PANTS LOCK

Oh, man, this is what the first eight minutes of Up was MADE for.

(Source: )

Dear wannabe submissive:

Submission is theater. It’s conflict in captivity, a microcosmic version of the millions of imbalances of power that affect our lives, where we can isolate conflict and exaggerate it, heighten it, in ways that are fun, creative, dark, deeply thrilling — whatever flavor of tension that speaks to the part of you that lives behind your social persona. It’s about give and take, and the struggle of giving and taking.

Maybe you want to be degraded. Maybe you want to be proud of the care you can give another person. Maybe you get a thrill out of appearing to be autonomous when you’re under secret orders. Who knows?

Pitching a bunch of sexy services that get you off as if they’re automatically doing someone some kind of favor isn’t the same thing. The difference isn’t exactly subtle, sure, but in a scene so richly populated with tropes, fetishization, costumes, and infinite ritualized reenactments of power imbalances from everyday life, it can get hard to tell the difference. Hell, it’s not even a scene thing; everyday life is full of the push-pull between what you want, what you think you want, what you can barely admit you want, and how that fits in with how you think others see you. So here’s a good rule of thumb for when you’re trying to sell yourself as a submissive, someone who wants to surrender completely to another person and live even for a few minutes as if it’s not about you:

If your idea of submission is a menu of tasks you already jerk off to, it’s probably about you.

Pickup lines falling flat? Not sure about negging? When in doubt, lead with the cuckolding fetish.

Some questions can wait until the second date. Or the first date. Or, y’know, anytime after “hello.”