again. The same young man as before, same line as before. Couldn't even wait 24 hours, couldn't find something new to say.
Gentle Readers, I know this place is a meat-marked, and I accept the quirks of this place, else I would not continue to return. Even so, what slack-jawed halfwit is so simpleminded that, failure after failure, they press on with the exact same tactic?
Legend has it that Lemmings hurl themselves off of cliffs, heeding the call of some ancient instinct. It is said that they are driven by primitive urges to return to a land which no longer exists, following a path which has not been safe since the last ice age caused the oceans to recede.
The science involved is shoddy, of course. If they were driven to do so every year, there would be no adults left to make little lemmings. Even so, it is a sound metaphor. Only, I cannot decide if the lemming here is him, or me.
Be well, dear readers, and try to avoid those cliffs. |
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Egads! Another one, and dressed in pink to boot!
Yesterday, I believe it was, I commented desparagingly on the one-liner. I show up, delighted to find a little digital present awaiting me in my inbox, like a hypothetical trulyreal slave-sub in an analog cage, and find that I have gotten a note from a domina. This is not very unusual, truth be told. Aggressive women and submissive men are almost always the ones to initiate dialogue with me, rather than requiring that I make overtures to them.
What do I find, upon opening the message, but the phrase, "hello how are you......" (sic)
Of course, mindful of the previous post, I assume she's having a little dig at me, and a good one too. I am of course inclined to respond favorably to a lady of any persuasion who deems me worthy of addressing. Thus, a little joke at my expense, and I'm big enough to laugh at my own hypocrisy.
But, gentle Readers, I am a stubborn fellow, and the lack of capitalization followed by an extended ellipsis troubled me. There is only one man of my acquaintance from whom I regularly read and tolerate messages like this, and he is a one-armed veteran.
(There is a lesson there for you, about judging books by their covers)
So I view this domina's profile, and I am astounded to be confronted by a one sentence introduction, clearly written by the same hand. Alas, I know the signs. I have been spammed again. This person's grasp of the Queen's English (for 'she' claimed to be a denison of the UK) was so poor, that their mangled introduction proclaimed them to be "a good man, and a god fearing one".
Perhaps I judge too harshly, but darling readers, one must have standards, and I know that I am not alone in the standards I have set. I can forgive misspelt words - I've subjected you to my fair share in the course of this missive - and malapropic sentences, but if you haven't the wit to say something, then as the Bard said, "come not near me"!
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This new game is quite challenging, in that I have bound myself with a particularly difficult rule to play by: If I am to draft a Household Law, absolute and inescapable, by which I rule my hypothetical slaves with an iron fist of leather-clad domesticity, this Law must take into account my own very limited means.
Dear Readers, you see before you the words of a poor man, who compensates for his lack of financial affluence by way of an abundance of imagination and innovation. My calling pays but poorly, when it pays at all, and too often I am reduced to scrubbing toilets as a way to make ends meet. The chambers rented by I and my wife are quite humble, and already overflowing with worldly possessions which took several generations for our families to accumulate.
Now, it has been my experience, out here in the Real World. that this is not the obstacle which some cold-hearted gold diggers might have you believe. Therefore, I can suspend disbelief regarding the question of who in their right mind might choose to serve such a poor master as I. This game is rather an exercise in answering that eternal question, 'what do I do once I've caught one?'
Already, simply in dealing with this, I've had to generate a flow chart branching off from the question, 'will I require them to live here'. I'm afraid, gentle readers, it may be some few days before I can offer you the results of my trulyreal domlydom madlib, but I hope that when the time comes, we may all laugh together.
Be well. |
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I have come upon a prevailing narrative which dictates that trulyreal domlydoms have a household law, inviolable and sancrosanct, which they enforce with iron will. I am amused and fascinated by this concept, particularly since the preferred methodology is to have this law engraved in stone - by Enoch himself, if not scriven by the very thunderbolt of Almighty Jove - long before a new slave is taken in to the established household.
Truthfully, this is not a game I've played before. I couldn't imagine a set of rules written before I even knew the other players in the game. I must give this some thought. After all, the parent meme is based around the idea of the trulyreal domlydom being affluent enough to live in a large house, if not a grand estate. How then to play the game and keep to my modestly nonexistant budget? |
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At any given time, I have my search function set to filter for profiles Primarily Seeking either for "Friends Only" or "Dominant Men". In either case, I am constantly confronted by profiles which clearly do not want either.
