Part 1: About Miss, and about my feelings

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15 April, 2017

When the fruit grows riper and riper and isn’t picked, it often falls on the ground. Today,  on the eve of Easter day, something similar must have happened to some of my feelings: tired of living only inside my mind, they are suddenly claiming an outlet, they want to talk. The fear of being misunderstood, the awareness that they will never find fulfilment anyway isn’t stopping them. In fact they are telling me: for the very reason that we are nearly impossible to fulfil, it’s only fair that you let us at least talk.
And why shouldn’t I? After all they seem to me too beautiful, too unusual to just keep them glow inside me without somehow letting them out.

So… what is it all about? MissingMiss: a Miss is missing, or I miss a Miss, as you prefer. I could have also named the blog “MissingMisses”, as this aspiration of mine doesn’t necessarily involve an exclusive interaction with one particular Miss.

But let me start with a bit of background. I love, truly love, everything to do with classic elegance. Old world, tradition, aristocracy, with a particular passion for British posh and the Victorian age. England and especially old London, with its glorious Victorian mansions and squares, is my dream place. Think Harrods. Sloane square. Hyde Park’s Flower Garden. Those leafy stretches of the Thames that haven’t been ruined by modern glass buildings yet. The hotels with plush chaise longues, grand window treatments, and livery-clad attendants unloading leather luggage. Plummed accents. Elegant manners. Ascot hats. The Royal Albert Hall and the world of classical music.
When I listen to Chopin, I melt. When I stroll on a spring day in one of London’s beautiful parks, I half expect to see frilly dresses and parasols like in a painting by Renoir. Then all I see is jeans and t-shirts, and I think it’s a pity. You get the picture: I’m a romantic old-fashioned soul, even though, yes, I wear cheap jeans and t-shirts myself.

Alright, so I love classic elegance. Which isn’t particularly unusual. Perhaps it’s a bit more surprising, though, that I like elegant women. I don’t look at other girls like we females so often do: with envy, suspicion, to copy their style and evaluate the threat. I rather look at elegant girls in the same way as I stare at a fascinating painting, admiring their grace and never getting tired of it. A preppy outfit, a cute bow clip, an educated accent will get me enthralled. A poised young lady who plays the piano or the harp, who engages in public debate or in equestrian competitions. How could I not admire the education, the elegance, the unspeakable aesthetic appeal?

It’s at the same time the attraction to the similar, because we share the same taste for all things classy, and to the opposite, because we belong to the antipodes of society: the old-money middle class on their side, and the underclass of European immigrants on mine, whose hard work in a kitchen only affords a freezing room in lousy flatshare and the bus fare to go to work. Two kinds of lives so different that I suppose we can hardly wear each other’s shoes. What could they know about orphanage, foster “care”, homeless shelters, working in restaurants, families, school kitchens, having lived in loneliness and met zillions of different people from all walks of life in 4 countries and 2 continents? And what could I know about country estates, family Christmas, boarding schools, horse-riding in Hyde Park, dinner in Piccadilly, concerts at the Albert Hall, international holidays, and the feeling of friendships and relationships that develop over the years, of people that actually notice if you are alive or not? For one like me, who as a teen was lucky when I could borrow a bicycle while all my classmates had a moped, it’s the fascination of another planet. When I walk by the shops and patisseries in Knightsbridge, I truly feel like a street urchin in a Dickens story.

However, believe it or not, I don’t mind being poor. Quite the opposite, by the age of 17 I had already accepted my condition and made a decision: “do I have to be a cinderella? Fine, I’ll be one in my own way.” I don’t envy classy and privileged young ladies. I like and admire them. More: for some of them I feel such a sense of deference that I can’t help but picturing myself as their devoted servant, carrying their shopping bags, ironing their shirts and preparing their picnic lunch. “As you wish, Miss. Would you like a tea, Miss?” How many times I fantasise about interacting with them like that. It’s moving. There is such a sweetness, a beauty, a sense of fulfilment in serving someone you like, in accepting the complete inequality of circumstances and that you are there for them and to make their life as convenient as possible. So here we go, that’s my inclination in life: serving Miss.

But we are talking about a feeling: deference, desire to serve and submit to a classy young lady. Or ladies. How to express, to find an outlet for such a wonderful, heart-warming inclination? How to put it into practice in my daily life? This is what I have been trying to understand.

~ o ~

Part 2: A search with many approaches

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Although I had similar feelings all along my childhood, it was only at about 17 that they became better defined. That was when I left my country to go and work abroad for my first time. However, to be aware of what I felt was one thing; to figure out how to go about it was another thing altogether.

