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We are humans. To those of you who are looking for the perfect Dom, or sub, please take a reality check. There is no such thing as perfection. I expect flaws, just as you should in me.
I'm stubborn in most of my views, even when I'm wrong. "No, zombies decompose eventually! They can't live forever!" (I will fight you on this.)
I have a tendency to see food as optional on a shopping list. "We'll get a box of granola bars, this computer was a good choice"
I have days where I just want to relax with you. I'm not all fire, whips and chains. "Hey, untie yourself, let's watch Star Wars."
If you're interested in a Dominant with character flaws(Just like the rest of the human race) Send me a message. Tell me some of your flaws and downfalls. Start with the negative. If I can't deal with that, then we just got several months out of the way early, didn't we?
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Sometimes, I send messages to myself to have an intelligent conversation on this site.
I won't be back.
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http://discharges.org/h/0807/
The answer to life, the universe and everything.
Hulk Hogan.
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Number of people on Earth (in 1998): 5 592 830 000[4]
…who are female: 2 941 118 000[5]
…in "developed" countries: 605 601 000[5]
…currently (in 2000) aged 18 to 25: 65 399 083[4]
[5]
…who are beautiful: 1 487 838
…and intelligent: 236 053
…and not already committed: 118 027
…and also might like me: 18 726
It is here, at a pool of 18 726 acceptable females, that we end our
statistical analysis. At first glance, a datable population of 18 726
may not seem like such a low number, but consider this: assuming I were
to go on a blind date with a new girl about my age every week, I would
have to date for 3493 weeks before I found one of the 18 726. That's
very nearly 67 years.
My source: http://en.nothingisreal.com/wiki/Why_I_Will_Never_Have_a_Girlfriend
(All other sources are quoted there)
So, there we have it. Let's assume that that number applies to people who are into BDSM as well. Finding perfection in this lifetime is not very likely. So I'm looking for a tolerable amount of crazy.
Now that that's out of the way: http://www.shutupwomangetonmyhorse.com/
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What cybering would be like if it was honest.
Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?
Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work
out every day, I'm toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do
you look like?
Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 280 pounds.I wear glasses
and I have on a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Walmart.I'm also
wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner...it
smells funny.
Sweetheart: I want you.Would you like to screw me?
Wellhung: OK
Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom.There's soft music playing on the stereo and
candles on my dresser and night table.I'm looking up into your eyes, smiling.
My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling
bulge.
Wellhung: I'm gulping, I'm beginning to sweat.
Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.
Wellhung: Now I'm unbuttoning your blouse.My hands are trembling.
Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.
Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off
slowly.
Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure.The cool silk slides off my
warm skin.I'm rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.
Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally
rips a hole in your blouse.I'm sorry.
Sweetheart: That's OK, it wasn't really too expensive.
Wellhung: I'll pay for it.
Sweetheart: Don't worry about it.I'm wearing a lacy black bra.My soft breasts
are rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.
Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp on your bra.I think it's
stuck. Do you have any scissors?
Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly.I'm reaching back undoing the
clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are
erect for you.
Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting
the clasp.
Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all
over me.
Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know,
breasts. They're neat!
Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your
ear.
Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with
spit and phlegm.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.
Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.
Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop
it with a plop.
Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your hard tool.
Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold!
Yeeee!
Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.
Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going
all over, in and out nibbling on you...umm... wait a minute.
Sweetheart: What's the matter?
Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.
Sweetheart: Are you OK?
Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.
Sweetheart: Can I help?
Wellhung: I'm running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I'm fumbling
through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?
Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.
Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There, that's better.
Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.
Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.
Sweetheart: I'm on the bed arching for you.
Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Now I'm putting it back in the
cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it's dark, I'm lost.
Where's the bedroom?
Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.
Wellhung: I found it.
Sweetheart: I'm tuggin' off your pants. I'm moaning. I want you so badly.
Wellhung: Me too.
Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately-our naked bodies pressing
each other.
Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It
hurts.
Sweetheart Why don't you take off your glasses?
Wellhung: OK, but I can't see very well without them. I place
the glasses on the night table.
Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!
Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly across
the room and toward the bathroom.
Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.
Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around
for the toilet. I lift the lid.
Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.
Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush
handle, but I can't find it. Uh-oh!
Sweetheart: What's the matter now?
Wellhung: I've realized that I've peed into your laundry hamper.
Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.
Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.
Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put my...you know ...thing...in
your...you know...woman's thing.
Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!
Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice.
I kiss your neck. Umm, I'm having a little trouble here.
Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can't stand it another
second! Slide in! Screw me now!
Wellhung: I'm flaccid.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.
Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.
Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner
all floppy. I'm going to get my glasses and see what's wrong.
Sweetheart: No, never mind. I'm getting dressed. I'm putting on my underwear.
Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse.
Wellhung: No wait! Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night
table. I'm feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture
frames and your candles.
Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. Now I'm putting on my shoes.
Wellhung: I've found my glasses. I'm putting them on. My God!
One of our candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I'm pointing
at it, a shocked look on my face.
Sweetheart: Go to hell. I'm logging off, you loser!
Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!
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http://thefutureofourworld.ytmnd.com/
An amazing look at what will happen to our planet, solar system, and galaxy in an exponential amount of years.
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When many people think about their childhood, they think of times at the beach, or maybe vacation in the mountains.
When I think about my childhood, I remember my Father putting a gun to his head at the dinner table, threatening to kill himself if my Mother left him.
It sounds bad, right? It gets worse. But I wouldn't trade my childhood for the world. I like who I am, and I love being one of us few with a story to tell.
This story is going to be long, sad at times, and mostly offensive. But, it's my journal, get over it. :P
The dinner table suicide threat was only one of the three separate times he threatened suicide, I only remember two of them. They were within one year, and every time, they seemed completely unprovoked. Eating dinner, watching tv, playing the newest console (The Sega Genesis. I still remember being excited about the box) and once the pastor from our church got involved. I actually got a letter from him the other day, apparently still alive and practicing in the same church. He was old then, so I can't imagine him now.
He instructed her to leave the guns in the playhouse in the back, and the Maryland P.D. picked them up, saving his .22, for sentimental reasons.
So, we have my Father, a conservative alcoholic Christian, with a death wish and the dream of being Amish. (No, I'm serious, he still wants to become Amish.)
They divorced when I was seven.
And now we get to my Mother. A compulsive liar, an alcoholic at the time, and a lesbian in the closet. REALLY far in the closet. So far, she went to church every Sunday, dated every asshole she met, and remarried.
So, here's me. Ten years old, ten different Fathers in two years. My mother is never home, and I have a little brother and sister to take care of. Now, I'll skip over the boring Dads, and go to the hilarious ones.
First up, Jim, from Utah. (Or so he says.) He has a daughter. And he's a carpenter. He collected comic books. Really cool, right?
Problem was, he had a kiddie dungeon. Yeah. I still remember the day my Mother told my Grandmother.
Jim had just left, and stolen our Persian rug(We got it for free from the owners, they were good friends of mine, even though I was ten at the time)
And two weeks later, my Mother disappeared. For three days.
We didn't go to school, and survived off of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for a bit. We literally didn't leave the house, waiting for her to get back.
And she did. With a new daddy! Yay! Complete with a flannel coat, mustache, and a drinking problem!
Now, I know what you're thinking, the last guy wanted to take pictures of you, what did he do? It wasn't that bad, he just wanted to mold me in the picture of his two dead sons, who were in the army. He called me Rick while he was drinking, and insisted I have a beer as he went on about how proud he was of his sons. It was when I made a mistake that those things that make a dysfunctional family violent happened. He HATED it when I spoke out of line, asked stupid questions, took too long to get him a beer, do the laundry or even tie my shoes. Everything had a time limit with him. When I spoke back or was a little too slow, *Whack* with a beer bottle.
The thing I remember most about that psycho, is when I forgot a school book, he'd add a brick to my backpack to carry around. Before Social Services got involved, I was carrying seventeen bricks to and from school every day. I was eleven.
