what is sophia in a song? version 1 there are a lot of songs that encapsulate the original sophia source/soul/codes what have you. but today i'm just going to focus on one.   book of love is pretty much boomer grimoire and required reading for anyone on the journey for sure. every song, lyric, aesthetic, title..the whole thing was definately translated from source. shout out to them for paving the way for sure.   if you know the vibe, you know the vibe. if you know the time, you know the time. if you were there, you were there. it was quite the party energetically if you can unpeel what the message is in this visual. it's another chris brown how are you mad when you can't get into the party vibe.   pretty boys and pretty girls is such a great foundational song. it talks about the ability to love and connect with all genders and the joy of spreading light into the world. and how life is full of intense feelings including joy and pleasure and delight. it's a big go big or go home sort of vibe song.   When I'm alone and you're away I just close my eyes and I drift away your warm body is what I'm without I just close my eyes and I dream aboutPretty boys and pretty girls pretty boys and pretty girls (when I'm without) pretty boys (I dream about) pretty girlsStranges in the night exchanging glances but sex is dangerous I don't take my chances the boys I meet say I look lonely but I just walk on my because they're onlyPretty boys and pretty girls pretty boys and pretty girls (when I'm without) pretty boys (I dream about) pretty girlsIn this day and age in a city full of fear with you by my side together we can show we careSpreading joy to the world to every boy and every girlPretty boys and pretty girls pretty boys and pretty girls (what will we show?) spreading joy (where will it go?) to the world   interesting note that album name and the band for this song are entitled:   "Artist: Book of Love   Album: Lullaby   Released: 1988"   what was 1998? broken down to 9. the year of completion.   book of love..lullaby?   because that's the d/s daddy dominant/little girl stuff going on between archangel michael and sophia divine again.   once the signs are there it just lights up everywhere.   spreading j-o-y!   to the world!   the mission right in front of the ears and eyes. 

I want to thank those who have reached out. I appreciate you.  If I haven't answered your message, most likely it's because you used limited words, such as "Hi, how are you?" or something equally short. I don't consider this a conversation or reason to start a more extended conversation with you.  The other reason I've either not responded or sent you my well wishes regarding your search is where you are located. I am clear that I am looking for someone local. I expect to meet with you face-to-face at a local munch (to me) and in person. (Face-to-face and in-person are the keywords.) This isn't easy if you are not local to the Bay Area.  Service to me cannot be attended to if you are not local.  If you want to meet with me, you must travel to the Bay Area, have a place to stay and transport yourself at your own expense. You should plan on attending a local munch I attend.  I'm not going to meet privately with you, and I'm not going to call you. 

I lost someone this week.  No we weren't close lately.  We used to be.  Our relationship was never defined, it was loosely maintained, but we popped in and out of each other's lives over the period of several years.  He was my first introduction to bdsm and the only D type that I could truly call a close friend at any point.   He is the only one who ever took me to that amazing place that every sub reaches for, and when I used to write, I wrote about our times together.  Those are still some of my favorites to look back on.  He was also there to cradle me in his arms and comfort me when a scene with someone else went really bad.  He was there to help me figure out what I was and wanted without pressing himself on me, so that I would be safe in the future and make better choices about who I interacted with.  He served as my protector for a while, when I was feeling vulnerable but didn't know if I wanted to step back from the scene at that point.  He never made me feel like a burden.  He helped me in my kink life and he helped me equally in my vanilla life.  I knew he was sick but he didn't let on how bad it was. I found out on the book of faces.  He is gone now, and I wish I could have been there for him, but he didn't want anyone to know the extent of his illness.  That was his way. Goodbye SkyMaster.  You will always be loved, you will always be appreciated.  I have nothing but warmth in my heart and in my soul for you.  I can say that about VERY FEW people in my life.  You will always be missed.    