As my disposition was always directed at women and I had never been obsessed with boys in any respect, I had come to terms with the fact that I was likely a lesbian. And it seemed to me that the way to go was to mingle with other lesbians and eventually find one who had a dominant personality and would treat me like a servant. Now, this may sound ridiculously naive to someone who knows what being lesbian means, but please keep in mind I was too young to understand, I thought that having an interest for other girls would qualify me as such. I had to try. Clearly it didn’t take me long to find out it wasn’t a very good idea. Long story short: I understood what being a lesbian means, and that I am definitely not. Besides that, I’ve also noticed that most lesbians tend to feel towards social inequality the same grudge they feel for gender inequality, to the point that they abhor the idea of having servants. At any rate, I occasionally still attend lesbian meet-ups, in the (still naive) hope that a classy young lady may be inclined to this kind of Miss/servant relationship.

Alright. If sexual orientation couldn’t be the decisive factor, maybe I had to focus on the desire to dominate? Dominance, and submission: that led me to check out the so called “kinky” community (it’s a term I dislike but, hey, they use it). Even though everything from the names to the look of those bizarre websites was at odds with the elegance and class I love, curiousity prevailed. And here we go: my hopeless naivety was put to shame again. Everything was in there BUT classy young ladies. Some no doubt pretend to be, but if so why do they need to beg for money online? Wanting to find out how those “kinky” folks were in real life, I tried some munches and did meet a few other girls. Unfortunately what I have gathered is not very encouraging:
1) Most want to be sexually dominated by men.
2) A tiny few want to sexually dominate girls.
3) Maybe some latex-clad pro “domme” needs someone to clean her “studio” -eek!!
Zero elegant young ladies who fancy a non-sexual servant. Mind you, I don’t mean who look for one, just fancy one. Who have that classy mindset and fantasise over that power exchange. None. I never got replies online either. But it makes sense: any young ladies with conservative tastes would likely feel as uncomfortable on those sites as I do.

Back to the drawing board. No lesbians, no “kinky” types… what else could I focus on to find a kindred spirit? A love for elegance, granted, but that’s very generic. How about Victorian elegance in particular? Of course: Victorian enthusiasts and such! So I joined online groups about lovely bustle dresses, tea parties and the like. I was a bit surprised to find out that most of them are not in England, but in the US. That was a major problem because it definitely feels awkward to contact someone on the other side of the pond just because we both like frills and laces. Besides, I’m not a seamstress or soap maker, there’s only so much advice we can exchange on those specific interests. I still made contact, though mostly it was with more mature ladies. I also went to a couple of Victorian festivals here in the UK which I enjoyed immensely, despite the fact that there were so few young ladies that, um, I can’t recall any. (sigh) Again, nothing.

I thought that maybe reaching out to a generic larger audience might be better. How about Craigslist? There are sections for pretty much everything on there, and it’s very popular. I know, you are right: my naivety was really incurable. As soon as you mention words like “serve” on Craigslist… um, sorry, as soon as you actually mention the word “girl”, hordes of men feel authorised to send any sorts of pictures and proposals that range from seriously disheartening to outright illegal.
Filtering all that out would be worthwhile if only there was one genuine young lady every 100 messages, but there simply isn’t. Both when you post and when you reply to posts. The personals section is absolutely fake paradise. I tried to submit a polite post on the discussions sections and it was.. guess what? Flagged and removed! For some reason, every profanity is allowed, but a civilised enquiry on what other people think about my dream is flagged and removed. I asked the support why and was of course ignored.
Once written off Craigslist from the list of websites I will ever use again, I posted the same on Reddit -zero replies- and on Femalefirst, where it only got a few not very helpful responses.

Apparently, forums weren’t the way to go either. At this point I thought I should get more practical. Rather than looking for a matching desire, why not looking for a shared circumstance? Granted, I might not meet any like-minded, still I could at least experience something that looks remotely as serving Miss. So: thinking of shared circumstances… shared… like a shared house! Oh, I’m an expert on that. I’ve shared so many flats and houses in this city. Perhaps I might find the right flatmates to buddy up, and maybe even offer to keep the house clean for them in exchange for a discount on rent! Although no flatmate would likely have any interest in bossying about a servant, it could still be an ideal living arrangement.
Yeah, right. There is a only a minor problem with that: the average London shared house is, to put it mildly, a mess. The higher the rent, the more suitable the place for an elegant young lady; at that point though the rent is too high for me to possibly afford it, even in the extremely unlikely event that the flatmates agree on a discount in exchange for cleanings. Which simply means that I’m bound to share only with other poor girls like me. On top of that, I later learnt that students don’t pay countil tax, which means they only want to share with other students. Sigh. Nice try.

Ok, I still didn’t give up. I thought: if I cannot share a nice house with uni students or young professionals, is there another place where I can live and work for them? Students halls!
Right, I checked them out. They are usually mixed. There are only two or three upscale female houses, mainly run by nuns, and they have no live-in domestic staff. And please keep in mind, working as a live-in cleaner at a student hall would mean to totally give up the idea of any dedicated relationship with any particular young ladies. The relationship would be a cold work contract between me and the institution, with no accounts for inclinations, feelings, personal choices, anything human. It would simply be about selling my muscular effort in exchange for board and lodging and a little money: maybe not the most fulfilling way of living out my deferential feelings for Misses?
Perhaps, just perhaps, it might be a bit better if I could work for some sorority in the US. Too bad I can’t: I once spoke on the phone with one of the staff and he explained to me that they need to only employ locals, for some tax reason I don’t remember.
So I don’t need to wonder whether working at a student house could be a nice solution for me: there’s simply no way I can do that.

