Lol, okay there was a bit of sarcasm in my reply.
Aura Wilming

While not outside of the realm of possibilities, it’s just not likely you’d be in that situation.

It’s not that I don’t move in the right circles … or used to — rather less frequently these days, but I still have some friends who are part of that scene.

And I’ve spent a not entirely inconsiderable amount of time in my life frequenting either the right events and venues or, when I wasn’t, a sizeable proportion of my time at those where you’d find a good cross-section of that scene plus goths, industrials and cybers — I did have a fondness for Torture Garden during the late ’90s and early ’00s … when the music was really good [1].

I even have contact with the Metal scene, believe it or not.

And, as result, I’ve had a few liaisons with women into that kind of thing.

I just had to explain to them that, if that was what they were looking for then they’d come to the right man … because, if what they wanted was to be dominated, they were going to play by my rules and do as I said — no toys, no paraphernalia.

Inevitably, however they didn’t really like that … because they didn’t really want to be submissive, weren’t really looking for it, only thought they were … weren’t as hardcore as they liked to think — what they really wanted was to open the dressing-up box and play make-believe.

I don’t play games though — this isn’t make-believe … I am gonna fuck you … for real.

Each to their own … I’m not Jimmy Saville though — I don’t find retarded children sexually arousing.

Those who need it wouldn’t want to be with you.

Nail on head … need —the weak and insecure aren’t a challenge … don’t excite me.

Those who don’t need it but don’t mind, wouldn’t bother to ask you to bother, you know what I mean?

Yes, because you’re describing me, basically … except with the added dimension … that I don’t bring to the party … of their being prepared to service the needs of those who really require the services of a psychiatrist instead ; )

I’d take good vanilla over a reluctant dom or sub any day.

A healthy attitude.

If I’m going to put on a scene, then I want to go all out. I want production value. I want setting, I want ambiance, I want the correct lighting, the correct music, the right fucking outfits and a lover that’s damn well into that shit — else, what’s the use? Why bother half-assing, when it really isn’t necessary for passion or enjoyment?


If a job’s worth doing …

Much like going out. Show up in jeans and t-shirt when we’re going to that place where we’re eating amazing burgers with our hands and drink beer straight out of the bottles. Show up in suit and tie if you made reservations at a fancy five star restaurant. Either way we’ll have a great date if we click.
But don’t show up in jeans or t-shirt for the fancy restaurant, or in a suit for the burgers. Just, no.

Again … quite.

In fact, that and the previous comment have put me in mind of something.

I’ve been given to understand that a lot of the sub men in the higher echelons are into it because it means they can relinquish the almighty burden of responsibility they otherwise have as high-ranking members of government/the forces/the services or CEOs, etc.

Well, quite apart from that bring utter bollocks, because really it’s because they’re limp-wristed bedwetters who never got over their private school days or their nannies’ spankings … if they aren’t up to the responsibility, they shouldn’t be doing the job!

Be that as it may, however, the other aspect of it is that I too have to play dress-up and role-play all day, every day.

Either I’m suited and booted … the perfect professional … the consummate corporate … for clients and employers

… or I’m dressed to the rough and ragged … the very essence of the scene ... for my role as a DJ/entertainer/promoter.

There’s an undeclared uniform for that too.

If you want people to take you seriously there, you have to look the part just as much as in the corporate world … clearly have to be the real thing, not a ‘weekend warrior’, as it were — the clothes, the hairstyle, the piercings and tats, live in the right location, have the right home decor, the right lifestyle.

All day, every day, I have to dress up and role-play … put on a performance.

And you don’t hear me whining about how much effort is … how tiring it is … what a responsibility it is to have to live up to people’s expectations as the kind of entertainer I am … because that’s what they (quite literally) pay me for — because they do … they pay for the spectacle that I am and that I am part of … for the performance … for the whole package.

And when you’re not doing it for your fans and other paying customers, you’re doing it as a means of recognition amongst your peers on the scene … those who don’t yet know you personally and need to make a quick judgment as to whether you are a serious proposition before taking the time to discuss business with you rather than perform, in their turn, yet again, for a fan or customer or client or potential business partner or supplier — because, it’s tiring and, so long as they think you’re just another punter/WAG/hanger-on, they will avoid you if they can.

All day, every day your life is an elevator pitch at a distance and you just hope that, with time, you become well enough known for people to know that you’re a serious proposition before they speak to you for the first time — and even then, people still judge you based upon your appearance.

Your publicity shots aren’t even the half of it … you’ve gotta look the part in the random photos taken by revellers ... that you never become aware of … as you represent yourself, the promoters of the venues and events at which you have residencies, the labels to which you are signed … all of which have an image they want you to help maintain — it’s a 24/7/52 modelling contract!

It just so happens that the look I’m obliged to sport for the non-corporate aspect of my life is one that I actively like, so it means that I don’t have to put it on, I just have to put on my clothes … I am the real thing, not a plastic fantastic— but I’d have to be … or I wouldn’t get to do the stuff I do because no-one would take me seriously enough in the first place.

And none of my peers whine and complain about the responsibility they bear to their fans and the wider public for whom they perform either — and their lives are the same as mine

So, maybe part of the reason I’m so averse to the whole role-play and paraphernalia thing is that … to me … it just oozes plastic fantastic weekend warrior … fake … gutless … insecure … timid … children … lacking the courage of their convictions.

If they were the real thing, it wouldn’t be stuff they wore especially for sex-play, they’d wear it all day, every day — it wouldn’t be an outfit … it’d just be their clothes.

It’s like a flashing neon sign above their head: “weekender … not the real thing … not a serious proposition.”

It says “not really hardcore at all … let alone hardcore enough to keep up the pace of me and my lifestyle.”

[1] Fierce, dark hard-dance/hard-house at the time.

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