Harsh? Who me?

I don’t think of myself as harsh or rude or any of those things.

Honest, yes (but not the ‘I’m just being honest’ type of brutality that people use to justify being an arsehole).

Forthright, you bet.

Sometimes impatient, sure.

Easily irritated (with strangers at least), yep.

But harsh? I tend(ed) to think not.

I had an exchange on a BDSM dating site the other day that both made me laugh and made me wonder if I AM harsh. I responded in an exasperated way to someone who replied to me with a terrible cliche. In my mind, I was giving him a chance to regroup and engage with me in a realistic way but perhaps I was using a cudgel instead of giving him a nudge with a small pokey stick.

It started with an unsolicited note from a submissive that referenced the warning on my profile that I would probably not reply to emails unless they were outstanding because I prefer to do the hunting. He read my profile, which is a big tick, the email was a bit cute, so okay. In his email, he referred to himself as ‘fair game’ and mentioning doe eyes. It was cute enough that I replied in a similar tone.

Hello [potential prey],

Game has to have an enticing scent to attract a hunter.

Your profile smells of… hmmm… not much of anything useful… [3 lines, vague and uninformative]

What makes you worth chasing?


Of course, I was asking for conversation, to learn about him. His reply was… disappointing: A snippet of noise with no substance.

Unquestioned obedience Ma’am. Imagine having someone who would offer there[sic] all

I’m already at ‘nah’ both on form and content, but I thought, “Okay let’s see if he will step up if I push him out of this trite nonsensical non-thinking.”

Hello [potential prey],

You missed my point and an opportunity.

If ‘your all’ is a boring one dimensional individual with no interests, no ambition, no emotional life, no intellectual pursuits, no challenging job, no hilariously ridiculous jokes, no romance, no wooing, no thoughts to entertain and delight and fascinate me day in and day out, why would I be at all interested?

Unquestioned obedience from such a man is not something that appeals to me.

So I will ask you again: What makes you worth chasing?


His reply:

I’m probably not suited to you Ma’am

I seriously couldn’t stop laughing when I read it (even now, it makes me laugh).

I mean, he’s right of course. And I REALLY appreciate him seeing it and politely saying so out loud: That’s rare. It’s just… so fucking funny.

I often wonder why people think I’m intimidating, but if I re-read my exasperated response, I can absolutely see someone going “Woah lady, this is NOT hot, NOT fun, and NOT what I signed up for: Hell to the no!!”

Okay, so fine, maybe I can be a little harsh.

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“He never looks at her the way he looked at me”

Public domain mark'Untitled' by aliceabc0

I have thought that of the men I have loved.

Along with “He never talks about her the way he talked about me” and “He never treats her the way he treated me”.

All thoughts bound up in love and nostalgia and memories.

But mostly, in those moments of brutal honesty, I know it’s pure ego with more than a touch of smug satisfaction. I touched those intimate parts of him, they are marked, and they are forever mine. Truly mine. And no-one else can have them.

And it may be true, or it may not be true. It doesn’t matter much.

It is more telling that I believe it, that I say those things to myself, or, perhaps, that I somehow feel I NEED to say those things to myself.

It is important to me to have those pieces, the hidden ones, the secret ones, the ones we whisper quietly in the darkness. Out of everything, I carved my name on those pieces, they are mine.

It is a shoring up of that which has been dented or broken, even though most times I was the one to end it. It is a reassurance that it all meant something.

And perhaps he does look at her differently, and I choose to see it as ‘less than’ for selfish reasons I am embarrassed to admit to.

Because if she gets more of him, or better, or even equal, to all that I had of him, I have to face that I wasn’t that special after all, that we weren’t special, that none of it was special. And my ego will root out and hold up proof that I was, glory in it, wave it around, parade it as if it matters to anyone but me.

It is a failing of mine. It is petty and small and mean-spirited.

But you know what?

He never looks at her the way he looked at me.

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Light my fire

My body is on hiatus. Maybe it’s been the stress of an uncertain living situation for so long and then the actual move. Or maybe it’s recent disappointments worming their way into my psyche. I don’t know.

If I had a penis, pretty sure I’d be going through some kind of erectile dysfunction issue right now.

I try to masturbate every day. Usually in the morning before I get up.