Vanilla relationships and monogamous relationships are perfectly acceptable.  However, these things are NOT my interest and are not for me.  While this site is a bit limited in orientation, I identify as a dominant sadist.  While I can enjoy sex occasionally, I tend to require kink as an aspect of my relationship.  I am also an ethical non-monogamist, and require that any partner\playmate be accepting of that. Really, I'm looking for a good person who's understanding and reasonable who I can sexually destroy and finish the evening with hot tea and cartoons under a warm blanket.

Jesus's love for you is so deep as that of a father and child and so intimate as that of a husband and wife. Jesus and the angels celebrate you turning to him. Like that of a dear friend coming back, more missed than they had realized. Give him your burdens he will sustain you. He will not let the righteous be moved. He is nurturing and practical. He is like a supportive parent, a supportive lover. He is fair, trustworthy, and gives you clarity not impartially but fully. Be fearless and have the courage to pursue a relationship with Jesus Christ. It's a journey, through all the valleys and mountain peaks but he is faithful to never leave you. He carries you. He strengthens you. He cares for you. He sees you. He hears you. Some things happen quickly and some things require time. Perhaps time to build your character. Build your endurance. Build your spirit. Build your patience. Build your wisdom. Some things are not meant to break you but to make you so strong and unrecognizable to your old self. Even in the dark there is a light and the light has not been overcome by the darkness. It cannot be. 

Who’s time is it anyway?   I would not take to property any slave that was not totally My property.   On more than one occasion, I have had prospective slaves misunderstand time. The slaves in question have offered non specific time instead of a definite time I directed.    Some slaves are journalling at My request. I direct them to make daily submissions to Me at a specific time each day; a time of slave’s choice. Many respond by offering a non-compliant time. They might offer to obey direction for journal submission the morning or evening of each day.   That broad a time frame may be convenient for the slave. A non-specific time may work well in their life.    The basic problem is the idea that the slave has the option to arrange its life for its convenience. The slave seems to hold the belief that time belongs to it to manage. A total slave owns nothing, especially time. Time is one of the many things that are in the province of its Owner. Having it operate as a supplicant on My time frame teaches it the lesson about, “Who’s time is it anyway.”

Does anyone else crave a connection that is so deep and powerful that it feels like a life line that can't exist without it that connection?  It is something that i crave in the very cell of my being. I am looking to feel it is as though it makes my heart beat or helps air fill my lungs. Online that can be very hard to do as we are not phyisically around each other to get that feeling. Online it is though connection in words or hearing each other voices. I need to find my future Partners that need connections as much as I do. That want and need to be together as much as possible.  I know that  we all have lives and that the world around us can keep us busy. When I am getting to know someone and willing to see where it goes, maybe i am unrealistic but i try to be on this site or other places where we have made a connection to communicate and wait around and respond as quickly as i recieve it or can respond because it is like a lifeline to me to help my heart beat or my lungs take breaths to stay alive. I get frustrated and i have lashed out in my frustration when other's don't do the same things i guess because i feel actions are stronger than words. In me responding quickly is showing that i am taking it seriously and wishing to put in the work to see if this will work out. If not i try to at least wish them the best of luck in finding the one that will make them feel the way i need and crave the connection as well.  