The other obvious venues for a live-in housekeeper, that is families and hotels, have clearly little to do with serving one or more young ladies, but I still had a go. In fact it was one of the first things I tried, along with the more personal search. Unsurprisingly, I soon found out that domestic placement agencies are only great if you are happy with any job that pays good money; if your focus is the person you want to work for, be prepared to be mistaken for an alien -what? you don’t care for salary and pay? You want to know your employers’ gender? Even their age? Why? -and on and on.
But it’s not just a matter of getting through impervious recruiters; there simply aren’t requests from young ladies anywhere. You have nannies for babies, aupairs for kids, housekeepers for adults and carers for the elderly. The young-adult age brake seems to be the only one that doesn’t require any help. That makes sense of course but I mean, not even one young lady in her early 20s who wants a cleaner for her flat?

As you see, even after several years I haven’t figured out yet how to go about my inclination, in spite of all the things I’ve tried and all the different approaches I’ve taken. Quite simply, it seems there is NO way to serve Miss. And yet, in my mind my ambition is so simple, so natural, so relatively easy to put into practice, that my total lack of success still amazes me. To me the issue is quite simple: in the same way as I feel inclined to serve elegant girls, there must be some elegant young ladies who are inclined to use a deferential servant, right? There is nothing new about it, it’s basic human feelings and age-old practice. It’s even the material of famous novels. Why have all my approaches failed?

~ o ~

Part 3: Why is Miss still missing?

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As I see it, there are only 2 possible answers. Either:

– absolutely no young ladies feel the need for a female servant, or:
– we simply have no way of getting in touch.

Which of the two? I wish I knew. However, the first answer seems implausible to me. For many different reasons. For example: I came across several ladies in their 30s and 40s who in fact would love a female servant, more out of personal fulfilment than actual necessity. While I can see why a younger lady will be more focused on studying and dating, I have no reason to believe that the desire of being served only originates after 30. It’s such a natural dynamic that it’s hard for me to conceive that there are no young ladies who would be all too happy to use a girl with my submissive attitude. I can’t tell whether there are any who feel this need strongly, but I’m sure there are at least a few who would gladly use a servant if given the chance.

So it seems to me that the right answer is the second one: we just have no ways of getting in touch.
I can see a few reasons for this. To start with, I’m pretty certain no young ladies ever actively look for a servant. Even if some of them may occasionally wish they had a special person at their beck and call, they likely dismiss the feeling as childish and unnecessary -or worse: politically incorrect!- and they probably think such a person would be impossible to find anyway: after all, one thing is to pay someone to mop your floors, another thing is to expect someone to be happy to serve and submit to you. So it’s likely that they don’t even try or, at most, they hire some anonymous live-out cleaner. This is until they have a baby, after which they might start employing nannies and aupairs and we are no longer talking about single young ladies but families.

Another obvious fact that prevents us from getting in touch is that I never attended university and quite simply I’m just a foreign lonely little thing in big London. I can’t think of any places or ways I may get to talk to elegant young ladies, who notoriously tend to stick to their own ilk. We may also add that Londoners aren’t universally known for their openness and friendliness (to initiate conversation with a stranger here is akin to criminal offence) and to get to know new people in this city is a challenge for everyone, let alone for a street urchin who aims to meet the privileged. Paradoxically, one of the traits I love in self-conscious English people -their, so to speak, superciliousness- is also one that makes it harder to get in touch with them.

