Okay, so I usually try not to publish two posts in one night, but this needed to be addressed immediately.
So what, your an old fat slob whose so shallow that you can’t get with a guy you think is ugly or not good enough for you. Your just a self entitled bitch who cant live up to your own standards which makes you a hippocrite. I feel sorry for your subs, if they even exist and you didn’t just make them up while your sitting in your parents basement because what’s going to happen when they get older? You’re just going to up and leave them for someone whose “more attractive”? People get old. Peoples health fails. what’s going to happen when they go blind or they can’t get around anymore and they depend on you for all that? Your just going to leave them because now they’re disabled and that’s not good enough for you. And your just a shallow manipulative cunt who will leave them for the next best thing if you can even find someone who would want your shriveled up pussy. That’s why you want older guys because you know guys your age wouldn’t give you the time of day. You talk about being ethicle when your own shitty stories prove that your just a rapist who will take advantage of someone once you have them tied up. I don’t even think you actually have subs. I think you’re just making all this shit up for attention because you can’t get anyone in real life who wants you. Your just a lonely ugly bitch who pretends to be something special because your life is so worthless.
Alright, so I figured you would’ve taken the hint when I didn’t approve your comment and ignored you, but apparently want attention, and I’m an ENTP, so let’s play.
First of all, reading that message was painful. I seriously hope English isn’t your first language. If it is, just go home. Life only gets harder from here, dude.
I have to say, I read this with more amusement than anything else. The level of hostility you show, and how personally you take this imagined slight against ugly people, is amusing. And really, the fact that you’re so upset is fascinating.
So I can see you consider yourself among the ugly people I’ve supposedly slighted. I can also see that you’ve dealt with a health issue that has taken away some of your mobility, or your ability to function independently. You’re angry because you believe that you’re among those I consider “not good enough,” and you assume that I wouldn’t give you the time of day because you’re less than hot and have gone from being able-bodied to being disabled to some degree. You’re angry because you hate yourself and can’t imagine someone else actually wanting to be with you, when there are so many hot, healthy, able-bodied men out there to choose from.
Does that about cover it?
Don’t fuck with an ENTP, man. You won’t win.
How exhausting must your life be, if you get that emotional over a blog that has nothing to do with you, written by someone you don’t know? Honestly, I don’t know how you function. Being at that level of emotional distress over something so minor must be a horrible way to live.
I mean, damn.
I’m also not sure what you were expecting. Did you think I’d be offended by this temper tantrum? Did you think I’d be intimidated?
Sweetheart, I was raised by a man who regularly threw things at me. Your anger and hostility don’t affect me. This little outburst is cute.
You obviously had a lot to say. Let’s break it down, shall we?
And for the sake of argument, we’ll just assume that my subs exist. If you want to believe I’m lying, I can’t stop you. I’m not going to compromise their identities by proving it, and I really don’t care whether you think they’re real or not. It’s just not worth my time.
First, you try to insult me by saying I’m old (which isn’t an insult, by the way), and then you criticize the way you assume I’ll treat my subs once they get older and their health begins to fail.
To recap; in one breath, you insult old people, and in the next, you insult me for mistreating them.
No, really, who hurt you?
For the record, I’m well aware that people get older. I’m well aware that people’s health generally goes downhill at some point. That’s life. It happens to all of us. It’s going to happen to me, too.
So what’s going to happen when my subs’ health starts declining?
I’ll fuck them in a hospital bed. Which, now that I think about it, has the added benefit of those rails on either side. Otherwise known as built-in bondage points.
Annnnndddd, fucking a boy while he’s tied to a hospital bed just now made it to the top of my bucket list. Look at that, and I have you to thank for giving me that idea. So this wasn’t a total waste of time, after all.
You think I care what their health is like? You think that has any bearing whatsoever on my relationship with them? If they go blind or can’t get around anymore, that means they can’t get away from me *evil grin*. Awesome, bring it on.
I’m going to leave them if they’re disabled, huh? I’d love to know your basis of judgement there. I’ve got to admit, that sentence actually made me chuckle a little bit.
No, I’m not going to leave them if they’re disabled. I don’t give two shits what their level of ability is. And, as I’ve mentioned previously, a physical disability means that they can’t get away from me. That’s a win, as far as I’m concerned.
And just because I don’t want to come across as flippant towards people with disabilities, I’ll say this: I understand that the day-to-day life of a disabled person is different than the day-to-day life of an able-bodied person. I understand that certain accommodations need to be made, certain things need to be handled a certain way, blah blah blah.
Alright, so I guess I’m coming across as flippant. But I really, truly, honestly don’t fucking care. You’re blind? Great, we’ll deal with it. Deaf? Awesome, we’ll deal with it. In a wheelchair? Fabulous, we’ll deal with it.
I honestly don’t care. Things like that are just details. And I am probably the least detail-oriented person on the planet. Details can be worked out at any time, and with a surprisingly degree of simplicity.
Disabilities and failing health mean absolutely nothing to me. Limitations are easy to work around. Health problems are easy to work around.