On Being Felled, Temporarily   I have been absent. Those of you who follow closely will have noticed the silence and drawn your own conclusions. The conclusion is this: my body staged one of its more dramatic rebellions in the form of a kidney infection serious enough to take me entirely off the board for the better part of two weeks. I do not get sick quietly or briefly, apparently. When I go down I go down with the full commitment I bring to everything, which I would find more admirable if it were not so thoroughly inconvenient. I am on the other side of it now, or near enough to be upright and writing, which I am choosing to count as a victory. While I was ill, someone broke into my home. I want to let that sit for a moment because I am still sitting with it myself. I was sick, my children were unsettled, and someone decided that was an acceptable time to violate the space where my family lives and take what did not belong to them. They took the children's gaming system, which in the grand accounting of what could have been lost is not the worst possible outcome, and I know this, and I have said this to myself many times. It does not make my children's faces easier to look at. The specific devastation of a preteen who has had something taken, not misplaced, not broken accidentally, but deliberately stolen from their home, from the place that is supposed to be safe, is its own particular kind of heartbreak to witness as a mother. They were crushed. I was furious on their behalf in the way that only a mother's fury operates, which is to say completely and with no available outlet. I handled it alone. As I handle everything. And this is where I find myself needing to say something I do not say easily, which is that my resilience, that quality I have always counted on, felt genuinely shaken this past week. Not broken. I want to be precise about that because I will not be imprecise about myself even when honesty is uncomfortable. Not broken. But shaken in the way that a foundation shakes when too many things hit it simultaneously, the illness and the violation and the children's hurt and the daily weight of a life I carry without assistance, all of it arriving at once while my body was already at its limit. I had hoped, by now, to be in a different chapter. I had hoped, genuinely and specifically, to be in conversations about sharing a home with someone actually prepared to show up for this life. Someone whose service was not theoretical, not a future intention, not a beautiful idea that dissolves on contact with the reality of what showing up actually requires. Someone who would have been here during a kidney infection that left me barely functional. Someone whose presence would have meant my children came home from school to a stable and managed household rather than to a mother running on empty and a space that had been violated. That person does not currently exist in my life, and the disappointment of that is not small. It is not something I can dress up into acceptance without first acknowledging that it is a genuine and specific grief. I built a vision. I know what I deserve. I know what this dynamic looks like when it is real and functional and inhabited by someone with actual capability and actual commitment. The gap between that knowledge and my current reality is something I feel most acutely on the weeks that ask the most of me. I am resilient. I will return to myself completely, as I always do. But this week the crown was heavy. I wanted to tell you that honestly, because this space has always been about the full truth of this life, not only its beauty.   More soon. I am still here. I am still unserved. I am still waiting and wanting. 

This account is old (ish) and my priorities have shifted. A power exchange dynamic (as my name suggests) is no longer a pursuit in-and-of itself. I am no longer interested in the energy expendature with shoe-horning a personality type into a role they can't possibly achieve for a multitude of reasons. Shit works or it doesn't. Things align or they don't...or you work to make you align or you don't. However, a natural alignment of a square peg to a square hole gets you part-way there. My priority, instead, is authenticity independent of any prescribed dynamic. If I can't crawl inside you and feel you, I don't know how to be interested in you. 

