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| OK, this is where I bear my soul? Maybe but for me, this isn't a fetish or a scene to be played by those who like to wear a uniform and say the accepted things; it is real and I recognise, and am comfortable with, the need to be controlled although I'm aware that this may not be a want. This doesn't, however, make me a doormat; I mean, where's the challenge if the sub rolls over with his arse in the air at the first sign of a player playing at being a Domme. Besides, try and treat me like a doormat and I will have out-thought you; the person I need will be able to out-think me. Notwithstanding this, I would like to meet with, and give an opportunity to (if that isn't too forward a way of putting things) someone (gender female or tv) who wishes to further the possibility of control over me. Ownership even? Who knows, she can try! I do know that I just can't do vanilla any more - the 'edge' is missing and I need an edge. My only experience, aside from a (sort of) relationship many years ago, is with professional Dommes (totally unsatisfactory; I mean, who is actually in control?) but please don't let that put you off; there is at least the opportunity here to take control over someone. Limits? I'm prepared to work these out as we go along - I have no pre- conceived ideas. I detest the 'accepted protocol' associated with all this; do a uniform or knowing the correct phrases make someone a dom or a sub? Behave and get real! In short, I'm looking for a sadist (maybe! Oh, alright then, definitely a sadist!) or, at least, someone who has no set goal but who wants to push the boat out to see where it goes. The destination of the journey isn't needed to be known; only the desire to make the journey - think in terms of Columbus. I am an intelligent (and find intelligence in others a great turn on), witty (but can be very sarcastic!) and genuine person who enjoys the arts, history, the open air (I love walking and live in the country) and (sorry!) football who will recognise those who merely want to play so please don't waste our respective times.
There is life outside D/s - life is for the living and I have every intention of living it to the full - contrary to recent statements made! So, if you like Mahler, Bogart, Sandy Denny, wild and wet moorland, Irish music, Vaughan Williams, John Fowles, Byron, Connolly, The Battlefields, Housman, The Blues, Eric Clapton's solo on 'Five Long Years', Dvorak AND you're slightly (ok, quite full-on) eccentric, I think we will have things in common!
I am, naturally, prepared to re-locate; internationally, if necessary although I have an aversion to cities - I need wide open spaces and wild, passionate landscapes. A paradox? Maybe........deal with it. I'm not worried about age or looks, well, I am a little but then I'm human and we all have our little peccadilloes don't we? I'm equally as concerned with attitude. It would be nice if you were sadistic to the point of.........well, whatever. Just be original because I have a very low boredom thresh-hold and would hope that you do too.
If the foregoing has not put you off, please don't hesitate to contact me.
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Does anyone actually read what they've written in their profiles and journals and, if they do, do they actually understand what it is that they've written?
The reason I ask is that, in a lot of cases, the spelling is bloody awful and as for the punctuation! Where did these people go to school?
I've been trying to de-cypher a particular domme's profile and journal for days now. Not because I'm interested in her but because I think she's actually writing in a language that has lain, hitherto, undiscovered. Every now and again, I come across a word that looks vaguely similar to a word that might be found in any English dictionary only to be proven wrong by its being followed by complete gibberish.
Now I thought that I was fluent in Gibberish, as well as Bollocks, Rubbish and Stupidity, but these people have taken the communicative art to a level never previously descended to in the history of writing.
Just a gentle reminder if you want a response to your profile, you might like to ensure that your profile is legible, both to yourself and your prospective reader.
The flabby use of language on this site is hilarious. Speaking of flabby............ |
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Ok, time for a rant (well, I haven't had a rant for a couple of days now) and the subject matter of today's rant is solicitors; the legal people, I mean, not those who hang around on street corners wearing a uniform (not the police!).
What is it about solicitors that gets my back up (bloody silly phrase!)? Well, there they are prostituting themselves in the yellow pages (complete with notice that says "Soliciting is not prostitution" - I think they need to look up the literal meaning of prostitution in a dictionary), telling all and sundry (and I'm still trying to work out whether I'm an 'all' or a 'sundry') that all they have to do all day is to look after my affairs. So, naive and innocent that I am (yeah, right!), I get sucked in and pass over the conveyancing work that I need doing because, they claim, they can do it in world record time at minimal cost to myself.
Bollocks!
One month later and contracts are lost, error-ridden, duplicated, copied, triplicated, trodden on, mislaid, sent to the wrong person.......the list is endless. A small child could have dealt with it more efficiently and, to tell the truth, I could have done the fekking work more effectively myself. Well, you pay someone who prostitutes his or her wares and you get fucked!
(I interupt this entry to gloat and giggle about England's miserable display in Austria last night and sincerely hope that David James is canonised in the near future.)
Where was I? Oh yes, solicitors. Personally, I have a huge urge (easy tiger!) to hand the lot of them over to the most sadistic domme that can be found (and there aren't that many real sadists out there I've found!) for treatment that shall include, but not be limited to, castration (if male), electricution, drowning by numbers (a bit like drawing by numbers but it involves water. A lot of water), mummification (including being locked in a Pyramid for a millenia or two), being suspended from the branches of a tree and made to dance to the tune of the sadistic domme's favourite implement and, la piice de risistance, forced to undergo solicitor training again.