I don't generally search for "Friends Only" much any more because too often, the friends sought are in a limited range of people - typically only submissive women, or else queer-identified women/TGs (ie, I am disqualified for having a penis and living a heterosexual lifestyle). This neither astounds nor disturbs me, dear reader. Such things are par for the course.
What astounds me are the profiles which claim to be seeking "Friends Only", where the entire profile is just a meat-market ad, without hobbies or interests, and where it is angrily decreed that "fakes, game players, and time wasters will be deleted unread". First of all, how do you know, if you can't be bothered to read the message? Secondly, how do you define a waste of time? If you are primarily inteested in friends, how do you define a fake? I understand that this place is sufficiently toxic to cause hyper-aggressive defensive behavior, but it is only a moment's work to change your listed gender, orientation, and search categories. Why not do that, even as you update your profile text denouncing the undesireable? I would certainly appreciate it if you wouldn't waste *MY* time, claimingto be something that you're not.
The second class that I am regularly confounded by are those among the ranks of dominati who are searching for dominant males, yet who give no such indication in their profiles. I can see the logic in a prodomme putting up her shingle with an attitude of 'come one come all', but any domlydom whose profile demands that all slaves must bow down in obeisance, had best add that they have a plaything they'd be willing to share, or else I'm left wondering if they know what the hell they're searching for.
I suppose, in either case, I'm spared the onus of having to reach out to these poor benighted wretches and offer the hand of friendship, but after taking the time to read their profiles - which rarely can be bothered to offer any entertainment value in their own right - I can't help but feel that this person ought to refund the minutes they stole from my life. |
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And here, once again, the reason why I suffer such ambivalence regarding my own profile text: The One-Liner. At least this latest one used whole words and a complete sentence, but really. Took the time to glance at my full profile for approximately sixty seconds before delivering his Magnum Opus, "How are you?"
Even in sixty seconds, the barest glance at my profile should have anyone pause for a moment and say to themselves. "Yikes! This guy uses words! He'll want me to use words, won't he? What do I say?" - And from that brief moment of thought, I am treated to an upgrade from "how R U?"
No profile text. Not even the de rigeur list of kinks. He lives close enough for a hookup, and that's all he was looking for. It is a knife buried in my soul to know that things like him continue to drag our species back down to the level of the nematode by somehow managing to propagate, while I remain childless. |
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One of the problems with late night introspection is that I find myself guilty of sins I've accused others of, and laughing. I saw a loveley woman here this morning, who took the time to post some loveley meditations on "all of this" and what it meant to her. The reading was, of course, thought provoking. I come here to be provoked, to let the fantasies and inner realities of others shock me out of my complacency. My current rumination, which formed the basis of my lead-in, was that one of my most deeply cherished fantasies is that of exclusivity. I have never had a monogamous partner. There has never been anyone in my life so "in love" with me, that they promised to love only me. In short, dear readers, I am a wannamate. My deepest fantasies, particularly within the bounds of the "lifestyle", is to find a partner I don't have to share, who loves me, is devoted to me, and either wants to beget offspring, or is young enough to stand as a surrogate herself. That last part is particularly damming. Lolicon is a fetish driven by insecurity. The man who dreams of an innocent young engenue is wishing for a mate who does not know how inadequate he really is. I sneer at the fantasies of others, but mine are no less absurd. |
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Why am I here? It's not to meet people, heavens forfend. It is not to commune with like minds in an atmosphere of convivial equanimity. Those were the things that drew me to this place long ago, but they are not here now. No, I return to this place, year after year like an alzheimers-ridden swallow, unable to recall that barberians sacked San Juan de Capistrano long ago and sowed the ground with salt, and each year wonder at this place and my reason for returning. But I reap a benefit, from ancient and forgetful habit. When I am here, I write, more prolifically than in any other time or place. |
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I'm crushed. Another newbie has fled in terror from this site. A shame, really. Second time in two weeks someone I really liked has left without saying goodbye. Did I mention how I've come to loathe, in a general, non-specific sort of way, every other guy on this site? |
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There's a noob on the fresh meat list, a male domlydom who decided to call himself Asteroth. No profile text, so no clue what he was thinking. I wonder if he knows that's a girl's name? |
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I have experience as a sub. My first serious relationship was a 24/7 TPE which lasted for about a year and a half. I learned a lot from it. I learned that I am a bit quick to defend my personal boundaries and I will always have an opinion about things, which I will most likely not keep to myself. I also learned how deeply satisfying it is to have someone to kneel before, and how desperately I crave the quiet acknowledgement of a pat on the head and the words "Good Boy" coming from someone I've pledged myself to.