If meeting in real life is a challenge, meeting online seems outright impossible. For such an aspiration there is simply nowhere to look or advertise: not the dating sites (as I’m clearly not looking for someone to kiss and have romantic dinners with), not the bdsm sites (I’m not looking for someone to tie me up and have kinky sex with), not the job sites (I’m looking for people, not for money), not the flatmate sites (I’m looking for people, not for a room!), not, not… oh gosh, just not. See, in dating sites, for example, the purpose of setting up a profile is obvious and everyone is looking for a partner. It’s easy. But how do you look for a classy young lady who could potentially be intrigued by a power exchange? How do you know? You just look for people you think you like and take it from there? Alright, suppose you find one on a social network. You either try to make friends and see what happens, postponing any reference to your aspiration, or you are openly yourself from the start and see the reaction. I’m sure you see the problems with both approaches. We all know what Facebook or Tumblr are about: people keep in touch with friends, show off pictures, share stories, but rarely end up making new real life connections. There is a level of mistrust when a complete stranger sends you a message, we women in particular are cautious and self-protective, and up to a point understandably so. The more you climb the social ladder, the more this applies. Add to this the physical distance: it’s all too well that a Canadian young lady loves Victorian tea parties, but are we actually ever going to organise one in person? And how about those intriguing profiles that don’t even indicate location, gender, or age, and leave you just guessing?
But let’s be optimistic and suppose there is a lovely Tumblr page by a classy Londoner I can actually see. Will Miss agree or even have time to join in conversation with a stranger just because we love the same style of elegance? Will Miss ever consider saying something beyond conventional chit chat? Will Miss believe and trust what I say? Well, you may make up your own mind on that, but I’ll give you a hint: no way. And can you imagine if I was as reckless as to offer my service straight away? No matter how like-minded Miss might be, the web is so full of creeps that I couldn’t possibly blame her for compulsively hitting the “block” button. Which leads me on to this very obvious point: online, you don’t really know who people are. How could you tell the difference between a pervert, a fantasist, a freak, and a just-slightly deranged girl who has been a cleaner also for a titled family, is toiling in a kitchen and has the unusual aspiration of serving a young lady (or ladies) she likes? Yes, I know: maybe you can tell the difference by many small signs. Or maybe you don’t bother.

In short: without real-life connections or opportunities to share time together, I’m finding it pretty impossible to get in touch with classy young ladies who obviously aren’t even looking out for a girl like me. The means at my disposal don’t seem to work, and frankly I wouldn’t know what to try next.

~ o ~

Part 4: Miss is missing out too

As sad as it is, by now I’m pretty much giving for granted that I will be forever missing Miss. Maybe my inclination would have more easily found an outlet in older times, or maybe not. What is certain is that today not even the power of the internet seems capable of matching my aspiration with that of such an elusive Miss.

Wait a minute: am I telling you that no refined ladies in their 20s seem intrigued by the idea of having a deferential girl do all their chores, cook the food they like, carry their bags, polish their shoes, fold their clothes, scent their pillow cases, dust their knick-knacks, serve them tea, comb their hair, deep-clean their oven, or assist them in any reasonable capacity just for the joy of interacting with them??
Yes.
I know, it’s unbelievable. And yet.

It may be argued that perhaps many Misses would love that but they live with their parents and their parents don’t need a domestic; or at a student hall, or with their boyfriends (which would imply serving a couple with likely sexual demands), or with flatmates who would never understand the need for a servant. And it’s all true. However, we need to consider that London is a city with lots and lots of educated young ladies, and many of them don’t get into a stable relationship until in their 30s. You are telling me that there are none in a position to share their place with a girl like me? Come on. And when you consider that for the right people I would seriously consider relocation anywhere, it appears more and more likely that the problem may only be the lack of ways to get in touch. Here we go: in 2017 there are still people who, despite smartphones and the internet, don’t manage to find each other. The web isn’t all-powerful, after all.

And isn’t it a pity? It’s totally shameful, if you ask me. I really believe that a self-conscious Miss and a girl with my attitude would be a match made in Heaven. For me, it would mean fulfilment. I’m not saying this out of imagination, I know it for a fact. Because on the rare occasions when I got even slightly close to serving a young lady I liked, I felt like, like… you know when you are so happy that you feel in peace and well-inclined towards everyone, even Jehovah’s witnesses? Right, that kind of happiness. When you feel you finally got into the place where you are supposed to be, and in your life everything is perfect. I get so happy that nothing matters any more, I become peaceful, patient, I forgive everyone and can only see the sun shining. I mean, even in London.

Conversely, you can easily imagine what it means for me to never being able to fulfil my inclination. There is a specific technical jargon for it: it sucks. My attitude towards Jehovah’s witnesses radically changes. Sure, I can still live without my dream. I suppose it’s like when you really want a child, you try every possible means to have one, and nothing works. You still live your life, even though the thing that would give it the purpose you’ve always wanted, the one you almost feel as if you were born for, is unattainable. It’s preposterous, you think it really is. Such delicate feelings never put to use. You know for a fact that you would find fulfilment, that no doubt you would add something valuable to Miss’s life, and… and it’s all wasted. Preposterous. Just that.

So, what can I say? I know that I miss Miss, I don’t know if Miss misses me, but I believe Miss is missing out too. Because there are ways of interacting with people who don’t fit the category of “friendship” or “love” or “work”, and where delicate, discreet human feelings can find their expression. To ignore, distrust, or dismiss such inclinations and feelings is to give up a valuable part of human experience, to miss out on opportunities, discoveries, emotions. It’s like giving up opening a treasure trunk because others are already open, and hey, there’s no clear lebel on it. In the same way as my deferential feelings open up a world to me, I believe they could be equally significant to a like-minded young lady. I obviously cannot be in the mind of the other side, but it seems to me that, for example, to find acceptance or even appreciation for traits that others may view as disagreeable (I’m thinking of all the times I hear complaints about snobbery, to name one) could be regarded as a gift. I don’t know how frequent it is to get anyone’s devotion outside of romantic relationships, that would seem to me as something of value too. Even for a pretty middle class lady who certainly gets a lot of attention and may sometimes wonder how much of it is genuine. And how about the fun of power exchange? I don’t know, the appeals of such interaction are so many and obvious to me that it even feels redundant to talk about them. However, as in all things, you need a jeweller to get the value of a gem. Anybody else may just dismiss it as a piece of plastic.

