All day long, every single day, I am pissed off. Everything I see gets under my skin, and I'm pelted with exposure to things that irk and bother me like I live in a constant sandstorm. From the truck driver's pain in my lower back that echoes with every step to my full time education, to the job I hate to the people around me all day I need to pretend I have some way of connecting with, I am a square peg in a world of round holes. My blood is usually molten, and I'm sometimes afraid my eyes are hungry enough to collapse rooms with their gravity.

Go to the gym. Watch the weights rise and fall, like the pain in my back, just above my ass. Pain in the ass. Just like everything else. But I take that rage and bury it deep down inside, where it can cool off long enough for me to learn a little about it, or at the least use it to get through the next set. The anger means I'm human; means I'm genuine.

If you're not genuine, you don't give a shit. There are probably some people out there who are genuine and genuinely don't give a shit. But I do, and I have the blood pressure to prove it. In my head there's a blueprint of how everything is supposed to be, a moral compass that sometimes points in directions I don't always understand, but I know I'll ultimately follow anyway. That perfect blueprint is life, and love. The difficulty is finding a reliable contractor.

Plastic fuckin' smirk. I've played this game a couple times before. I laugh, and buy her a drink. I show her that mysterious smile that promises I know that thing about her she goes to bed every night wishing someone knew. Everybody has one of those. You don't need to figure out exactly what it is; odds are she doesn't even know. I don't know where the energy to keep up the charade comes from, probably from the slow fission of that anger I buried earlier breaking down into understanding and bitterness. You can run an engine on that for a while.

There is a point to the facade, though, really. That contractor is out there; that perfect window through which all my ideals, aspirations and longing will shine with a perfect veracity, born not of intimidaion or force, but reflected freely, independently. The true beauty, the end to the hunger. The end of the rage. I'm not sure she knows she exists. I don't even know if I could fathom her if I found her. But she's out there.

I shake my head quickly, imperceptibly, skirting away the half shadows of fancy and returning my attention to the game at hand.

I've waited twenty years. What's a little longer.

quote:

ORIGINAL: CruelDesires

What it is that why do is not substitute for psychotherapy. Nor will it help with your anger issues. Want me to count the red flags from your post?

CD

quote:

ORIGINAL: uninterested5

Basically guy, the whole truth is that it's a game. People are going to hoot and holler and scream about how it's their stupid lifestyle that they didn't pick and it picked them, but realistically you just need to find a girl who is sexually aroused by feeling oppressed. It's usually either purely sexual, or the girl has some horrible skeleton in her closet that makes her feel like you're all she can get, or she has some complex of needing to feel protected, and thinks that if you care about her enough to call yourself a "Dom" and capitalize the M in Me on a bondage website and handcuff the broad to your bed that you're going to protect and provide for her forever.

As far as whether or not you're a Master or a Dom or a fuckin Padawan, that's all a huge crock of BS that really doesn't matter. Just roll with it and have fun. 

quote:

ORIGINAL: uninterested5

As far as whether or not you're a Master or a Dom or a fuckin Padawan, that's all a huge crock of BS that really doesn't matter. Just roll with it and have fun. 

quote:

ORIGINAL: uninterested5

quote:

ORIGINAL: uninterested5

As far as whether or not you're a Master or a Dom or a fuckin Padawan, that's all a huge crock of BS that really doesn't matter. Just roll with it and have fun. 

That's by far the most realistic, intelligent, down-to-Earth thing I've read on this site! Who would have thought, that nobody on this website is really a Master or a Slave, since, get this, it's illegal. It's almost like it's a big bullshit game where people trade pictures that probably aren't even of them with strangers on the internet and end up not meeting 99.9999% of the people they talk to. Food for thought, hope nobody chokes.

quote:

ORIGINAL: Aynne

Lighten up, it's Friday. You are twenty years old for god's sake. Get drunk, get laid, get arrested, do something fun.

quote:

ORIGINAL: uninterested5

Wanders alone? Why don't you go get back to that?

quote:

ORIGINAL: uninterested5

Interesting.. wrong, but interesting.

13th Amendment is as follows:

1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.
2. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

"But uninterested5 you idiot I WANT to be a slave!" Come be my slave. My back hurts like a motherfucker and I still have to mow my lawn before class tonight. Come do my yardwork and shit for me. Hell, go punch in at work for me.

"But uninterested you idiot then you wouldn't be POWWAAFULL LIKE A MASTER!" That would be awesome if we could all be slaves to masters who made us do shit we already wanted to do and take care of everything else. Then it's not slavery, it's not mastry, and it's not submission. It's temporary, elective acquiesence.

Constitution > Argumentation skills of people trying to defend their fetish as a real, viable lifestyle.