NylonPinkney

Finding a DaddyDom who is real and serious is like finding unicorn shit.

The End.

H E A D A C H E

Grow A Pair of Feelings.

My numero uno pet peeve is discourtesy to others.

Even when I get a message from a person I'm not interested in on here, I at least say no thanks. Granted, there are times when messages are so ridiculous that it's hard to even explain to the person what's going on outside their globe of idiocy and bad grammar, much less hold back and be polite.

I'm not saying be a doormat. I'm just saying have courtesy. If a person deserves a sharp tongue, then by all means, give it to them.

But I digress.

Things that really get under my skin and make my eyes narrow are this:

"I will definitely call you in the morning. I promise." Then, in the morning, no phone call.

Days and days and days of no communication from very important people.

Lack of key information that keeps communication flowing.

Hey, we all get busy with work, plans, cats, making pies, riding bikes, looking for lost whips, etc. The thing is, no one, not one person on the planet Earth, lacks the few minutes it takes to text or pick up the phone to say, "Oh hey. I know I said I would do [insert promised action here] but I'm currently caught up with [insert unseen crap here] and I will catch up with you [please for fuck's sake reschedule here.]"

There's another situation on this site I have recently run into and it also seems to just generally float around as an accepted behavior in the vanilla dating arena as well. However, people of all genders, this is where we all start to proverbially grow a pair, okay?

If you, for some reason, have lost interest in someone, the best idea is not to just begin ignoring them right away. I'm talking about in general but this is also especially applicable to the BDSM/Kinkster community. Since we are about fifty plus years behind the LGBT community in being able to be open about our lifestyle for fear of being "outed" and losing jobs, family, etc. we should at least be open with each other. We lurk behind screen names and sites like Collarme trying to somehow connect with someone. So, when we feel like we finally do and it seems mutual and the other person drops off the face of the planet without communicating why (or it feels that way--possibly they have been rushed to the ER or their internet has been down and you don't yet have their phone number...shit happens but our imaginations start playing with our insecurities) we feel like shit without having a reason to feel like shit. And that's the worst way to feel like shit. So, even though it's hard to tell someone they're clingy or you found someone else you want to email night and day (ugh) or whatever reason you have for just dropping off the face of the Earth, just communicate it. Even if it is because your stove has blown up and you've been busy dealing with it.

People have feelings. Now you get some too.

 If I Had a Daddy.

Tonight would be a nice night to be bathed in water that is not too hot and not too cold, my hair lovingly shampooed and conditioned by strong and caring hands. The windows would be open to let in the breeze and I would be looking forward to nice cool sheets to lay down on. After being carefully washed and wrapped in a soft towel, I would be carried to the bed and dried off slowly. Then, moisturizer would be applied to my soft skin. I've been such a good girl and I'm told so as my hair is brushed and my favorite blankies are arranged just the way I like them. My two kitties have found their way onto the bed and are purring loudly, soothing me as my eyes grow heavy.

The last thing I recall before drifting to sleep is one thought. It's so nice to be taken care of.

This is What I Found Out Last Night

I was up late and bored so I thought I would try to have an interesting conversation with someone who was equally up late. Maybe I might even make a friend!

My infallible optimism hoodwinks me again.

Ironically, the only person willing to chat with me is someone whose profile invites "pigs" to apply within. This interests me greatly. I have heard this term but I don't know a thing about it so naturally I would like to speak to this person. Unfortunately, they couldn't use the chat function as they were on their phone but I do hope to get to speak to them soon! I have so many questions!

The other fellows who proclaimed they seriously wanted to meet someone and had long profiles filled with details about what they were seeking totally snubbed me.

Who is the pig now?*

*I'm really tired. I might expand on this entry later. Check back.

