When You Can’t Get Laid on Fetlife

The most popular search term for my blog is “How to get laid on Fetlife.” That leads the humble dudebro to a post I wrote about why Fet’s women hate being treated like products at a meat market. If you scroll a little further, you’ll find a bunch of dudebros who are stewing in their own resentment because women haven’t been fucking them senseless in response to their How R U messages. The fact that they aren’t getting laid is The Wimmenz fault because replying to every solicitation is only polite.

Right now my Fet inbox is smeared in mud and splashed in garbage juice. It couldn’t get more putrid. Alongside all the “kik?” messages is a graphic come-on with a bestiality slant, but that’s by no means the worst of them. That trophy goes to this post:

First I will break into your home. You barely register the panic before I pull out my pocket machete and slice off your wicked tongue. […] The blood is beautiful running down your chin, as you tremble and groan like Helen Keller. […] I stomp on your neck as I walk out.


Two years ago, I removed most of my album to avoid this kind of message. Back then I received about five come-ons daily, which is a forgiving number compared to what other women deal with. De-sexing my profile worked. These days I only get around one a day, but the constant drip drip drip of daily bullshit still grates at me. When I was still new to the site, these messages didn’t bother me, but literally 7, 000+ come-ons later, I’m feeling less generous about them. Once you’ve gawked at that number, consider that I get far less sexual attention than many other women.

My blog’s dudebros insist that Fetlife and its women are broken for not behaving like kinky Pez dispensers. Blaming the site and its happy members for your inability to get laid is like failing to solve an equation and then calling those who did solve it wrong.

Picking up partners requires you to stand out, and your “How R U” and “Wanna Skype?” messages are white noise. You are the problem, and your complete inability to meet women is nobody’s fault but your own. But keep telling us we’re wrong. We might think of you while we’re having kinky sex all weekend.

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