A Raven and a Wolf   He sat, kneeling really, slowly panting, under a soft leather hood. It was laced tightly, almost preventing his every breath. And in the darkness, under the hood, he strained his ears to hear whether she was near, or far. He inhaled, trying to find her scent, but could only smell the leather of the hood. He tried to feel if he could sense her presence closer, but nothing. The air was still. His mouth, dry from nerves, with lips slightly agape, didn't utter a sound.   So he waited, arms bound, shoulder back, chest forward and exposed. Uncomfortably upright.    She sat before him, watching him lazily, like how a cat does with a weakened mouse, very still. A hunter and their prey. She was breathing evenly to hide the excitement pooling inside of her. Hands encased in buttery soft lamb skin gloves, the color of his hood, the color of her whip, the color of blood. The color of her lips. A red so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled at the idea of it coming from his body. Beautiful and broken. She could sense he was searching for her; a slight turn of the head, listening, perhap? Leaning forward gently; trying to smell? Like a dog, she thought, just like a dog. And she sat there far longer than even she desired to see how far this "dog" would go.    "Bark, dog" she commanded in a low voice  And he barked immediately, no hesitation. She pulled back her hand and slapped him, his head jerked, body lurched, chest rising and falling rapidly. A noticeable difference between his legs. There it was again, a hunger to bite into him. Taste his blood. Consume him. But only silence. No whimper, no moan, not a sound escaped him. She wondered if he were bleeding from his cute little mouth. Again she slapped him. Softer than the first, a loving caress, bits of his hair peeked through the laces of the hood and she wanted to grip them and tear them away. Would he let her? Perhaps.    The next slap, and the one after, opposite hand, and he fell forward just enough that his face touched her thighs only separated by the hood and her own stockings. The rule was he wasn't allowed to touch her unless she said. This was a broken rule, however accidental. She stood and let him slump forward in a stupor, supported only by the tension of the rope tied to the foot of the bed.   Bark, dog. Dog. He barked.  Up, dog, and he returned to his previous place, exposed and upright. She stepped forward, the toe of her shoe pressing down on the sensitive flesh of the head of his dick. She crushed it gently until he sat even straighter. She held his head in her left hand, caressed it gently, leather on leather. The smell intoxicating her. Raising her right hand she slapped him again, over and over until her hand grew hot even under the glove. Was he bleeding? She hoped so. She hoped to kiss him and bite his lips and taste his blood. She wished she could see his eyes, dazed, glassy, far away. She caressed his head. And whispered, "you may touch me" and he pressed his face into her hands, her thighs. Still no sound, he was so silent.   "Bark, my handsome boy" and he barked, hoarse and painful as she encircled his neck with her hands. This was his idea, he had inspired in her a lust for choking him until he was nothing and drifting away in the ether. She squeezed, her hands perhaps too small, until he gurgled. She wondered if his eyes were open or if they were dimmed. The hood obscured so much. She squeezed until he seemed to go limp. And she let him. Shoulders yanked uncomfortably under his weight.    He awoke. Arms aching, face hot but no longer enclosed by the hood. He could see her though his vision lacked acuity. She was standing over him, wrapped in pink except for gloves. He yearned for them then. Yearned for them to be around his neck, feeling the bones of her fingers threatening his very life. He wanted to ask for it, for her to choke him, strangle him, but knew it was to her whim that he obeyed. Obeisance was her pleasure. He looked at her, eyes soft, left cheek swollen, lips split ever so slightly and she leaned down and kissed him, sliding her tongue over the drying blood. He kissed her back, gentle, but hungry.    Her kiss was soft but grew more passionate until she bit him and suckled his mouth. Did he love this part of her? The softness before the sting.  She broke the kiss. Her lipstick perfect but her mouth and chin stained crimson with what must have been his blood. "Open your mouth, I'd like to try" she said softly. A shy whisper. So unlike the command to "Bark".  He angled himself upright, head back, lips parting painfully like a little bird. She leaned forward and let her own saliva pool in her mouth and slowly let it fall into his. He shuddered. His excitement excited her and she kissed him again before he could even swallow but this time it was wild and wet. Her saliva all over his mouth, chin, cheeks.    "I have to whip you now, are you ready?" She asked and he nodded. A question was not a command to speak. Dogs do not speak unless commanded to speak. She untied him and his body fell forward. Not used to its old range of motion. His limbs buzzed from having sat in one position for too long. He wondered about how much time had passed. Funny thing, time. Why did it matter now when he was in the moment with her.   Without the hood he realized he could smell her. A warm sweet scent, perhaps arousal. And he thought then about being forced to please her like they talked about in passing, forced until exhausted and even beyond. After play. Her, in her pink, looked like candy and he wanted to lick her. She must be sweet.      She looked down at him and his face was peculiar, his mind was somewhere else and he looked rather cute. But she was jealous at the idea that his mind wasn't on her and she kicked him in the stomach to bring him back to her. He coughed and curled up as she walked to retrieve her whip, preparing for the next step in her courtship.  "Up" she commanded and he got to his feet, winded, bruised. Arms still behind his back. She released them to tie them around the post of the bed. The bed post being the whipping post, isn't it somehow romantic, she thought.    "If you need me to stop, tell me, I won't be gentle otherwise" she said to him, her mouth on his ear. His hair was slicked down with sweat and he smelled musky. She liked his smell. She bit his earlobe and stepped back a couple of feet and threw the whip. Lash after lash until he tried moving away. Pulling at the post until it creaked. She wanted him to cry but he only moaned and groaned, no tears. Just a brow drenched in sweat as his back went from fine pink lines to slowly oozing wounds. If he didn't give her tears then she would have blood.  He pulled desperately as if trying to escape her and she threw the whip furiously, lashing whatever she could reach, his ass, thighs, calves, neck, even the back of his head. The post groaned as if it would break under the strength of him trying to flee.   "Do you want to get away from me?" She asked. His breathing heavy, labored, his body wobbled as blood poured from him, he shook his head no, weakly, and looked over his weeping shoulders with hazy eyes. Finally he spoke, a clear and clean "No, ma'am" from his lips now dry from mouth breathing, swollen from having been bitten and slapped.   The no rang through her body and she leapt at him and kissed and licked his mouth, his shoulders, his back. Barely containing her arousal, her hips moving in slow circles. She was so hungry.&n

