You say you have decades of experience as a dominant, but how many years have you spent working on your humility? You say you’ve been a master for as long as you’ve been an adult, but how long have you been mastering yourself? You say you can tie this knot and use that toy, but can you make your subs feel safe? You’ll rarely get to play with the extreme side of your sadism if you can’t get that right.
You say you’re so dedicated you attend all the events. How often do you attend to your ethics? You say you’re feral, but are you honourable? You say you’re evil, but are you kind? You say you’re primal, but are you disciplined?
I don’t need an animal, but a fully evolved man. I don’t want to spend all my time nursing your overdeveloped ego. I would rather not parent my own dominant like that. I don’t need you to have a soul so charred and black that it’s invisible at night. That doesn’t earn my respect. I’m not interested in the reflection you want to see when you look in the mirror. I want a man whose likeness reflects his authentic self faithfully.
You keep telling me you’ve been in the scene for 25 years, but how many of those were spent quashing your need to brag? I’m not interested in the empty posturing you learned when you were a child. I want a partner, not an antihero. I want a man, not a super-villain. I want love.
I enjoy a harsh sadist as well as the next masochist, but does it come from a place of weakness? All the figurative swag you’re carrying makes me think you’ll see my submission as a reflection of yourself—just one more thing you carry around with that oversized smirk and undersized transparency. I’m not an extension of you. Are you even looking hard enough to notice that?
Or are you still measuring your penis in the mirror?