It’s not some grand and sexy goal, I’m just very aware that my body is prone to going into hibernation when I don’t have an erotic target who’s firing up my synapses, and I vaguely worry that if I don’t remind it what it’s capable of, it will forget.

My desire is primed and stoked by having someone to aim it at and when that’s lacking it’s frighteningly easy for me to just… turn it off and forget about it. But I think about my body like a machine, and I worry that if I don’t regularly get it out and take it for a run, all the parts will seize up.

At least some of that is worrying that the passing years will render my sexuality asunder. When I find myself excited about someone anew, I am always more than a little relieved to find that that isn’t the case. In the meantime, I try to keep it humming.

The last couple of times I’ve come it has been so very flat: Less a fabulous peak of pleasure and more just my body sullenly acknowledging that it did the thing it was supposed to do and it’s done now.

Need to do something about that…

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Femdom in advertising

We’ve seen a lot of it, mostly in fashion and music.

We tend to think it’s a relatively recent phenomenon in marketing (though Unspeakable Axe has been posting ‘Found Femdom‘ in mainstream media for years).

This ad campaign is from 2004. Umbro Vigo is a sports brand, and this ‘Sado’ series to advertise footwear is by a Brazilian agency. Stereotypical: yes. Exploitative: sure.

But say what you want, these are stunning. Not least in their unapologetic presentation of submissives as the beautiful men they are, and you know I always appreciate that.

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Settling in

'Housewarming gift' by Ferns

The move went smoothly, my new place was clear of mess and liveable by the end of the first day (a promise I made to myself because clutter stresses me out and I did NOT want to wake up to stacks of boxes everywhere the following morning).

Though by ‘liveable’ I don’t mean that everything was all done and dusted. I’m not magic!

I mean that I had Carl (my coffee machine) ready to go for the morning (along with coffee, mug, milk, sugar: priority 1!), the kitchen was unpacked, the fridge had food in it, the living and dining room furniture were in place, my bed was assembled and had clean sheets, the basic bathroom necessities were in the ensuite, and I had clothes to wear.

Most importantly, the main living and sleeping areas were all clear of boxes and random mess.

The second bedroom was the ‘to-do’ zone: It was literally corner-to-corner full of boxes. But I could just close the door and pretend for the first day or so that it didn’t exist until I wanted to tackle it.

By early evening on moving day, I was having champagne on my couch, looking out over the park to the glimpses of surf, and making peace with the change.

In the last couple of weeks, I have been settling in.

Not just unpacking (though of course a lot of that), but working to make this apartment feel like home, getting used to its idiosyncrasies, figuring out how I will live in it.

I’ve been hanging artworks, doing projects with contact paper (not yer gramma’s contact paper!), cleaning cupboards, the oven (ick!), building shelves, putting up curtains, buying homemaker items (a lamp, cutting board, rug, sink protectors, drawer liners, storage tubs, couch cushions), forming new routines.

I still have full boxes in the second bedroom and no room to put the contents anywhere, so there is still work to be done: I’m just keeping the door shut until I manage to organise it into something less disorderly.

It doesn’t feel like home yet. That will take some more time.

But it will soon enough.

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Moving house %$#^&!

So I’ve mentioned my unstable living situation a few times now, so it’s no surprise that I’m moving.

Packing doesn’t seem like such a big thing. It’s a vague ‘I hate packing’ thing until you are in it.

It’s not the big things that are painful: Empty contents of wardrobe into a box, there, done.

It’s the millions of little things that make it such a daunting task.

That and the overwhelming urge to do a pre-move cleanout, which has me rifling through cupboards, running to the charity shop, posting things on ebay, and crying over photos of my dead mother punctuated by notes from my dead Aunt.

It is beyond stressful.

I am at the stage now where I am made happy by finding a box that will fit a difficult-to-pack thing. I mean, I am genuinely filled with glee by it.

Apparently this is my life now.

I don’t have time to write this post, but doing things I don’t have time to do is what I do when I don’t want to do a thing I have to do…

Boxes and tape and lots of swearing.

To top it all off, getting internet connected at the new place is likely to take at least a week. I am freaking out. No internet?!! WHAT EVEN IS LIFE WITHOUT THE INTERNET??! I WILL BE KILLING MY OWN FOOD AND TRYING TO COOK IT OVER AN OPEN FIRE LIKE A SAVAGE!

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