Yes. I know. I’m a paradox.
Yes. I know. I’m fascinating.
Yes. I know. It’s way safer to merely engage me rhetorically and besides I’m pretty good at it. I’ve got a broad grasp of the various issues that people talk about, along with some strong opinions, and passions particularly those borne out by conversion from a Leftist into the raving “conservative” lunatic that I am today, with no regard for the sacred notion of pure and noble femininity, my empowerment, or even the sacred notion that professional success is way more fulfilling than being dominated to the point of shivering, feral, degradation.
Where was I?
If what I want is a Dominant man, then it would behoove me to be a little less scary, passionate, dogmatic, and otherwise appear a little bit easier to “tame”, assuming I want a train of “Dominant” men knocking on my door. Of course, a “train of Dominant men” is an oxymoron, but no matter.
When one is trying to sell something, one needs market penetration, with or without lubricant, for maximum exposure, with or without censorship of that which is being exposed.
However, when it comes to an original and authentic work of art, then, it doesn’t actually benefit the auctioneer to receive a zillion pathetic “bids” now does it?
Therefore, no, I will not be exposing my form to all matter of internet critics in such a way as to either compromise my anonymity or give a bunch of little boys a free thrill. There won’t be a series of high production videos or stills, complete with make-up, hairstyle, lighting, and wardrobe or lack thereof.
Sorry no. I at the least want a fine cigar for such an experience, ideally personal to the voyeur who wants it, and a little compensation for whatever glorification procedures of my personage would be required to fulfill whatever exalted fantasy I may be satisfying for likely little personal benefit to me other than such a cigar.
However, in exchange for the energy and commitment thereof of that energy which I do desire, I would be delighted myself to put together the dinner catering to his tastes, even if I would be so full of butterflies myself that I dare not myself but barely partake of it. Or otherwise put together the dinner of me that he would desire, which, hopefully would not include his taking personal trophy shots with which to impress his friends unless I am fully claimed and otherwise taken off the auction block.
Perhaps after a time, he will want to take me to dinner such as to reward me in such a way that requires little energy expenditure of his own, and then allow me to digest before I show my appreciation for such an event.
Perhaps instead, just for a change of pace, we can have a lengthy intellectual discussion whereupon in appreciation for my peculiar insights I am rewarded by a lack of pedestalisation or otherwise interrupted mid sentence with a more satisfying activity with which to perform with my mouth rather than mere gabbing.
On the other hand, if my rhetorical output is particularly valued then the easiest way to get it is to deprive me of all passionate outlets except typing at lighting speed on the internet.
In other words, one could duplicate my present circumstances.