I take care of people. It's intrinsic to my nature. My strength is forged in the fires of compassion. I don't need to dominate anyone other than myself, but I fully understand that you might need to be dominated by me. |
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I want to see a profile that begins,
"Hello to all but you. Yes, YOU. You know what you did, and why I'm not saying hello to you." |
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I've never been able to wrap my head around humiliation as a kink. I have never been ashamed of who I am or what I choose to do. Deliberately shaming someone is just plain foreign to me - which isn't to say I can't do it by accident. I would expect my partner to be just as bold as I am.
As for verbal abuse - I have too much self-respect to sink that low. The words will not issue from my throat. |
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Yesterday, I read a profile in which the young woman (I can't really call this class act a young lady) denigrated her various would-be paramours regarding the profile pictures they put up. It was interesting inasmuch as her comments were not aimed at the seemingly inexhaustable supply of men who either post genitalia - presumably their own - or pictures of some other woman, presumably the dom's own handiwork, but clearly a fantasy surrogate taken from some other website. No, it is not these to whom she addressed her remarks, but rather the group of gentlemen whose profile picture shows them dressed in casual attire standing at the door of their abode. She questioned whether these men had any self-respect at all, to be shown thus "in a three dollar pocket front t-shirt posing in front of their shack".
I can only reply by wistfully commenting that it must be nice to be so wealthy, that you assume everyone who comes here wears Armani and owns a sports car which they can decorously pose against. Admittedly, I have seen the genre of photo in question and do not feel any overwhelming urge to avert my gaze for fear of their burning wrath, but it is an honest self-portrait meant to represent the man himself, nothing more. This is not the fantasy of the honeymoon stage, but rather the man as you might see him on any given day.
What self-respecting person lies about who they are, just to alleviate their loneliness, I ask you? That they were found wanting is obvious, but to denigrate their self-esteem because they did not lie? It tells me much of that other person's character, and I suspect that however many lovers she may have, she will always be alone.
Fine clothes and eautiful things are poor sources of comfort when you've entered the long dark night of the soul. |
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"The Faggots act out their fantasies without believing them to be real.
The Men act out their fantasies always proclaiming they are real.
The Faggots' fantasies create play - dressing up and dressing down.
The Men's fantasies create responsibilities - going here and doing that.
The Faggots' fantasies are about love and sex and solidarity.
The Men's fantasies are about control and domination and winning.
The Faggots move towards the limits of living in the body for they have known body ecstacy and want to live there with everyone always.
The Men move towards the limits of living among things for they have seen great collections and want to live there alone always."
~from "The Faggots and their Friends Between Revolutions" |
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I really love cock. I just don't like men. Why the hell can't my wife have a dick of her own? Some days, there's just no substitute for the real thing. |
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Further musings on the ideosyncrasies of the profiles I find on here:
Is there any point in demanding that someone read your profile before contacting you?
What is real, anyway? How is it that your games are real, but mine are fake?
On the subject of reality, what is a "real man" other than a marketing gimmic to sell the white picket fence edition of the american dream?
When someone claims to be a lesbian, then says they're primarily seeking dominant men, why do they get upset when someone calls them on their bullshit? Isn't the whole point of claiming to be a lesbian not having to deal with all those horrible penises?
If you're primarily seeking friends, shouldn't you include a few hobbies on your profile?
Should cleavage and/or genitalia really be your primary profile picture if you don't want people to treat you like a piece of meat?