Geraldo's Mustache of Truth

I keep seeing ads on Facebook encouraging people to go on cruises. The ad has a clever tag that says, “Click if you like vacations!” Who doesn’t like vacations? I like a lot of things so I am honest with Facebook about what I like. I went to click that I, indeed, like vacations when I noticed two very important things. 1) It was an ad for a cruise line.  2) A beloved family member had already clicked that they had liked vacations and thus, that they had liked the cruise line and may already be in danger of being sucked into going on a cruise where they may meet their demise and not have their death reported simply because CRUISE LINES DO NOT HAVE TO DO THAT! And they don’t. Do you know why?  They don’t want to be the cruise line that is equivalent of the Titanic. They want to be the HAPPY FUN TIME STUFF YOU WITH FOOD AND WHOA LOOK AT OUR CASINOS AND SWIMMING POOLS AND YEAH WE’RE GOING TO SENOR FROGS cruise line.

But I’m not buying it. Not for all the Bon Voyage streamers in the world.

Mind you, I would totes get in a cage and look at sharks, knowing full well I might lose a hand. However, there are people on that boat I feel safe with and that should I become a shark snack (I’m not really a dinner), they have to march back to their superiors and the police and file Shark Snack papers. Also, I’m pretty sure this would make the news and Jon Stewart would make a joke about my death on the Daily Show, which is pretty rad.

But I digress.

The Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel reports, “While crime is rare on cruise ships, justice for those victimized on the vacation voyages can be elusive due to overlapping investigative powers, difficulty obtaining evidence and witnesses, and a lack of sworn officers aboard ships.” See! I may have first seen and gasped at this horror while on a late-night insomnia binge of news from Geraldo Riviera (Is that even his last name?) some years ago but I have since followed it up from “reliable” news sources. You know. Ones that don’t crack open vaults of mobsters and get hit by chairs.

I have quietly bitten my nails as other loved ones have gone on cruises and, on the other end of the spectrum, chuckled to myself as despised co-workers announced a two-week cruise to …I don’t know…some Senor Frog destination.

The fact is I have also seen those movies where people have to turn into Indiana Jones in an instant when the ship starts to go down. Pianos are turning over, chandeliers are lighting on fire, people are traversing pipes and swinging on wires. The intense music alone makes me nuts! I’m a survivor in many ways, people, but if I was somehow drugged and woke up on a cruise ship with only the savory and delicious buffets to survive on, I know that if something happened I would not be the people crawling through vents and doing crazy acrobatic stunts to get out of a ship. In fact, I would be the one to go, “Ok well. I told you this would happen,” and swallow a cyanide pill. The heroic people could use my dead body to slide to safety or to build a raft. I’m even okay if they use my stiff corpse to fight off villains. There are always villains. I would embroider permission on the front of all my clothing with a cute little boat next to the words so it would still be stylish.

I know many people in the entertainment industry find jobs on cruises.  I’m not trying to kill an economy here. In fact, at one point when I was still naive about cruise lines, I thought, “Hey, I could make a lot of cash working on a cruise ship and see the world!”  And then I saw the light that Geraldo’s Mustache of Truth shined.  Cruise lines don’t like you. They don’t even have real “officers.” I mean, I could be an officer.  I could get a jet boat and have a picnic and call it a cruise line.  The only difference is that I would have to report deaths because I wouldn’t be able to get out into international waters.  Oh, and I’d be cheaper too.  It would still be a vacation, though. Which we all like.

Note to Self:

Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever post in a forum on here again.

Gah.

Back to watching my Korean soap opera. Much less drama.

Pasta.

Yesterday I started watching what I think is a Korean soap opera. The plot centers around an Italian restaurant in Korea with the main character trying to make her way as a pasta chef. She falls for the new, very dominant Head Chef of the restaurant. I should note that the main character has the most submissive qualities of all the female characters and appears to be almost childlike. Even in situations that do not involve work, she refers to the Head Chef as "Chef" and responds to him in the following manners, "Yes, Chef," "Thank you, Chef," "No, Chef," etc. She hasn't ever referred to him by his actual name once.

This set my wheels turning.

I have often thought the traditional titles of Master and the like very boring and impersonal. Clinical, even. As I continue to watch this show, which is called "Pasta" by the by and I highly recommend it if you enjoy television based around cooking, I keep noticing strong D/s tendencies. I keep going back and forth as to whether it is the Korean culture or the characters or possibly both. I'm waiting for someone to get out a spanking bench any minute. But I digress.