Once again, I'm proud of my childhood. I can deal with more stress than some people can imagine, and I'm thankful that my elders were so screwed up. Because really, we all are.
So, mustache man, or Seth, stayed married to my mom for TWO YEARS. Two years of constant badgering, and being called Rick, learning to shoot a gun, and understanding morse code. I'm happy to say, that without my stepdad, I wouldn't be confident enough to say I could blow his head off at 300 yards. Not that I would, it's just a funny thought.
And, they got a divorce. And we left. Took a whole lot of nothing with us. Well, except 10,000 dollars and a restraining order.
It was at this point that my Mother came out of the closet. Started going to meetings, and came back with my technical step mother. Now, I'm 13 at this point, I'm thinking: "Two Moms. Alright! I'm going to get tons for Christmas!"
So her name is Carrie, and I get to meet her. We've already moved in, or at least set our boxes down in the living room, and Carrie is coming home from work.
I'm excited, my Mom is excited to introduce her, and then she walks in.
Flannel coat. Mustache. But she doesn't drink! No, she uses a little something called Heroin. Ever learned how to find a vein in your living room? I'm proud to say, I'm a fully trained anesthesiologist thanks to her.
We lived there for a year, and it was probably the most awesome experience of my life. She was filthy rich, thanks to her dead parents life insurance policy. And I spent my time in my basement room, which was carpeted, had a Pool and Foosball table, complete with a tape player and speakers stacked to the ceiling. Oh, and also my own back door.
At one point, I met a stripper. Carrie had thrown a party, and she was very free with her money. Which meant basically, drugs for everyone, stripper on the kitchen table. Bunny the stripper rushed me back downstairs, making sure I wasn't eighteen, and that I didn't have any cash, and sent my Mother in to explain things.
"Party, blah blah blah, adults only, blah blah blah." Whatever, can I watch the stripper please?
Despite my Mother's drug binge phase, jobless and dating anyone she could find with a visa, she always provided for us, and was protective. To a point. But she cared. We were never hungry, and EVERY Christmas, to this DAY, she goes above and beyond. She saves all her money every year for that day. Doesn't spend a dime on herself. She would go hungry and work through the withdrawals when money was short.
One night, my mother was going through another withdrawal. I didn't know, I was in bed. And Carrie, I loved her as a friend, came down and woke me up. Told me what was going on and what my mother was saying. My Mother was attempting suicide. I know, Tuesdays, right?
So I went upstairs, and sat on the steps, my Mother too out of it to notice me and just listened to her talk. She was tired of her life, and wanted to jump off the fourth floor balcony. (I told you, Carrie was loaded)
After about an hour of unintelligible rambling from her, I stood up, and sat down beside her. I didn't know what to say, so I just cried. We held each other for a long while, saying nothing. I eventually got up and went back to bed, ready for school at 6 A.M.
We never spoke a word about it, and she seemed back to normal. But slightly... Happier.
We moved. She wanted to get away from the drugs, and Carrie simply didn't want to give them up.
After the longest period of time I remember her being single, she met Gale. A senior citizen, who was literally and completely insane. One of the many moments I remember clearly, was a tornado watch. My Mother and siblings were hiding in the bathroom, and Gale, took me out in her cherry red Mazda Miata with the top down and a video camera. We never got very close, but we did indeed find it. Thank you, AM radio.
One day, Gale house-sat for us while we went to Florida to see my grandparents. We came back, to find everything... Slightly... Different. She had reorganized the furniture to align towards one wall, alphabetized the pantry, and trimmed the lawn with a KNIFE. Literally, trimmed all the edges with a knife. ALL of them.
Nice work, Gale.
Needless to say, we packed our bags and moved again. Off the books, this was the 26th time we'd moved. No joke.
But, she found us. And would visit daily to try to talk to us, although my Mother always said we weren't there. This went on for three months.
So, my Mom did the only thing she could. We packed our bags and... My brother, sister, and I moved in with our Father.
My life just keeps getting funnier, right?