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I'm not a big fan of the social network popularity contest known as 'friending', but it does feel less stalkerish than bookmarking someone to favorites. Also useful, I suppose, for remembering the screen name and avatar of people you've been conversing with - important, in my case, since I keep changing my profile around according to my current whim. |
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Berkeley munch this month is on the 12th, same as the general strike and port blockade. Looks like my streak remains unbroken. This'll be the fifteenth month in a row I miss the munch. |
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I wonder if any of the people I spoke with last month will bother to initiate a conversation with me, or even pick up where the last one left off? It seems a little passive-aggressive, I know, but I get fucking tired of supporting the entire dialogue. |
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Ever since I've read a comment to that effect in someone else's journal, I've become increasingly aware of how damn cliquish the boards have been. Admittedly, some of that is just that all of my old friends have moved on, or only come through once in a blue moon. Still, threads get hijacked and I feel completely shut out, especially when I have to plow through a dozen off-topic comments. Of course, most of the threads are too fucking idiotic to be bothered with. I pretty much said everything I had to say back in '04, and there's damn few subject lines that grab my attention. |
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D'you know what? I really hate every guy on this site. Oh, not specifically and personally, but the constant awareness of trying to swim upstream is really getting to me. Every message I've sent in the last four days except the most recent have been deleted unread. I can accept not being what someone is looking for. I can accept saying something stupid and getting shot down. Not even getting that far is fucking depressing. |
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I keep examining my issues about ageplay. I find that I'm very interested in girls who want a daddy who are in fact young enough to be my little sister if not my own offspring. It's not that I'm not attracted to older women - I just don't feel much attraction for someone my age who wants to regress to childhood. NMK, that's all I'm saying. |
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I have another idea for a story. The last one was S&M based in a post-holocaust/cyberpunk setting. The one before that was ageplay/petplay in a space opera setting. I'm thinking this next one should be fantasy/fairy tale based. Princess and Dragon is a classic, but I'm thinking of avoiding the bondage homage to cassiopea, and instead approaching the story from a ponyplay perspective, ala Aristotle's wife. |
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Ageplay dosen't really turn me on, and the incest/abuse elements of daddy/girl relationships are a little bit squick for me, but I find that, more and more, I'm attracted to women seeking a "daddy" in that I am a caregiver by nature, and I feel in my gut that a belt or strap across the backside can be a way to show your love. I also find a growing preference for non-sexual submission. Don't get me wrong - I find S&M to be incredibly arousing - but I'm very nearly the antithesis of the "blowjob dom". I don't think with my dick. What I want is a deep emotional connection, and too often sex gets in the way of that. |
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I need to update my profile text again. |
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I've sent messages to so many people, I've started to think I have no criteria beyond favoring people who live nearby. Three local girls in the last half hour put that theory to rest. One, I admit, was based totally on appearances (too skinny), but there was no profile text to judge personality on. Another had no picture and painfully generic text, but a list of interests that totally failed to mesh with my own. The last... mentioned a reality show... in her first paragraph. I think I need a bath. |
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I love the expectations people bring with them to this site. I've already given much snark to the playboy bunny nymphomaniac polyamorous submissive virgins which so many guys are searching for, but let's take a moment to peek over the fence, shall we? I have, over the last eight years, seen a great many heterosexual women who are just as confused in their priorities as any man-boy here. You know the ones - seeking a straight-arrow monogamous heterosexual man who is dominant but caring, attractive, socially dynamic, ambitious, and a college educated professional with a career. Yeah. Who isn't a jackass, is totally faithful, and will fulfil all your fantasies while either supporting your pursuit of a career or else keeping you so you can stay home and be a good little 50s style housepet.
There are so many things wrong with this combo platter of heterosexual fun, I don't even know where to begin...
Here's a pretty basic one: that socially dynamic, ambitious, career-driven go-getter? 90% of the time, if a guy like that is kinky, he's a sub. No joke. When your 9-5 reality is aggression and dominance, your fantasies tend to revolve around letting go and allowing someone else to carry the load. If he's not a sub, I guarantee that he's a narcissistic asshole, if not a total psycho.