If and when I find the person I choose to submit to and give my heart to, I don't think I'll find myself saying, "Yes, Master" to Him. A friend of mine who is a Dom has a doctorate in Philosophy and is in an upcoming band as well. I enjoy calling him The Professor. It came about naturally and he and I both agree that Sir or anything like that would feel wrong. The Professor is a playful name and it also fits him. On the other hand, I don't feel I could just call my Dom by His first name. That doesn't feel right to me. It's like those creepy teachers who insist you call them by Tom instead of Mr. Whatever. Much too familiar, in the aspect of familiar of language (think the difference between tu and usted in Spanish.) Additionally, much like being in a large department store and having a child yell, "Mom!" you get almost every female in the vicinity turning around. Imagine being at an event and getting lost or in trouble and yelling, "Master!" Every Master in the place would turn around and chaos would ensue. Are there places at events where you can turn in lost submissives? Will someone get on a PA and announce, "Master Blee Blee Blah, please meet your submissive at the green St. Andrews Cross near the fisting booth."

I'm sure a lot of people prefer the traditional way of doing things and that's totally fine. I respect that. As a submissive, I wish to show respect and fondness in how I address my Dom so someday I hope to have my own version of The Professor or "Yes, Chef."

To Be a Part of an Orchid by Pinkney

I have this orchid.

I don't know anything about orchids except that they are the most beautiful flower in the known universe.

It was doing well, sporting lavender blooms you could almost touch when you thought about them. In the last month, though, they started dropping off one by one, despite its care and diet of orchid food. Its temperature was kept warm and a spot reserved for it in just the right light. Yet, as the days went on the blooms dropped like flies until i had just three. The very next day, they too had fallen onto the cloth covering the table. A smattering of blossoms, as though it were fall in my little bedroom garden, from my orchid made my heart ache.

The orchid is not dead and for all I know this is just what they do. Possibly, this is the cycle of the orchid. Far be it from me to look up how orchids work. I must instead experiment like I do with everything else, toying and trying, running the process of elimination into the ground.
The orchid still has beautiful green leaves but I am a little sad when I look at the stick that jets out of its bulb. I don't know what is to come of it. Orchids are so magical to me. Will it come back? Is this just what it does? Or is an orchid one of those things I must admire from a far?

It is a dream of mine to successfully grow my own orchid. I love plants and have finally achieved my goal of maintaing a handful. I am even growing lavender from seeds. Yet, orchids are something so much more meaningful to me. I want to be able to cultivate something so near to my soul and know that I was able to put the effort into it. Not because I gleaned the information fom a book, but because I was in tune with what it needed and by being observant and passionate about its existence.

I want to look at my orchid and know I am a part of its beauty

My Eyes Bleed

Why is it so hard to find someone that can string a sentence together on this site?

It's like a feral monkey with a meth habit caught its finger in a saw blade and decided it was a good time to start typing and randomly hitting bold and making the backgrounds brighter than a trance light at a fucking rave. LOOK AT ME oonce oonce oonce LOOK AT ME oonce oonce oonce LOOK AT ME.

I are a DOM.   

Oh Sweet. Collar me now.

(Yeah. I know. This is why I'm still single. But I'm a special, unique snowflake, okay?)

Tequila Tea by Pinkney

I sit in garters in this dark hotel room with crows crawling around
In my best I love Grandpa mug I drink Tequila in my tea
My legs clad in stockings no one sees
Kicking at the floor a thousand people tread on every week
My heels just want to waltz again

The room is dark but the crows are moving in unison
Feathered heads, a blanket pecking at my bed I cannot sleep in
I sip my tea so bitterly but I like how my head feels heavier
My head is heavier because of Tequila tea not pills or tears
The cold of the table supports my half naked, lonely, sexy form

I left and drove twenty miles away to sip this Mexican tea
I whisper "No puedo, lo siento" into World's Best Grandpa's Mug
My 8mm memory can feel the lips I cannot have and those bleary queries
All the candied ginger I keep in baggies because I have become a sick fool
The ones who want it, they just want "it" and I can only sink into my head

The crows crawl and in this dark room it is cooler because the heater broke
Tequila Tea makes me want to lay on the crows as they carry me on black
I don't have the energy to let anyone but the crows touch me or talk to me
They know I am here, in my heels, my garters and curled hair for them
Drunk off my disappointment in the world, my stagnance and the heater.