How hard can it be, for fuck's sake, to arrange suitable, and correctly spelt, words into a document that makes sense? Hmmmm, looking at some of the profiles on this site.............quite difficult methinks!
Tsg i go bog i! |
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!!!WANTED!!!
Financial Domme who, after a hard day at the office (or wherever else she struts her funky thang!), is prepared to keep this submissive in the lifestyle to which he'd love to become accustomed. I'm not averse to you spending your hard earned wad on anything that would improve my lifestyle (let's face it, I thoroughly deserve it don't I?) but please ensure that the figure concerned has at least two noughts after it because I am, at heart, a greedy sod who simply can't be arsed to work. Just think, by paying me loadsa dosh, you are actually entitling yourself to consider me as your property; a not insubstantial prospect, I think you'll agree.
I also want someone who's prepared to come and sweep my patio because the leaves are simply a nuisance and as for the mess the birds make......that's the last time I invite THEM round for an all nighter! Also, a chief cook and bottle washer wouldn't go amiss because I'm absolutely hopeless at cooking in addition to which, I keep breaking my teeth when trying to open bottles and I can't afford the dental work (see above plea for more dosh!).
By complying with these requests, you will be displaying such sound social, commercial and economic sense that I wouldn't be at all surprised if a new Nobel award be commisioned. Just think of it, "...and this year's Nobel Award for Complete & Utter Stupidity Which Runs Counter To Normal Fiscal & Employment Behaviour goes to *(*insert your name here).
The world will stand up and take notice of your achievement (which is great if you're a smidgeon lacking in the ego department). Journalists from around the globe will be beating a path to your door (handy if want to install a new path). Publishers will be constantly telephoning you offering outlandish sums for your autobigraphy in which you'll be permitted to use words of at least two syllables should you, of course, know of any; if you don't, use a dictionary although please remember that the word 'dictionary' itself has four syllables so this stipulation may well be superfluous.
You'll need an agent (and what self-respecting ego-centric could possibly exist without one?) and this is where I come in. It would only cost you everything you could possibly hope to earn, which brings us neatly back to the first paragraph.
Alternatively, you could just decide to keep your hard earned money for yourself and spend it wisely. |
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Many thanks to the lady who explained the nature of the capillaries (there might be a spelling mistake here) and what they do to one's bum at the point of contact with hot water - I am enlightened and can now happily bathe without worrying about extraneous itches.
What happened to people's sense of humour? Reading through the profiles on here, I can't imagine anyone ever smiling (my own profile is included in this criticism); is it the case that we're all so far up our own arses that we miss the whole point of this because we can't see in the darkness of our respective rectums?
Maybe I'm missing the point but I, for one, believe that this should be enjoyed (define 'enjoy' how you will) by D and s alike. D's, come on, recognise that there can be no Yin without the Yang and s's recognise that you can actually get something out of this - the joy of pleasing another.
Not rocket science is it? |
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Ok, here's a question (and I really do want to know the answer here)...........why is it that when one finally summons up the necessary bottle to sit (after kneeling in an awkward position for minutes on end) in the hot water of one's bath, one's genitalia itch? Is it the sheer heat of the water that causes this? I really want to know because I'm fed up with it but don't enjoy tepid baths.
I'm also fed up with timidly scratching my scrotum to alleviate the discomfort. Actually, it's not so much of a scratching action, more a pinching action reallly. Any guy will tell you the same.
Whilst we're on the subject, what the hell was God playing at when he designed scrotums (or should that be scroti - possible scrotular plural?)? Did He, for example, have an off day at the tennis court, having just lost in straight sets to Adam, and, whilst putting his tennis balls back into their nice velvet bag, discover exactly what to do with all that spare elbow skin that man seems to be plagued with? Personally, I would rather have little sacs under my armpits for the carrying of my testacles but, apparently, God wasn't listening to any suggestions seemingly because His mood, after losing at any sport, darkens to say the least. Armpit scroti would, I think, be altogether more protective of one's testacles.
God, You need help in the design department when it comes to your next creation! |
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Bugger!!! The place that I had fixed up to move to has fallen through (metaphorically, not literally!).
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As those with whom I've had the pleasure of speaking, both here and in messenger, will know, I'll be moving soon, hopefully to Scotland. I need mountains, the gentility of the South East is very pretty but I need the wild passion that inspired Byron to write 'Dark Lochnagar' and Violet Jacob to write 'Norland Wind' (a dream is to sit on top of a the Cuillins listening to the version by the Battlefields). Oh yes, and I want to dance in the rain; clean rain that refreshes.
The move will be quick (hopefully) and painless(doubtfully) which means that I might disappear suddenly. I wish those with whom I've spoken, all of you, the very best and sincerely hope that you all find that which you seek.
T? go bog ?go n'??n t-? agus sl?go f?. |
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| Age: 28 |
| Hortense,
Georgia |
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