Now, my Father has remained depressed this whole time. He has a new wife, who is also manic-depressive and has extreme anxiety issues. She has a son who is never home. And I don't blame him. I was 14, and I did the same. Left every chance I got. But the times I was there, I was a witness to the most horrific verbal abuse I thought possible. She was a very Christian woman, and was convinced I was a witch because I wore a necklace. Which I still do today, and haven't taken it off. Sentimental value, what can I say?
Three kids, moving in with a depressed, alcoholic Father, who has worked in a factory like his father before him, and his father before him, all the way back to the industrial age. And my step mom. A rich oil baron's daughter, who manages a gas station in town. And believed that I was a witch.
Lots of fun, right?
Needless to say, many hilarious moments were shared in that lovely home in the country.
Like the time that my step mother tried to cut my hair at the dinner table. Oh, the laughs didn't stop that afternoon. She kept screaming about Sampson and I kept screaming about how crazy she was. She didn't like that word.
About a year after that incident, I was 16, and my father moved out, got a "temporary" divorce. Because she hated us, but she still loved him. Yes, this was made very obvious to us when our step mother explained it in layman's terms. While my 11 year old brother was attending.
I lived with my father for two months. I spent about two days there over that period of time, and I moved out. He told me I'd never make it, and that I'd turn out a loser. And here I am. I've been on my own for four years, and my life keeps getting better every day. I've met some good and some bad people, I've had embarrassing moments, and plenty of bad jobs, but I'm holding on to the one good one I've found. My dream is to have my own computer business, building, selling, buying and fixing computers. Because every young man wants to show up his Father, right?
I haven't spoken to him in four years, and I don't intend to, really. Because he's not worth it.
My Mother however, is completely off drugs, and has been with a lovely woman for four years two months ago. I love her like a second Mother, however that works. They've been there for me, and are still there for me every time I screw up. My Mother still has her flaws, but she wouldn't be human if she didn't.
I don't want any of it taken back, it's made me my own person. A man in my own right. I've seen more violence and drugs than Al Capone in his twenties. But I'm somehow stable, clean (With exception to smoking and the occasional drink) and I know how to deal with daily life. I can deal with reality, can you?
That's my life, in a very long journal entry which will piss the hell out of you journal hawks who use that stupid button.
It's all true, and all written by me. There's more to my life, and there was a lot of good in it too. But who wants to hear about the time somebody had the perfect day on the beach? Not me.
*Reusing my life story for a sitcom, movie, your own profile or anything that can make any kind of profit, will be prosecuted. This is a story of my own life, challenges overcome, and problems witnessed. It is NOT for public use, only entertainment. If you do want to use it for anything, contact me with details of what, and how, and I'll get back to you with my answer.
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I'm a Dominant male in search of a deranged, bi-polar wreck who will drag me down from all my decisions and aspirations. Preferably poor hygiene, and no interest in getting a job/skills necessary for finding one.
Poor grammar is a must, and only a very loose grip on the English language.
I enjoy coming home to my partner sleeping with other men, and I'd much prefer to find out for myself. Please be as untrustworthy as possible.
I like a woman with very few teeth, as it shows character and individuality, as does morbid obesity.
You must have three or more children with different partners.
Meth/Crack or other serious drug addictions is always a plus.
Thank you, I hope to hear back from everyone who meets this description. Two to three times a day. Every day.
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So, I got a typical scammer message. The link on the bottom of the picture with the porn website gave it away, mainly.
And I told them to kill themselves, and I'd give them 500 dollars. And they agreed. So long as I sent the money first. After a few messages back and forth, just toying with it for fun, I realized, that they thought I was really going to send the money.
They really thought... I was going to give them 500 dollars... To "kill" themselves... Maybe I should have written a check? Maybe they were serious? Lmfao.
Oh look, they have more profiles. Yippee.
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Minutes after posting my last entry, I got several messages, some of them angry for laughing at my great-grandmother's funereal.
Most, were just complaining about people they've lost. I said get over it didn't I?