A Few of My Favorite Things

No holds barred fucking like animals, thinking about my Dom and touching myself, 1950's household, being startled awaking in the middle of the night with a hand over my mouth and being taken by my Dom, a gentleman with a dark side, a home full of books, a house with a white picket fence and a dungeon in the basement, anal play, vintage aprons,  armbinders, baking naked, bed time stories, being a photo whore, being a priority not an option, being a slut but not just for anyone, being bathed and having my hair washed, being fucked with a hand over my throat and threats whispered into my ear, being looked at over glasses, being spanked on an airplane, being tucked in, being written/drawn on, belt whippings, ben wa balls (I have a pair), body paint, bondage, boss/secretary RP, breast spanking, breast whipping, breast/nipple torture, burlesque, clit spanking, wearing clothespins, cock milking, cock worship, collar and lead/leash, corsets (wearing/training), deep throating, edgeplay, erotic photography and dressing up, garter belts for everyday use, genuine and deep submission (the heartfelt kind that comes from trust, respect, lust and deep emotional connection), giving/getting oral sex during important phone calls, vampire gloves, hair brushing, hair pulling, having a brain as well as awesome boobs, high protocol, humor, impact play, intelligence, kissing, knee high socks, lab coats, librarian RP, wearing red lipstick, little red riding hood RP, wearing mary jane shoes, men with glasses, naps in cages, open bottom girdles, orgasm control, orgasm denial, outdoor bondage, paddling, panties, prostate massage, riding crops, shackles, sleepy sex, spreader bars, squirting, speech restriction, vision direction restriction, shibari, ballet shoe binders, obedience training, vintage lingerie, high heels, stockings, remote control devices, wearing nothing but Chanel No. 5, temping my mind and body while making me wait...

That's a start...

The Returnable Heart by Pinkney

"Where is your little heart, my friend?" the Man asked the Stray Creature. The creature, looking up at him with big eyes, was surprised to hear anyone mention his heart. It had been decades, maybe longer, since such a subject was broached.

"It was stolen," was the only explanation the Stray could mutter. The question was big, but the answer was a juggernaut. Its response was the only place it could think to start in such a mess.

"Stolen?" The Man smiled. "Have you fallen in love?"

The Stray Creature looked away from The Man. It appeared to be examining its nails intently, but was actually counting on its digits the amount of times it thought it had met love. The Creature took off its boots and poked through its socks. It appeared to be playing with its toes, but actually needed more digits to count on. It, in fact, was also pondering how one could fall in love. The Stray Creature, as it counted, listed to itself the ways it had falsely met love: 1-struck by it, 2-fallen ill with it, 3-thrown by it, 4-tricked by it (and so on and so forth it went until, with a sigh, the Creature put its shoes back on and turned back to The Man, who had been watching it with some perplexity).

"No," said the Creature, "I don't believe I have ever fallen in love."

"Never? Then where is your heart? The only way your heart can be stolen is by someone who loves you."

The Stray Creature was surprised at the Man's words, for this was simply not true. It was not sure where the Man came from that stealing hearts was a gesture of love.

"That is simply not true," replied the Stray Creature with some irritability. "There are many ways your heart can be stolen, but that is not one of them. Here, the story goes that, if someone loves you, they treat your heart as a home, not a posession or a trinket to be collected and put on a shelf with other shiny things. My heart was stolen, yes, but the one way I have never met love is by falling in it."