So here we go, my feelings eventually managed to get out. Nothing will change, I know, and yet it’s nice to tell the people out there -Hey! Have you ever heard about this? You’d be suprised! There are also girls with such inclinations, in this big unforgiving world. They have feelings, beautiful feelings. Can you see the poetry in all this?-
Whoever may be listening, in some corner of the world.

Razumov 10

Part 5: Dreamer or cynical? Neither, just realistic.

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01 May 2017

Did I say poetry? I mean, poetic feelings in modern world? I know, it’s like talking about a palm tree in Antarctica.
However, you would be mistaken to conclude that I live in a dream bubble, that I have unrealistic hopes.
See, precisely because I know such feelings are like a palm tree in Antarctica, I don’t expect to find any more of their kind magically pop out of the ice. I am fully aware that they are unique, and that they will always be ignored, misunderstood, underestimated, laughed at, and so on. To think that I might find some poetic young ladies who can relate to and appreciate my inner world is basically the same as believing that some day I may win the lottery.

My expectations are more based on reality, in fact they may even be more realistic than the common ones about finding love, empathy, endless passion and so forth. Let’s face it: we females rarely have it easy in getting along with each other. As sad as it is, we all know that our mutual feelings normally lie in the range of: envy, distrust, malevolence, indifference, contempt, avoidance, hypocritical tolerance, and so forth. Typically, during teenage years there is the exception of our besty, which is the intense emotional connection of two people who are growing and going through their hormonal changes and life discoveries together -while being nasty to everyone else. Once that is over and adult life starts, it’s extremely rare for women to bond or even get along with each other. I know, it’s a shame, but any social study and your personal experience will tell you it’s like that. You will hear endless stories of women complaining about the bitchiness of their collegues, all the while exhibiting the same bitchiness themselves, you will see them chatting together faking approval and then backstabbing each other. Men gather aplenty for games, drinks and all sorts of activities, whereas women groups are rare and sparse. Fundamentally, women don’t like each other. Most of them will tell you that they get better along with male friends. The fact that I don’t like this reality and that there are exceptions doesn’t prevent me from facing it for what it is.
Actually, to show you that my love for my own gender doesn’t make me blind, let me have some fun and make a list of some lovely traits we females are prone to.

#1. Women eternally expect attentions, as if each of them was owed everything for the sole reason of existing. I guess you guys have noticed, haven’t you? “You didn’t say hi to me! You only wrote two lines! You didn’t give me a Christmas card!” It this can be a consolation, they expect the same even from other women, trust me. But of course, not all of them. Personally I’m kind of shocked when someone does have some attention for me!

#2. Women spot every unpleasantness in everyone BUT themselves. Have you noticed that most of the times when they talk they are complaining about someone? It seems that their boss, mother-in-law, neighbour, and pretty much everybody else is plagued with all sorts of shortcomings. But they don’t question themselves, it’s always someone else’s fault. Typically they blame other people for doing the same things they do themselves: “You don’t listen to me! I don’t care what you are saying!”

#3. Women judge what is right and wrong, true and false from the top of their self-righteousness. Maybe because they get to be mums and teach their children how to behave, women believe that they stand on the moral high ground. But also towards fellow women! Their feelings are right, their choices are ethical, if you feel differently you are automatically blacklisted. Blacklisted? Ha! In their mind you become the equivalent of a child rapist and should be immediately expelled from society -actually: burned alive. You are very lucky if you come across one who has the intellectual honesty to realise that what she thinks is what she was taught or simply what she likes.

#4. Women are forever recalling incorrect and partial memories and quotes that suit them and discredit others. I’m quite sure husbands could write books on this. Not only a woman will never really forget or forgive someone else’s blunder, still recalling it years down the road; she will attribute to you words you never said, intentions you never had, things you never did. Needless to say, her version of what happened makes her the victim and you the attacker: she is nice and you are nasty, she is right and you are wrong. We go back to #2 and #3. Do I do this too? If I do, please burn me alive. But believe me, I know how excruciating it is to be incorrectly quoted and accused, and I seek the assistance of the gods to not inflict such unspeakable sadism on a fellow human.

#5. Women backstab you. Who doesn’t know that? It starts from early childhood and it’s a life-long strategy. Beeing not physically strong and caring too much for our nails and hairstyle to risk getting involved in actual violence, we prefer to hurt people in a less direct way, by plotting behind them and playing all sorts of dirty tricks. No doubts some are more experts than others in this, but coming across a woman who is nasty to you in an open way can be a challenge.

