On Living in the Past

I have been duly lectured that if I am to find myself a new Dominant, I’m going to have to stop “living in the past,” that is, I need to stop relishing the notion that I have experienced the utmost in love, D/s, intimacy, and heterosexual relationship, (according to my standards), with Axel.

Sounds like great advice. Probably true. However, the odds of my finding myself a new Dominant, at this stage of the game, are incredibly low. Therefore, removing my motivation to merely rise out of bed every day is counterproductive. Generally speaking, a Dominant is not going to be overly interested in a submissive woman who has trouble getting out of bed every day.

Besides, given the state of affairs, largely thanks to Feminism and other forms of Cultural Marxism, the situation out there is positively bleak for a woman like me. That’s OK. I can work with that. I need a positively bleak environment here in the U.S. in order to motivate myself to risk my life and do what I have to do.

In a sense, I am going to have to become my own Dominant.

Naturally, the recurrent offer that is not in short supply for a woman like me is that I become a Dominant to someone else. If I like, I can become a prostitute for a man, wear the outfits he fetishizes, talk dirty, hurt him a little, and make a living that way. However, those who presume that such a transformation would be easy don’t know me nor my life. Moreover, by degrading my own sense of sexual sacred I would be removing a prime reason for living. Such a state could easily backfire in terms of the investment of the slave/submissive/patron.

Even if I never find myself another Dominant, I am fortunate that I have a rich catalog of fantasies with which I can use to get myself off. None of those fantasies involve sexual relations with a man who doesn’t care about me or whose notions of sex are entirely based upon his own fetishes or mine, objectification, or whether such an act is photogenic. Whereas I have had plenty of casual sex experiences, over time, sex has become less casual for me not more. I expect Love with my Sex in some form even if it is not exclusive or monogamous love.

Given the demographics of my generation, I think that a man with a libido that even approaches mine would be a fool to be entirely monogamous. I wouldn’t expect it. I would rather a man do what he needs to do to maintain desire to include expansive notions of what is “sex”. I would do this for a man who I Love because for me Love is the ultimate high.

Whereas no laundry list of fetishes is ever going to define or limit or circumscribe “Love” to me, paradoxically, for me, in order to allow my mind to relax and to live in the moment, I require some form of ostensive not actual objectification. That is how I’m wired. It isn’t a choice. I suppose that with enough electroshock therapy I could be reprogrammed; however, for a masochist, the success of such an operation isn’t guaranteed. The result could well be complete psychosis in lieu of conversion. This programming of mine which made me who I am was instituted when I was a child, for as early as I am able to remember, with the programming changing over time and years such that it is wholly written onto my psyche. I have been programmed by my family to seek self-destruction and extinction. Nice folks, right? Paradoxically, I expect that upon death I will be freed of this programming such that my soul will be liberated from it.

Was this programming entirely conscious on the part of my family? Of course not. However at some point one has to come to terms with the results of one’s actions even if one’s conscious motivations seem to be “pure” or “good-intentioned”, or at least that is my own notion of “maturity”. My family, and most Americans in general, have refused to mature. They are zombie narcissists. At least one of the players of my family was informed by one Alfred Kinsey in terms of his notion as to what was “good”. Such was one of the more destructive propaganda forces of The Twentieth Century—the obliteration of sexual boundaries in the child and even the infant. If there is a Hell, I have no doubt that Kinsey is in it.

The notion that programming, intentions, and results can be ignored for the benefit of “good” would also apply to the generationally-compounded fallacy which is Feminism.

Scratch the surface of a Feminist and what one often finds within one possessing the very best of “intentions,” is the notion that Feminism is supposed to make women feel better about who they are. One of the mechanisms of that feeling is that men are supposed to feel better about women even when women get old, sick, ugly, stupid, selfish, and narcissistic, or even just become “un-sexy” in the mind of the beholder. In other words, a man is supposed to be attracted to ugly women, and to compensate women for that imaginary attractiveness materially, with ugly being an entirely subjective rating albeit subject to programming (if resistant to shaming by Feminists).

One of the reasons I know this about Feminists is because—in person at any rate or with the aid of a professional photographer—I am attractive. I know this because men give me attention, for free, and women presume that I am somehow wealthy as a result and therefore willing to pick up the tab.

What the deluded women who live beneath the propaganda of romance novels like Fifty Shades of Grey don’t understand however is that masochism has no material value even in an attractive woman. Sure, there are psychopathic sadists who will pay to destroy another human being but there’s no amount of money which will compensate for one’s own destruction; and therefore, keep an eye out for the pimp. There always is one and don’t let sex or gender disguise that reality because Feminism is one of the bigger, more materially successful, pimps that there is. Lesbian feminists on the other hand (and the men who fetishize them) tend to be those who exploit the degradation of a woman’s sexual value—they go short rather than long.

The only thing of value that I can provide to a man willing to do what I need is service. As it so happens I have a strong record of service including letters of reference to that effect. I also have honor, loyalty, devotion, and all sorts of fabulous character traits. Perhaps if my Venezuelan venture succeeds, I will even have money to compensate such a man. Today, however, I do not. Nor do I have anything in my heart approaching youth for I have no innocence. I left what was left of it in Venezuela. In lieu of those things, however, what I do have is openness, character, and truth. That is what Axel saw in me. No it was not just my attractiveness and sexual skills. Not even my cooking! Of course it helped that at the time, I still had a little money, because that is how we survived until he got his business going, upon which—at the point of positive cash flow, he was diagnosed with Stage Four Plus cancer.

I therefore, borrowed from my own inheritance to attempt to cure him. We failed.

However, in the online dating market the only thing of any concern to the buyer are mere statistics, photographs, and words. Try as they might, Madison Avenue has not yet found a way to convey character along with branding to any reliable degree. However, by analyzing our psycho-sexual responses to mere statistics, photographs, and words, over time, in a continuum, they have come upon approximations in order to enslave the unconscious of the majority until the trend evolves and becomes stale. Charting these trends is the major business of the internet.

I regret that I have no interest in taking on a male or female slave to U.S. propaganda. For I am programmed only to seek Dominance and self-destruction, while fiercely holding onto my own sacred.

6 thoughts on “On Living in the Past

  1. Pingback: On Living in the Past | Manosphere.com

  2. Your man has been gone a month or so, and you seem to be pushing yourself to move on.
    Meanwhile, childhood is forty YEARS gone, and you seem to be subjecting it to constant analysis, parsing, and taxonomy.
    WHICH of these pasts is the one you need to stop living in?
    Mourn your dead.
    Feel your loss.
    Think about it some more.

    Just a friendly suggestion.

    • Good suggestions. Feeling disconnected from humanity in general and not sure whether the thing to do is to embrace it or flee. Each time I attempt to embrace it, I am told that I need to work on myself. Each time I work on myself, I am told I need to embrace humanity. Good advice of all sorts would appear to be in surplus.

  3. Pingback: Knowledge and Other Bubbles | caprizchka

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