"How was it stolen, then?" The Man asked, confused by The Stray Creatures animosity toward love. The Creature pulled itself up to full height, which was not much more than it had been before the conversation. After all, it is impossible to attain your true height without your heart.

"My heart has been a source of many attempted thefts in my lifetime. I once was much taller and held on tight to my heart, but each time it was almost stolen, I became a little weaker. One day, the biggest Thief I had ever met, befriended me and used tactics I had never before experienced to attempt to steal my heart. He did not just simply walk up and try to pry it away from me. No, the Thief acted as a new companion, a confidante, someone I could trust. It was an inside job. By the time my heart was gone, so was the Thief. I looked and looked for my heart, for I thought I had simply misplaced it. This has happened before. I searched my pockets, looked under every stone, opened every drawer. I became frantic when, one day, I went to meet with the Thief, as we usually did, and he was not there. I was going to ask him if he had seen my heart because he had said he wanted to share it with me. If anyone knew where it was, it would be The Thief. But when I could not find him, I knew he had taken it. My prized posession was gone, whisked out from under my nose in the false spirit of kindness, honesty, loyalty and..." The Stray Creature trailed off just then, unable to add the word love at the end. It is a small word but a heavy one and The Creature's tongue could no longer lift it.

The Man looked at The Creature in disbelief and shock. He looked at the Stray Creature, once tall like The Man, once able to lift small words like The Man, once able to love like The Man. He realized this could happen to him and clutched at his chest as though, right now, some unseen force was attempting to take his heart, too. And then he thought of something that terrified him even more than the possibility of having his heart stolen.

"If your heart was somehow returned to you, would you want it back?" he asked The Stray Creature.

"I don't know. It has been gone so long, I may not recognize it enough to know it was my heart. And what about the Thief? He will not return it. Even if I thought I could bear the weight of it in my chest again, I do not know what I would do with it. It was stolen so effortlessly, how could I let anyone share it again?"

The Man looked upon the Stray Creature. "I do not know this Thief. But, as reckless as he was with you, I am sure the hunt is what he longs for. The difficulty would not be in getting the heart from him because he obviously would not have stolen it had he known its true value. The difficulty would be in its return. You would have to be willing to recognize it and to know that there is always a chance it could be stolen again."

"You are not making me feel any better about my heart, sir," The Stray Creature muttered.

"No, no. Let me finish," said The Man. " If what you are saying is true, then by that logic, if it was found and successfully returned, the only way it would be impossible to steal was if someone lived in it."

"You say these things as though it were just a matter of decision. I have looked everywhere for my heart and it is gone. Gone!" the Stray Creature shouted at The Man.

The Man remained calm. He walked over to where the Stray Creature was sitting on a rock, head in hand. The Stray Creature did not look up but noticed The Man smelled of ink and paper. This made The Creature more amenable.

"If I found your heart and returned it, could I live in it and you live in mine? This way, no one would steal our hearts," The Man said softly, hoping to get The Stray Creature to look up at him. After many minutes passed, the Stray Creature did look up. When it did, it had a request.

"May I touch your chest?" The Creature asked The Man. The Man nodded and closed his eyes as this seemed such a private thing. The Stray Creature extended an arm that had once been longer and placed its palm directly over The Man's heart, pressing firmly but gently.

"You have a very large heart," The Stray Creature said, tears welling in the rims of its eyes. "You would trust me to live in there?"

"Yes I would," said The Man, smelling more and more of ink and paper. "Would you trust me to live in yours?"

The Stray Creature wiped at its eyes. "If ever I find my heart, you will have to ask me again. In my head, I imagine I could. However, my trust is in my heart and, as you know, it is gone."

The Man stood up from his kneeling position. "Then I will find the Thief and take your heart back from him. And when I return your heart, I will ask you again."

The Stray Creature sighed. "I will think about you. That is all I can do."

The Man replied, "I know. Soon we will both have homes, though."

The sun was going down and The Stray Creature had been sitting on its rock all day to warm it. It was time to go to sleep.

"I will be under this rock if you return with my heart and need to find me." The Creature went on to explain, "It is the only way I can stay warm."