I'm not sayin you can't make your drams come true, but I am sayingthe same thing to you ladies that I say to all the troll lords out there:
Lotsa Luck! You're gonna need it... |
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WTF is up with all the submissive six-packs all of a sudden. Group deals on two or three are suspicious enough, but six, all in one account, who need a new home like a basket of puppies about to be sent to the shelter? You know what they say about something that seems too good to be true... |
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Walking home from downtown Berkeley with a backpack that was about 20 lbs before I filled it with groceries. It's only a five mile hike, but bot am I gonna sleep good tonight.
Damn if I can't remember a time when doing this sort of thing was a lot easier, though. Getting old sucks. |
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Seeking Friends Only is such a waste of time. I had been keeping my browsing filter set for unspecified gender and orientation, with "Friends Only" as the main perameter, and a few interests like "science fiction" and "role playing games" - figuring that I'd have something in common to start a conversation with, right? This place is such a meat rack. Most guys don't answer my messages because I don't have tits - and who wants to have a conversation with someone without tits? The ones that do, most of them are HNGs that want to do some idiotic cyber scene. I don't list myself as bisexual so I don't have to put up with this crap, alright? And thanks to all the asshats, every female on the site is so defensive I can barely start a conversation! (although I have had a few lovely exchanges recently, thank you all if any of you read this). Grumble.
On the plus side, my infatuation has subsided. I guess I'm just a sucker for red hair and blue eyes. |
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I made the mistake of glancing at the political discussion forum. Sweet Jeebus, but there is a reason why I dislike politics. People who cling to ideological orthodoxy are such assholes. I look at what is happening in this country and I am so scared. I am seriously starting to consider the possibility that we are on the verge of civil war. |
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I can't get this person out of my head. Sweet baby jeebus but this is pathetic. |
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Did you ever have one of those really uncool moments? Here I am, randomly chatting up boys and girls, because only one in ten ever answer, and most of the time the conversation dies out, with no real connection to keep it going. So I send out two, three emails a day, looking for that certain something that makes for the start of a real friendship. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, I'm stricken by a pretty face and a profile with attitude, and suddenly I'm an idiotic teenager again. Will somebody shoot me please before I break out in acne again?! |
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Finished the story ( slightly more than 5000 words), but it's not really porn (it does count as erotica, I think). Worse, it's good enough I want to shop around for a publisher, instead of just posting it. Kind of defeats the purpose, I know, but this is kind of a career for me. |
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I'm beginning to recall another reason I keep coming back here. Less than a fortnight after going back to the message boards, I once again feel like a total badass.
I've been for all intents and purposes monogamous for close to seventeen years now. I love my wife very much, and she is a deeply submissive person, but she's not big on pain, giving or recieving. When I was a young man, I fell in with a circle of folks who played heavy. I've always felt a little insecure for not going as far as some folks I know, and doubly insecure for hardly doing that much for nigh on approaching two decades now. Reading these fora reminds me that what I consider incredibly light play is about as heavy as most folks are willing to go. I feel much better about my skills after remembering that most of what I've let myself lose practice with are skills I probably don't need. |
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No writing for me today. The missus is having one of her on-call days. I enjoy the company - it seems like I hardly get to see her these days - but it does mean I can't hunker down and get some writing done. |
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Giving it some thought, I've decided on a near future/post-holocaust for my next story. I'll borrow elements from cyberpunk and other post-modern elements, which will seem eerily familiar given the modern turn of politics if you haven't read the genre. I'll start with an underground society, circa 2050, where humans and machines work side by side. I can flesh out the story from there, visiting sealed arcologies and the great orbital cities. Total social upheaval makes certain scenarios easier to explain, and near future high tech makes fantastic situations possible, and even RACK friendly (what is going too far in a society where radical surgery is safe enough to be indulged by the upper classes the way we do piercings and tattoos now?) |
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So, less than 24 hours, and almost half the messages I sent out have been deleted unread. I know working this site is essantially like swimming upstream, but that's still disheartening. Oh, well. Imagine how often I'd get shot down at a real club? |
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Alt.Dance@SwingGoth was totally a blast. Too bad we had to bug out early. I am definitely going to have to make this a regular thing. |