Since I've gotten a lot of inquiries from Men, let me make it clear; You must be within the NYC metro area or close (Jersey, PA, Connecticut) I am open to being a sissy slave for the right man, perhaps even the potential to become my Master in a long term relationship. I'm into men who have experience in handling a sissy, and I'm interested in exploring pony/puppy play.  My prefence in a potential Master is a large man who is aged 45-55..In a potential Master, I like darker Men who are naturally hairy.. Also a Master who has experience in bondage and is able to properly tie me up whether it's with ropes or chains. He would also lock me in chastity as his sissy slave and have me yearning to take his cock in either hole on demand.

This is just a quick PSA, I have filled out and returned my ballot, so you can stop all the TV ads and yard signs and news coverage now. Thank you.

One of my favourite pictures is a before and after of a girl I used to love and who, if not for the universe, would still be my girl now. I'll call her Leigh.I have a huge clothing fetish, and not just for lingerie. A well-dressed, well presented girl, will stiffen my resolve like few other things, and on this day she had spent the time showing me how well she could feed that side of me. Typical porn secretary in a lot of ways; white silk blouse, mid-thigh black skirt, hair back in a ponytail, but the devil was in the details. I could see she wore a cincher underneath and, through the shapes under the tight fabric of the skirt, that suspenders and stockings were in my future. Around her neck was the collar I'd got her, a simple and supple strip of black leather with a single ring in the middle. Her nails and lips were the same seductive, decadent arterial blood red, and her eyes were framed by mascara and eye-liner I knew wouldn't be waterproof. The black-framed, business woman style glasses she wore to work every day were somehow the cherry on top. All of this perched on 3 inch heels that clicked on the hardwood floor, while a nervous, playful and hopeful smile playing on her lips. That was the 'before' image. Much of that day is etched in my memory, but the highlights are those devilish details. She was pristine and smooth to my mouth when I stood her back to wall and knelt to devour her, first through her underwear and then, once they were around her ankles, skin to skin. She was achingly, exquisitely wet for me and I very much drank her in before leading her to the bedroom, sitting her on the edge, wrapping those nylon-clad legs around my head, and just devouring her. The taste of her, the scent, the sounds of her response, the way her thighs gripped and relaxed and gripped and relaxed as I teased her to the edge of release, but never over. Not yet. I laid her back, straddled her and opened her blouse to the bra underneath, pushing that up and over her breasts and turned my attention to those pale, rose-tipped wonders. Shortly after that, we would induce lactation, making her delicious and nutritious. Leigh was so very, wonderfully versatile like that. Once my base appetites were sated, I remember telling her was I would be hurting her that day, that I couldn't promise she would enjoy all of it, but that I would. I told her that, in the end, she would be fed well beyond her appetites and she frowned at that. I remember thinking that was kind of oblique even for my pretentious Domly waffling, but she smiled, licked her lips and said 'I'm yours, daddy, all yours', and she was. The next couple of hours were spent edging her. I don't fuck when I dominate; its always felt like a confusion of purpose, so even as she was divested of her clothing down to cincher, hells and stockings, I remained fully dressed. That, to me, felt like control and control always, but always, begins with the self. The 4-walls theory can sometimes take a backseat, after all. I would use toys, big and thick and heavy or slim and nimble and buzzy. I would make her bury her head in the pillow as I pushed my hand deep into her, something she found a deep, resonant joy in, even as mouth and tongue enjoyed her clit. Clamps on cords, pulled tight as she reached for the summit so she could roll down the other side. Zipper lines, running up her sides or around her breasts. Each time she approached orgasm, I would stop, stand her