#6. Women are moody. Ok, we can’t help this. We know what that comes from.

#7. Women are childish. I admit this is a very broad and vague statement, but isn’t it true that it’s mostly us to flood the internet with cute kittens? Not that being childish is necessarily a bad thing, actually it can be super cute. It’s only a bit unsettling when as an adult you still live in Disney world and keep having fairy tale expectations about yourself, your partner, and the whole world. We should understand that a dolphin is a mammal capable of killing too, not a Disney character. That violence is inherent in life, not the fruit of evil meat-eaters who insist on having Sunday roast. But many women don’t. Nowadays especially. Sheltered from the inconveniences of life, they spend their adult life posting pet mugs on social networks and serving as mouthpieces for the politically correct fairy tales of our time. These delicate snowflakes, whose hydrated buttocks jump from the chair in the office to the chair at Starbucks to the seat of their car to the sun bed at the spa to their designer sofa at home, find a special delight in imparting life lessons to working-class street gangstas like me. I know, there are many spoilt men too. But men have an instinct for the violent reality of life. We tend to be more Disney. Unless we are street gangstas, that is.

#8. Women are greedy. Wait, wait, I know! Men are super greedy, just look at who controls the money in the world. But there’s a difference: men see money as something they have to fight to take from other people; women see money as something that other people have to tribute to them spontaneously. It’s related to #1: what a wonderful pretty creature I am -don’t I deserve to be spoilt just because I exist? That’s the attitude. I remember reading on one of those bdsm sites about a “mistress” looking for a “sub” assistant. She would expect him (or her!) to pay rent, pay tribute, provide own board and bills, work for her, drive her around, pay for petrol, be at her beck and call, and on and on. Is it funny? Nope, it’s hilarious.

#9. Women are passive. What do I mean by this? That we don’t usually take initiative in anything, apart from shopping trips. Again not necessarily bad, just the way we function. I will simply notice that it’s not passive people that make things happen. Nothing can work without taking some action, and this explains why nearly all the women groups I know of don’t last long or don’t do much. There is usually one or two leaders who strive and keep things going, until they grow fed up and the group disbands. But in noting this I am fully aware that passivity is in our nature and can only be reckoned with. I myself have to fight against it, and the motivation I find is that I don’t want to end up with regrets for not having dared enough. Many women don’t fight their passivity and, guess what, end up with regrets for not having dared enough. That serves them right.

#10. Women have less sense of humour. Ok I really shouldn’t write about this, given that I can’t take even myself seriously, but I would say I’m in the minority. You guys know that, if you can carelessly throw a joke at a male friend, you better ponder a dozen times whether and how to tell one to a woman. It must have to do with #2 and #3: women usually have such an idealised image of themselves and the world that you can’t even alter that perfect scheme for fun. And also a bit with #5: since they so often disguise their nasty feelings, they tend to wonder whether your joke is actually a subtle way of making fun of them.
Of course, with age it gets worse. Giggling teenagers are still able to enjoy spontaneous fun, but once they grow adult and their thirst of discovery is replaced with professional confidence, it’s over. But -you may argue- didn’t you say that women are childish? Yes! Interestingly enough, they manage to remain childish while losing their sense of humour. When they threaten you with legal action if you squash a bug, they are not joking: they really mean it. Their worldview is childish and unrealistic, but deadly serious. This is one of the reasons why I wouldn’t want to serve a lady over about 25. Because it’s nice to joke and to squash bugs without risking legal action.

#11. Women are easily offended, either by what you say or what you don’t, by what you do or what you don’t. If you say 9 nice things and one that is not so nice, that’s the only one they will pick up. If you do 9 nice things and forget one, that’s the only one they will notice. If you only say and do nice things, they will misinterpret at least one as not being nice. And if you try to clarify and explain the context, see #4. I know, it’s a trap with no rational solution. That’s why I don’t blame you guys if you shy away from discussing with women. Every word you say will be used against you. Trouble is, also those you don’t say. However, there are exceptions. Personally, I am not easily offended. And if you disagree, I’ll never speak to you again.

Ok, I think by now you can’t claim that I have an idealised image of refined young ladies. In fact, should some readers find the above funny list offensive, it would probably be them to lack a healthy dose of realism and self-irony. Oh, and just in case you wonder: I could make a much worse list about men.

But as you can see, I don’t expect a dream-land of empathy and ethereal love from other girls. My dream is not about that. As you know, I’m not looking for a girl friend or a partner. I would just like to serve Miss, or Misses.

What’s the difference? How does this make my expectations more realistic? Now it gets fun.

~ o ~

Part 6: Dream is closer from a distance.

Razumov 13

 

02 May, 2017

So you have this romantic old-fashioned soul who certainly knows how hard it is for women to get along with each other, and is acutely aware of the challenging traits that the feminine half of the world is prone to.
How can there still be scope for a fulfilling interaction with Miss?