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So it seems I've started my "Black Friday" shopping a little early this year. So many dysfunctional little creatures signing on today, claiming to be unowned slaves. Normally I'm not in the market, but a little something nice would make a fine stocking-stuffer this year. I don't mind broken or second-hand, as long as there's beauty in the pieces, and I think I can make something of it. |
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I have come to the conclusion that finding a match on this website is very much like the process of getting your work published as an author. Your profile is the manuscript you're trying to sell. Some people lovingly craft a work of art which reflects the inner passioons of their soul. Others simply put in enough material to get the job done. Many just come up with a title and shop from there. Emailing other people is rather like sending an unsolicited manuscript to a publisher. The popular houses have a huge slush pile, and it's sheer luck if your submission is read at all. Minor houses forget to update their guidelines, or go out of business and fail to take their name down from the resource list. Predators show up, preying on your hope, saying that you're exactly what they're looking for, and your work will be a guaranteed hit, but first they need some money to get the ball rolling. Most of the time, you're greeted with silence, recieving no replies of any kind for months, possibly even years. Most of the replies you recieve will be in the form of a polite but firm 'no thank you'. And all you can do is try not to take the rejections personally and keep looking. |
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Rant threads are fascinating. I go to the fora when I want to talk. I save my rants and whines for this journal. (One of the things I like about CM is having a spot to vent all the shit that's bothering me, without all my friends, family, and casual acquaintances instantly being made aware of it). I've read several self-pity threads recently, only one of which seemed to be looking for actual advice or feedback. I guess that one cranky old grampa posted his rant to shake is finger at all the lousy punk kid wannabes out there, as if any of them are on that side of the site. Well, I suppose its stress relief. A lot of the ranters are newbies with little vanilla swirly icons. The others have established themselves in the community, and presumably can expect to get commiseration and advice from friends they've already made there. |
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Ah, erszatz socializing. I've been fortunate, this time around, to have met some pretty cool people, particularly in the last few days. This was just exactly the sort of pick-me-up I had been hoping for.
And now, alas, I find I must redact my last journal entry. Far too many typos managed to creep in, I'm afriad. |
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I'm in the mood to write something, since I have a full keyboard in front of me for once, but my current environment is a little too chaotic. I was pleased to notice that the creative writing forum is back (it had gone away for a while, years ago), but found the writing there (the 40 or so threads I glanced at) to be terribly uninspiring. Fine for mere erotica, I suppose. People with short attention spans seem to need to get to the action right away or their eyes glaze over. I have no interest in short attention spans. My verbosity is in fact a sort of litmus test. If you can't follow a few short simple sentences like these, you don't want to deal with me, and I quite frankly will be just as happy to not be bothered by you. I'm sorry if that seems elitist, but this is a text-based format we are dealing with here, and I am first and foremost a writer. Ah, well. I suppose I can start spinning a little fantasy when I'm home, then upload it in installments when I drag the laptop out to a hotspot. |
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Huh. Got my first troll. Four days and five hours since I listed this as a couple's profile. I'd say it was a record, but having not listed myself as bi, and listing "Friends Only" as the only thing I'm actively seeking, would logically slow them down. This one was a real loser, too. Not the worst I've encountered, and assuredly nothing compared to the slime chasing after any of the ladies here, but pretty fucking sad just the same. |
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I hate these long evenings. Depending on her work, my wife might come home anywhere from 5 to midnight. Her client is seriously messed up and needs a lot of help just getting through his basic routine. By about 7 or 8, I start having a little too much time on my hands. I'd go out, but I might not get more than 20 minutes warning that she's coming home, and I like to have dinner on the stove if not on the table as soon as she gets in. I guess I'll find something to tidy up. |
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I feel insanely validated to log on to the message boards and find my "wicked" status still in place. At least 900 of those messages happened between august 2004 and february 2005, and in a wierd sort of a way are a time capsule of a man I no longer am. |
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I am not a transvestite, a sissy, or a gender illusionist, but I do occasionally wear drag as an act of defiance and social dominance. This is not out of some misguided effort to lay claim to feminine power. While I wholeheartedly believe in the power of the feminine, I am quite comfortable in my masculinity and do not feel any need to borrow strength from another.
I wear drag because it freaks people out. I live in Oakland, a city filled with violent homophobes. I wear drag in public, in some of the worst parts of a city that has been in the top ten if not the number one spot for homicide in north america, simply because I can get away with it.