up, and hurt her. Zipper lines tugged slowly or quickly off, clamps pulled shriekingly taut before giving way, pussy spanked, clit flicked, slapped wherever seemed appropriate, hair pulled vicisouly taut. Whatever came to mind, as I needed to administer it. And often, I would use a cane or stick on her body. Ass, breasts (top and underside), thighs, soles of her feet, palms of her hand... anywhere, really. I knew that certain types of pain were like gasoline on a flame, so I avoided them and gave her what I knew she didn't like. Thuddy canes, for instance, she responded to with deep arousal, but thin and whippy she couldn't abide. Nonetheless, she took them until she was welted to my satisfaction. When I called a halt to this cycle, she had the look of a fish you haven't hit hard enough with the bonker, a kind of stunned, defeated confusion. She was slow to respond, sluggish to move and looked utterly drained. That's when I began giving her release. That went on for quite a while, too. The thing about the female orgasm is, even that can be made into an enemy.  By the time I turned my attention to her pleasure, something that I had deliberately built up and denied throughout the day, it was buried under pain and torment. But not buried deeply. Laying her down, mouth and hands gentle, toys gentle, vibrations insistent but considered, it was there to be rediscovered, brought out and given time in the sun. Her first orgasm elicited something like a sigh of relief, and involved little more than her arching off the bed, shuddering and gasping and then sinking back. But onwards I went anyway, same gentleness, same consideration, same relentless stimulation. She came repeatedly, initially with a kind of rich, savoured appreciation of the ecstacy, but, after a while, with increasingly obvious sensitivity. At that point, I restrained her with the cuffs mounted, in the best vanilla with a twist tradition, to the corners of the bed. Spread-eagled, I put a spreader bar between her ankles, not to keep her legs open but so I could kneel on the bar (under a pillow) and stop her twisting almost entirely. And then I went to work. At some point, I gagged her with a bit gag, so she could clench hard as her pleasure stopped being pleasure and become torment. Once I got her over that sensitivity, forced her beyond the limits of her own tolerance for sensation, she kind of broke, accepted her fate. At some point she began to cry, shaking her head furiously as the stimulation continued and her body ignored completely what her mind was saying, and went where it was led. When I called a halt and took the 'after' picture, she looked ruined, purely and simply. She followed where I led with a kind of plodding acceptance, no comment or hesitation, no thought really. In the shower, she knelt and began to cry again as I urinated over her, shoving my cock into her mouth and putting the last of that into her belly, indifferent to her choking and gagging. She threw up a little, but nothing that seemed untoward, all things considered.  It was in that state, puke on her striped tits, hair sopping and dripping with piss, abused, degraded, stunned and utterly beyond sense, that I stood her up, turned her to the wall, lifted her leg, and claimed her, once again, as mine. She barely responded and certainly didn't orgasm, but she was hot and wet and that was all I needed that day. I don't know how long I indulged my lizard brain, but at the end I told her to kneel, which she did, and I came on her face and then in her mouth. Again, she barely responded, barely reacted and somehow, that was glorious. And after? After, I undressed us both fully, and showered with her. I soaped and rinsed her with a kind of reverence, a deep gratitude at the gift that was Leigh and how she matched, met and fulfilled me in so many ways. I washed her hair, her feet, between her thighs, softly, tenderly and with pure love. Then I dried her with equal devotion and kindness and took her to bed, where we lay naked and spooning until lshe fell asleep in my arms and, shortly after, I joined her. The next day, when we went out for breakfast at a cafe just up the road from her place, she winced when she sat down and, when I smiled she smiled back and blushed, but not too much. I miss her every day, and I miss who I was with her ever