The Man nodded. "One day you will be tall again. One day you will be a woman again."

"I will think of you," said the Stray Creature as it crawled under its rock to stay warm, disappearing from the Man's sight, but not his mind.

The Man stayed just after sunset, looking at the rock. Then, as the sun completely disappeared, he walked away, shame in his heart. There were many Men where he lived. He did not have it in his heart to tell the Stray Creature the Thief was a Man. The only thing he could do was to find which Man was the Thief and return the heart to The Stray Creature.

And if luck was with him, the Stray Creature would still be thinking of him.

Again With The Cams

aka Rules of Etiquette

1. In general, no camming.

2. If, and this is a big fat IF, we should hit it off and agree to chat elsewhere because there seems to be a connection...lovely. I do understand that, at some point, you want to put a real face to the person you're speaking to. Frankly, once I land in Denver again, I plan to meet people in the community but as I'm not yet there, I am hoping to make some connections in other ways for when I do land. That said, if we decide to have a chat face to face via Skype or some similar messenger, the following will apply NO EXCEPTIONS:

           a) It will be conversation only. No cyber sex.

           b) I will not take my clothes off for you. You will keep your clothes on.

           c) I'm not here to get you off and you're not here to dominate me. You may be a Dom and I may be submissive but you are not my Dom and I am not your submissive. Please keep that line clear.

           d) If you cease to be anything but a gentleman, our communication will cease and you will be blocked. Any Dom worth his salt will understand this and not need to be told any of this.

Re: Photos: The photos I have up are all of me. They are self-portraits. No you may not have more.

I am not a piece of meat. I am not a doormat. Learn that now or do not contact me. Thank you.

Three Inches.

t's not that much really.

For some people it can be a chasm. An embarrassment. Intimidation. A standard.

A man who approached me recently asked me how tall I was, mid-conversation. I told him I was 5'10 and immediately the decent banter was halted and he said, "Oh. That doesn't work for me."

I was confused. It took me a minute to realize that my height quite literally halted us just from even having a conversation. Whoa, buster, no one is picking out the china here, first of all. Trust me, you're not that charming. I don't think I saw my panties hit the floor with any of your jokes you were telling so slow down.

But three inches difference in height? That's your deal breaker?

Wow.

I asked him if my height intimidated him or...? And he replied, "Not at all. I've just talked to a lot of guys and girls and that seems to be the common opinion." I responded that he should start talking to men and women and wished him a good evening as it was evident that someone this shallow was not someone I even wanted to be friends with.

I've noticed a lot of people I know getting married and having babies and all that jazz but another thing I have noticed is the massive amount of people my age and older that are still single. People take shit way too seriously. You can't compliment another person and appreciate their beauty without them freaking out. It's a compliment. It's good energy. Take it for what it is. Three inches of height is not just three inches of height. It's a big giant symptom for a brick wall someone has built around themselves. I wager not even the wee people can vault it.

The happiest people I know are the most laid back people I know. They don't have a billion quantifiers on their lives and the people in them. They are open, honest, awesome people who just live their lives and accept people for who they are. Guess what they have figured out? That's all people are able to be. You miss out on a lot if you shove people out with Napoleonic complexes or alienation.

I'm not going to stop being 5'10, complimenting my friends or being the honest, open person I am. Love me or leave me. I'd prefer the former but it's all up to you.

4/29/2013

 Dear Domly Doms,

 Submissive does not equal stupid. At least not in this case. If you send me a message saying, "Does the slut cam?" there are several things wrong with this.

Firstly, when did I give you permission to call me slut? Hear me now: being submissive does not give Doms license to freely call one a slut or any other term without their permission. This includes terms such as cum dumpster, cum slut, bitch, whore, etc. That's right. You have to earn the trust to use these monikers.

Secondly, Did you read the part in my profile where I don't let people dominate me online? That includes where you ask me to get on cam and let you get off to me doing things at your command. By the by, that's not domination. That's just creepy. Go to a pay site and do that.

Be polite. Be respectful. You won't find a doormat here.