Well, it’s quite simple: the kind of relationship I would like simply leaves those lovely traits out of the equation. They just don’t matter.

Haha, bingo! But how so?

Because, if you think about it, it’s almost always equals that fight each other. When people assume they are equal they end up dissenting, arguing, resenting, trying to prevail, and so forth. You fight with your boyfriend, your neighbour, your classmate, your collegue: because they are people like you, on your same level, and you have expectations and claims towards them.

On the contrary, when a pecking order is clear from the start, tension dissolves because it is assumed one has simply to obey. And you even put up with some abuse, unfairness and unpleasantness because it basically comes with the package. There is no room for fighting, roles are set and the parties know who has the last word.

Brilliant, isn’t it? Here we go! This is why the feminine mutual challenges don’t matter much when you have to serve a young lady: you are not equal, therefore you don’t discuss and you don’t fight.

I was puzzled a few times when I came across people looking for someone that in their mind would have been at the same time their friend, their lover, their girl-Friday, their slave… Wwwhat? Can you please explain to me how that could be possible? One would have to constantly switch between interaction modes, and that is simply the perfect recipy for misunderstanding, frustration, and even abuse. What kind of mental and emotional gymnastic is that?
Luckily, when roles are set things are much simpler.

I suspect the young ladies used to having servants have a clearer view on the subject. I once read Maria Baibakova’s advice on how to treat servants and, despite the hateful comments by the usual politically correct who don’t have a clue, I found most of it quite sensible. She basically advised to keep some distance, no matter how much you may like your servant, because getting too close may confuse the roles, with the result that the servant will feel less pressured to do her job properly.
And it’s true. Modern mentality generally abhors explicit inequality (except the inequality of bank accounts, that seems to be perfectly acceptable), so hypocrisy is preferred to honest statements like this. And yet, I am absolutely convinced that explicit inequality makes for happier and better relationships than the hypocritical we-are-all-equal pretence. And it’s much, much more fair. But more about this maybe later.

If I remember straight, there was only one point on which I would strongly disagree with Maria Baibakova: she advised that the ladies learn to do everything the servants do, in order to be self-sufficient and deny the servants any leverage -that is to say: if you don’t work, you’ll lose the job but I’m still alright. Frankly, if Miss had this kind of attitude I would lose any motivation in doing a job that she could do just as well. It would make me feel useless, redundant, with the result of making me work less, not more. Besides, the attitude of being self-sufficient shows mistrust and lack of appreciation for the servants’ hard work and feelings.
But about proper distance, the Russian lady was spot-on.

From my stand point as a servant, I wouldn’t want to get too close either: please, elegant young ladies, don’t reveal too much of yourself to me, or I might lose my deference and the appeal of serving you. Do you know those paintings that look wonderful, until you get too close and they start looking sketchy? Exactly: it could be something like that. Every thing has its ideal observation point, and every relationship its ideal distance.

It’s surely nice to get to know each other, but in getting too close we would inevitably blur the roles. No doubt you don’t tell your servants the same things you tell to your close friends.
For this reason, I tend to think it’s easier to be Miss and servant than to be close friends. It requires less intimacy and a lower level of chemistry. And it makes for a very fulfulling and enjoyable relationship. After all, unequals don’t fight.

~ o ~

A new name for an old lifestyle: Classic Lolitas!

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12 July, 2017

“Lolita”. While some associate such word to images of somewhat lascivious girls, the picture that I’ve had in my mind up to not long ago was that of Asian girls in over-the-top baby pink and kitten-print dresses mimicking anime characters. Something that, quite frankly, had prevented me from looking properly into the community.
More recently though I found out that, besides sweet, gothic, country, pirate and other substyles, there is also the “classic” Lolita one: that which basically revives the fashion of Victorian young girls (ruffly shirts, full skirts, headbows…) only shortening the skirts and adding some earlier or later pieces here and there.
I had to regret my former ignorance as the style looks really good! I love some classic Lolita outfits, because they are for the most part Victorian fashion revisited with fresh ideas.

Needless to say, only a fraction of Lolitas wear classic Lolita. Most go for the modern corruptions of Victorian style -either macabre, infantile, fantasy-like, or a mix thereof-, which are much closer to the imagery one nowadays absorbs from telly and pop stars.

But in discovering classic Lolitas, a question popped to my mind: would it be too far-fetched to assume that someone who likes dressing up in classic Lolita style is a refined type with an old-fashioned mindset?

At this point I would say, yes and no.

Yes, because there are many occasional Lolitas who just enjoy dressing up once in a while to have fun and show off some expensive outfit, with no connection whatsover to their hobbies and mentality. Believe it or not, there are girls with tattoos and piercings, who swear a lot, yet still like to dress up in ruffles and lace on occasion. The sight of a Lolita showing the middle finger isn’t uncommon, although it may look as improbable as a rapper who wears a tutu.