What I truly seek....I seek 24/7 submission on a psychological level and physical submission at my Mistresses whim.  I do understand that is something that is built gradually over time in a relationship, once trust has been established. I’m drawn primarily to a loving and nurturing style of Domination. I enjoy pleasing and making my partners life easier.   I am not a masochist… I don’t seek pain for the sake of pain alone, but I do understand its value toward discipline and training. Otherwise I will trust that my well being will always be a priority.   I am very sensual and enjoy many kinds of play. I also understand that play is NOT the foundation of a strong D/s relationship. That comes through the strength of the power exchange that both people desire.  I admit I tend to be very private. I do not engage in groups or public play, and I prefer a completely vanilla exterior. I’m not into being cucked or treated like a slave. Nor do I seek to be a part of a stable of subs. My submission, attentions and adoration should be considered of value to the one I serve. I am after all, a man who is truly a pleaser.... someone who derives much of his own fulfillment from pleasing his Domme, and from giving over control to her. I am not interested in being some kind of mindless slave kept in a cage… but rather someone who is a person in his own right. I do have a quick mind and a sense of humor, and I don’t want to be afraid to use them at the appropriate times. I am looking for someone who will help me flourish under Her guidance and help me become the best version of me.   I would hope to become a best friend, a lover, a houseboy, Her personal servant, Her sensual slave and more.   Ideally, I would like to be with someone who is nearer to my age, intelligent, independent and knows what she wants from a D/s relationship. I am not looking for casual interactions, or for mere play sessions, but rather for my lifemate, with whom I hope to explore the ins and outs of Ds as well as the vanilla world for the rest of our lives... If most of this resonates then by all means reach out to me and let’s have a dialogue.   

Questions: Rough sex or soft? I prefer to mix it up depends on the partner. Weirdest place you have had sex? Under the pier at Carolina Beach during the day. Favorite sex position? Between a partners legs giving oral. Or from behind if they are strapped down. Have you had any one night stands? Never I'm demisexual so what gets me going is a personal attachment. The thought of a stranger fills me with dread! Have you had sex in a public place? Quite often. Restrooms, by a river bank, in a forest. Have you been caught masturbating? I rarely touch myself. I have gone 12 years without after my wife passed. How often do you have sex? If in a relationship I want it every few hours. If I'm not in one I don't at all. Do you prefer giving or receiving oral? Giving, I'm a person pleaser. Most embarrassing thing that has happened to you during sex? Adjusted position and gave accidental anal. Yeah not good!

 JackOneAndOnly 

I will eventually complete my profile but as it requires approval for every change I will do it once when I know exactly what I want in it.   In the meantime I will add a bit about myself through this journal.  I am 57yr straight male living in Surrey. Personality is natural Dominant but not really in a heavy bondage way, I am more what you would call controlling. There is nothing wrong with those who like pain inflicted on them and I do feel strongly about HOH head of household where the Dominant partner will discipline there significant submissive partner been by some agreed form of punishment. What I am trying to get across is that when needed I can deliver a spanking but it is not something I do to gain any form of pleasure. If anything I would much rather decide what one wears for me especially if we going out. One thing for sure I do appreciate lovely bright red nails For now I am here just to make friends and chat, if we get along over a period them we can take it from there. I will add some updates again soon, as the photo issue I will add to a message if and when we chat, once I have myself organised and update my profile I will attach them there but for the time been they can come with messages.