One male slave writes: "this slave lost its best freind 4 years ago and is still sad"
There's more to it, but all of it is just useless moaning and groaning about how much they miss them.
I don't care. Really, I don't.
Whoop-dee-doo, you made friends with an alcoholic who drowned at a lake party. You were asking for that one. Seriously.
And I've heard another one, their friend was going through chemo when they met them. The met a cancer patient. And they died. They befriended a cancer patient. And cancer-boy died. I'll repeat that one more time. They met a boy who went to the hospital for weekly treatments, and they were shocked that a boy with a 5% chance of survival died.
Oh, and there was a suicide one too. He was gay, and kids at school bullied him a lot. So he killed himself. Now, a friend like that, I wouldn't show up at the funereal, much less care to remember. I was bullied in school too. Once again, whoop-dee-doo. I know it's harsh, but rather than live on this Hell-Earth blend, they took their own life. Can't say I haven't considered it myself. But, I dealt with it in a way that didn't involve a gun in my mouth.
And, that's my rant for today. If it scared you off, then we've both saved some time today, haven't we?
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I'm a clumsy guy. At the most inopportune times, I stumble over simple words. It's really quite sexphy. Excuse me, sexy.
It's hilarious if I'm not whipping you. But really, it's something you'd have to deal with. Are you prepared to laugh your ass off in serious situations? Can you see the humor in life?
For example... I'm at my great-grandmother's funereal, not many months ago. And I had spent a great deal of time with her, and something she always told me was that the reason she'd lived to be 102, is because she never ate candy. She said she'd be dead if she ever ate any.
I'm at the casket, silently thinking "She's gone, but she lived a full life. And she always hated those plastic hips." And a little boy with a candy cane steps in front of me, and sets it in her casket.
She was buried with it.
So of course, I begin hysterically laughing over the low murmur of prayers and can't explain myself because, well, I can't stop laughing. I was escorted outside where I proceeded to explain to my family, what was so hilarious about the open casket, and got a lot of strange looks.
I was sad, sure. But my views on death aren't like others. The loss of a loved one is terrible, but it isn't something that should be filled with sadness. Why would they have ever wanted you to be sad? And if they did, why the hell are you at their funereal?
I feel sympathy for those of you who have ever lost loved ones, friends, family, but it's been a long time. Get over it. They'd have wanted that, right?
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Können Sie dieses lesen? Mein Akzent ist schrecklich.
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Looks don't matter to me... Well, mainly.
I have issues dealing with people who are overweight. Not just a
little chub, I mean morbidly obese. Or roughly 250+ pounds. When
hygiene becomes an issue, that's my limit. I can't deal with the
smell...
I mean no offense, but that's just how things are with me. And I've
dated a few women who were going to "lose" the weight, but they forgot
the part where they start exercising and that never happened. No sexual attraction, and laziness is a big turn off anyway.
And by the by, not eating DOES NOT help. In fact, you'll gain weight. Your body goes into starvation mode, and starts storing away everything you eat. All it takes is using your body for more that World of Warcraft.
I can coach you towards your goals, but I can't force you to try.
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Oh, c'mon. Tera Patrick? Raven Riley? What the fuck is wrong with this site? Aurora Snow? These are all famous porn stars.
And I know, because I have nothing better to do. You try living in Kentucky. Just for a day. It's a lonely place when you've finished High School.
"Hey der Clem. Wanna go show er penises to dem gerls over der?"
"Hyuck, hyuck, I's gonna go read Mr. Suess and whack off to da whos."
"Dernit Clem, dey ain't real! Why dern't you watch paranormal activity like da rest of us?"
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If you refer to yourself as "the slut" of your own accord at all times, spank yourself when you misbehave in private, or do anything a stranger tells you to...
I'm sorry, we're just not going to work out.
Humans only please. If you border on mental disorder with your submissiveness(Okay, this kink is technically a mental disorder) you need not apply.
Whenever I read profiles like that, it makes me want to stake you in the heart, just to see if you vaporize or are completely unaffected.
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