The times they are a-changin’

thetimeschange

I have little time for social media, I despise Facebook and its bastard offspring and have seen how the growth in accessibility of the web has shortened the life-cycle of web forums proportionally. The first web forums lasted years before being dragged under by the weight of trolls and soapboxers, these days the window between informed educative niche and sprawling home of the fantasist and the prurient gawpers can be mere months.

But I digress, as my story really starts on a rare recent visit to one such behemoth, now it seems the last player in town. I visit rarely, mainly to check on the kink version of hatches, matches and dispatches, bright eyed newbies, collarings and vitriolic spats over who did what with who when. My days of kink clubbing and partying it seems over, my need to buy new toys minimal, so with a weary smile I watch and wander through the shadows

And crawling on the planet's face
Some insects, called the human race...
Lost in time, and lost in space,
And meaning.

Bless that film, still an all time favourite, but whilst I was lurking I stumbled over a post from somebody I knew, a post so shocking I had to reread it to check I hadn’t in some way terribly misconstrued it. When last I saw the Dom who was its authour he was the centre of attention, life and soul of this party and in fact anything he deigned to grace with his presence. A master technician, expert by study in anything that interested him, an avid networker, he knows anybody worth knowing and was the owner of a stable of girls.

Actually not a stable but a Sheldon Coopers sock draw of submissives, each having her own uses, whether it being his roady when he was putting on a show, head turning trophy bimbette or the desperate to be wanted puppets who he would turn inside out then pack off home till next he needed to show what a hard bastard he was. They were summoned and tasked and for a few hours had their moment in the sun trying to hide their jealousy of the one he was now with or the pain of being dispensed with.

And yet today I was reading him writing of what he was going to do to his latest little project and having to draw breath at what he was proposing all the time my inner voice screaming “Holy Fuck man what happened to you?” Now before you start to think what they hell was he going to do, something violently terribly, I’ll say no nothing criminal or stupid it was the language he used. It read like something out of 50SoG. This witty erudite and knowledgeable Dom was writing like a one handed internet fantasist.

Now its time to plead mea culpa, yes in my time I have texted or emailed some mortifying things to my girl, hey it worked for her and hence me, when your miles apart and feeling low a little bit of Sirs own frapfiction reaches her spot. But this was private time not all over the town in neon pink, why the hell had somebody who was once so mannered and subtle being so, well to me anyway, crass. I always check context when something pops out of the frame like this and this time was no different.

So I actually started to pay attention to what “Doms” were writing online because you see to me being a Dom is not about other people it is about you and your sub, I don’t seek or need others validation of my behavior or relationships, as long as my girl is just that I figure I am doing it right enough for the people who get a vote. But apparently not in the new world order. Apparently Doms have to be “hot” and ideally “buff”, they have to fuck like porn stars and talk like a cross between a Russian Mafioso and a plumber with Turets. Tattoos also seem to feature heavily even though the number of them on any man over 35 seems inversely proportional to their IQ.

So it is with some regret I have to inform you dear readers that I can no longer be a Dom, I possess not one single attribute of the skills or features I now require. I with heavy heart informed my girl of this and was a little taken back by her reply

“You haven’t been a Dom for years Sir.”

I thought “Well thanks a bunch for letting me wander round in my little self deluded bubble all this time. Next thing you know you’ll be telling me you are my Father and chopping my hand off.” But with the timing most comedians would die for she said

“You’ve been my Master for years but I know you think that is a stupid idea so didn’t argue.”

Do you now understand why I keep her around?

Her point if I can sum it up was that the depth of our relationship and the commitment we had shown to each other meant that ALL elements of our lives were intertwined that even though I might not think I controlled some parts of her life I did if subtly. I am still thinking about this, the jurys out, but in the meantime I have signed a four book deal to write for a well known erotic publisher. The Adventures Sir Porksword, the Dom with the heavily tattooed penis the size and shape of a large Salami should be on Amazon any day now.

If all goes well I intend to invest the millions I get in movie rights in to buying a deserted castle in a wood somewhere where trembling virgins, kidnapped during meets arranged on the behemoth between me and the mindless post 50SoG fresh meat, can be plunged in to the depths of ultimate subspace by my guturally whispered entreaties to “take it slut, your my motherf**king whore now” They will then of course be available for private webcam chats to my websites well paying customers. where they will entice you to buy specially made videos of them submitting repeatedly and noisily.

Or maybe I’ll just slink back in to the shadows, my anonymity protected by my Buddha belly, wrinkles and quiet mannered behavior.

 

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