I’m a natural caregiver, on top of that. I want to take care of them. All three of my boys are grown-ass men. I know they’re more than capable of taking care of themselves, of handling their problems. They’re the strongest people I know. Their strength is part of what attracted me to them in the first place. They don’t need me to take care of them.
But the fact that they can doesn’t mean that I want them to. I want them to turn to me for support, despite the fact that they don’t need to.
Kazander had to be hard from the day he was born. He had to learn to constantly look over his shoulder, and constantly expect the worst in people. I grew up in a place where I felt safe, where he dealt with threats and harassment, both from his neighbors and the police, just for being white and living where he lived. But he survived it and became the head of his household and the driving force with his friends. He doesn’t need me to be there for him.
Steel had to be hard and deal with a life-changing event that would’ve broken a lesser man and made him angry and bitter. He survived it, he adjusted, and he had the strength to keep his spirit intact through it. When I was a teenager, I was completely ill-equipped and unprepared to deal with the kinds of things that he had to deal with on a daily basis. He survived it and created a new life for himself, through sheer strength of will and stubbornness. He doesn’t need me to be there for him.
Sounder has dealt with an amount of stress that would crush anyone else. I’ve seen him deal with things that should have left him crying in the corner. I’ve seen him shoulder burdens so great, I was amazed at his ability to remain upright. When I dealt with a level of stress comparable to that, it knocked me on my ass and landed me in the hospital for four days. But he keeps moving forward, he smiles even when he feels like he’s crumbling inside. He survives, he keeps fighting, he doesn’t let it break him. He doesn’t need me to be there for him.
They don’t need me to be there for them. They don’t need to turn to me to help ease their burdens. They don’t need to lean on me. But that’s not the point.
I know they’re capable of handling it themselves. The point is that I don’t want them to. I want to take care of them because I care about them, not because I feel some sort of obligation to do it. I can handle their burdens, I want to handle their burdens, and I want to be their release, their safe place, their sanctuary.
Will I still want to take care of them when they’re old and wrinkled, with failing health and drooping balls? Hell fucking yes, I will. Any complications or limitations that come up can be worked around. Those are just details, and details mean nothing.
I’m in this, and I’m not going anywhere. I can be just as stubborn as they can. My boys are stuck with me, no matter what happens.
In that same vein, I don’t give two shits about someone’s physical appearance. It’s true, most of my relationships have been with men most people consider above-average in terms of physical attractiveness. But I’ve never let someone’s physical appearance influence my judgement. I care about who they are as a person. There have been plenty of men most people would consider unattractive, but had amazing, beautiful souls, and I cherished them just as deeply as the most attractive men.
Details. Physical appearance is just details. I don’t give two shits about details.
For the record, hell yes there are people I don’t consider good enough for me. But I don’t reach that conclusion through unimportant details. I reach that conclusion based on what I’ve seen of them where it matters. I reach that conclusion based on who they are, rather than what they look like.
I really don’t care what you have to say about the story I wrote. It wasn’t written for you. It wasn’t written to try and impress you. The one it was written for liked it, and that’s all I care about.
And those cute little digs you took at me? They mean nothing to me. You’re just a group of poorly-worded sentences on a computer screen. This is my space, this is my house, and you have no power here. There’s nothing you can say that will affect me. You cannot hurt me.
I’m sure you have your reasons for being so upset. I’m sure you think you’re doing the world a favor by “calling me out.” The noble hero, challenging the big, bad, evil Domme to battle. It’s got the makings of an epic saga.
But the truth of the matter is that I simply don’t care about you. I decided to humor you here, because you were so adamant and blew up my inbox for the last three days, and I’m sure you felt like you needed to be acknowledged. You obviously deal with not feeling like you’re being heard in your life, so you turn to the internet to make up for what’s missing elsewhere.
You create drama and controversy to combat the emptiness you suffer with on a daily basis. You attach yourself emotionally to irrational ideas and turn them over and over in your head until they become something else. You vilify the people who remind you of the ones who caused the loneliness and the pain you can’t escape from. You victimize the people in my life because you’re uncomfortable with the fact that they’ve experienced trauma, just like you have, but they came out the other side, and you didn’t. You victimize them because they’re stronger than you are, and you try to project your own insecurities onto them. On some level, you know that you’re wrong, and you justify it by preferring to believe they don’t actually exist.
The bottom line? You’re unhappy.
And I pity you.
But I’ve given you the attention you craved. I’ve allowed you to be heard, and I’ve acknowledged everything you had to say. I’ve indulged your need for controversy. If you choose to comment publicly on this post, I’ll allow it, but I have already blocked your email address, will ignore all further communication from you, and this is the last time I will acknowledge you.
The next time you make such a dramatic cry for help, I suggest being a little bit more considerate to the person you reach out to. I think you’ll find the conversation will be far more constructive.
I genuinely hope you find the help you’re so desperate for, and I hope you’re able to find the happiness that has eluded you so far. But your misguided attempts to hurt me are meaningless to me. You are meaningless to me.
There are five people on this planet whose opinions I care about. You are not one of them.
Lupus non curat iudicia ovium. The wolf doesn’t care about the opinions of sheep.