Two years or so ago I divested myself of all the D/s mailing lists I was on but the one I own. It was a fine idea, and one I have not regretted- mostly because of the following:
”The walk in beauty, is most real, most required to let go, to have all
resistance in body heart mind and spirit fall away like a thin
Due to a yahoo glitch, the worst of these lists still sends me mail, even though I am long ago unsubscribed. And, God help me, occasionally I read it.
And I hate.
This list is composed entirely of the worst sort of specimen… “Dominants” whose attempt at flowery language and faux “wisdom” make them read like Dogberry, “submissives” who are so wrapped up in godawful sub-netiquitte and wretched, obsequious sniveling that they never actually have anything to say (As that would detract from their being empty vessels of submissive beauty, filled to overflowing with the power of the Master, Lord Neverreallymettheguy.)
As far as I can tell, the entirety of list conversation goes like this:
Lord Monkeytstardarkness posts someone else’s essay in lieu of having a thought of His own in His majestic, jowly hambeast skull.
slave gossamersofabutt swoons, overwhelmed with the Domly powers of Lord Monkeytstardarkness’ cut-and-paste skills, and how the article so exactly resonates in her own life in the trailer park.
slave tremblingchinsoflust Does not, in fact agree- so there must be something wrong with her to disagree with the towering Dominant Majesty of Lord Monkeytstardarkness, so she must remove herself to the corner in order to meditate on her failings, and await the chance to be filled with the wisdom of her Dominant. And oreos.
Repeat until everybody involved has finished touching their sticky bits, repeat as necessary, use plenty of butter.
It took me while to finally figure out that this is all just cybersex for the ego; that I was never going to find an actual conversation among all the “W/we” and “This slave” and orgiastic hambeast nipple twisting which passes for grammar, charm or substance in these places. It’s an excuse to feel all Dommy or Slavey or whatever-the-fuck, without actually having to do anything. It makes furries look healthy.