I've had drinks thrown at me - twice. I've been called "faggot" six or eight times - almost always by some kid in a moving vehicle. I have had something dangerous - a glass bottle - thrown at me once.
Unarmed, alone, helpless, in a city where I can easily become one more statistic, not even worth mentioning in the newspapers. That is how I assert my dominance. I don't need your submission. Oakland submits to me. |
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Ah, Saturday coffee and real internet with my ageing laptop. My internet useage seems to be the direct opposite of most people I know, possibly because I don't have an office job that has me sitting in front of a computer terminal for hours at a time while waiting for the next mindless chore to be delivered up.
I've been remembering some of the things I really like about this site. Oddly enough, it's very liberating to have a website where I go, that none of my friends visit. Even my friends in the FETish community choose to have a LIFE elsewhere, which is fine. I have a profile there as well, which I almost never use.
I do a lot of actual blogging when I'm here. This site is sort of like a sheet of scrap paper where I put down fragments of ideas before they have become fully articulated. I used to do some fairly solid work in the forae, long ago. Sadly, my phone has trouble with most security protocols, including the forms for setting up an account at collarchat. I think, while I'm here with my laptop in front of me, I'll see if I can set up a profile account that my phone will like.
(edit) Huh. Whaddya know. My old account is still active, inspite of my profile over here having been deleted years ago. |
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I decided to say "to heck with it" and modified my profile. Some folks can't figure out that I'm married without seeing the name in purple. |
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Mmmmmm...
Rebound profiles. I especially love the ones with a self-proclaimed dominant who just wants an obedient lover. Usually means their last partner had funny ideas about thinking for themselves.
More common now than the old "wannamate" profiles - you know the ones: a basically vanilla person seeking an idealized 50s-style "traditional marriage" and gave up looking for one through traditional outlets. I think the wannamates have their own websites now, which is a relief. |
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I always love encountering those ultra-delusional sorts whose list of personal expectations regarding what they expect to find here reads like a laundry list of bad porn cliches. Bonus points for the ones who think screen names like "WhereMyBitchesAt" will somehow cause all things feminine to swoon.
(Nota Bene: "WhereMyBitchesAt" is meant as a random, non-specific example. I'm sure that if someone chose to represent themselves with that particular screen name ::snicker:: they are surely a fine fellow ::chuckle:: who in no way is included in my sweeping generalization ::begins laughing hysterically::) |
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Hmmm...
Do I have any up-to-date photographs of myself which make me look even older, fatter, and more belligerently anti-social than my current profile pic?
I think not.
Enjoy. I AM a fun-sized tub of man-candy. |
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I do 90% of my websurfing on an ols Samsung mobile phone running a less-than-up-to-date browser. There are a lot of things it ought to be able to do, but can't. This site is, for the most part, much more gentle on my phone than, for instance, . That being said, I can't seem to get signed up for the message boards, which sucks. I'm stuck with randomly messaging strangers. I hate that. More to the point, it's fucking useless. I'm just one more troll in the spam filter. |
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Mmmmm. Steampunk. I hate the semantics of the label - the overwhelming majority of representations are about as punk as Avril Lavigne, and I'm old enough to know the difference - but it's fun never the less. A friend of mine recently informed me that a friend of his was organizing a steampunk LARP. That was about a week and a half ago. I am now suddenly the defacto GM. In the world of gamers, the vast majority of people are content to remain, in effect, submissives. (Rules-Lawyers are the gaming equivalent to Smart-Alec Masochists or "pushy bottoms" - maybe that's why I cope with people topping from the bottom better than non-gamer tops of my acquaintance?) |
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Am I supposed to present a more warm and welcoming attitude in my profile? It's not who I am, and it dosen't work either. Should I smile for my profile photo? Why? I don't smile that often in real life. Brusk is not the same as unfriendly. If you're too fragile to survive the trauma of being frowned at, you should not be talking to me. |
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Why do people say in their profiles that they're looking for "friends only" but then don't bother to list any hobbies?
Then again, given how unfriendly people tend to be here nowadays, why does anyone bother to claim they are looking for friends? Why the hell did I? Last time I got more than distant politeness from anyone was back around 2005. |
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| Age: 21 |
| Jacksonville,
Florida |
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