However, the assumption isn’t always far-fetched because there seem to exist a few classic Lolitas who not only enjoy dressing up, but whose reason for doing so is rooted in their desire for a more beautiful, feminine, respectable, refined way of life. Truly romantic, poetic types, so to speak.
According to a blog I recently came across:

“Classic Lolitas are generally more withdrawn from society, they prefer spending time in solitude, reading or embroidering, quietly, or perhaps having a small gathering with friends, sipping tea and eating cupcakes. Elegance and modesty are two words that best describe the over all Classic Lolita lifestyle. Other Classic Lolita activities may include reading classic literature, listening to or playing classical music, perhaps the great works of Chopin or Schubert, gazing at the rain falling down and daydreaming, sipping tea, a lot of tea, writing elegant letters with ink on antique papers, making a Victorian style scrapbook, collecting flowers and pressing them, later, in winter, cataloging pressed wildflowers, enjoying Victorian poetry in quiet evenings at home. When it comes to literature, a typical Classic Lolita reading list would include works written between 1600-1900. in Europe or North America, novels that are now considered classics but were scandalous for their time. Works of Bronte sisters, such as Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, works by Jane Austen, Frances Hodgson Burnette (The Secret Garden). If a Classic Lolita is in the mood for something more sentimental and romantic, she’d probably read Shakespeare’s or Lord Tennyson’s poetry, or Il Canzoniere (Song Book) by Petrarca. A Classic Lolita my also relish reading The Lord of the Rings for example, there are no limits as long as things stay refined. Classic Lolita may also be interested in Pagan history, nature, tea culture, biographies of Victorian era women, art in general, calligraphy, a little bit of history, different cultures, dolls, scrapbooks, painting or writing stories, baking old fashioned dishes, collecting antiques and vivifying the atmosphere of Victorian era.”

When I read this, my jaw dropped. It’s basically the description of the refined young ladies I have always pictured in my mind. With the difference that I simply call such types “refined young ladies”, whereas some now call them “classic Lolitas”. Whichever label you prefer, this is the stuff I’ve been talking about.

So, while it’s not necessarily true that a liking of ruffly dresses indicates a refined disposition, for a small minority that’s actually the case.
How small is such minority? I’m trying to find out. Quite small, I reckon. Still, it’s certainly worth exploring classic Lolitas. Yesterday I emailed the mysterious young lady who authored the blog, in the hope of establishing some contact. And I’ve been talking for a while with a Lolita who has a passion for period clothes and is indeed a refined young lady. Sadly, her prevalent experience with Lolitas is of shallow, modern, swearing girls who simply enjoy dressing up at meet ups. No surprise. As the author of the blog says, “Classic Lolitas are generally more withdrawn from society, they prefer spending time in solitude”. I can see why. With modern world being what it is, detachment is natural. Hopefully some classic Lolitas still boldly navigate the perilous waters of the modern world wide web.

~ o ~

So, does Miss actually exist?

New year, new room, good old question. After these winter months, my thoughts seem to be up again on the issue, and this time they are suggesting a new answer.
That is to say, I’m changing my mind. I used to think that my failure to find Miss or Misses is because we lack ways of getting in touch. But now, I start seriously doubting that any such Miss actually exists.

It is a gut feeling, mainly due to a very simple fact. See, I used to wonder how to tell if someone might be Miss. That is, how I could spot the interest and traits that are necessary for this kind of relationship. I then realised the answer is very simple: if we ever come across each other, we will know. I, for certain, will spot the personality from her face and demeanour, and Miss will do the same. I will notice her poise and her dignity, and she will see I notice. Just by looking at each other we will know if there is liking and interest.

So the simple fact is: I have never met such young lady.
Let me be more precise.

First of all, elegance. There really are soo few elegant young ladies out there. Blue jeans reign supreme, along with hoodies, foul language and slouching. If the XVIII and XIX centuries might well be dubbed the age of elegance, ours is no doubt the age of sloppiness. It’s an age when people no longer know what dignity and self-respect is, along with respect for others. The idea of beauty now entails lips that resemble a hot dog, tattered jeans that an Indian street child would be ashamed to wear, and the unmissable trainers.
Of course, fashion is the outer expression of a mentality that considers not just acceptable, but even desirable, to swear and reject any poise as boring and inappropriate.
This was openly shared with me by the daughter of one of my former landlords: a 20 year old lady who studies at Cambridge and is convinced that swearing shows that one has character and is “cool”. It’s not only her opinion, it’s what all her friends believe. To them, the crisp, elegant received pronounciation is a sort of stigma. She even got to the point to believe that Victorian houses must be bad by association, because the Victorian times were an age of oppression, colonialism, and so forth. Reality and logic hold no place in the thoughts of these privileged Cambridge students, it’s all about the simple: “new is cool, old is boo”. No wonder you then have students from rich families who take drugs and behave and dress like ghetto scoundrels.

This is apparent in the school where I work too. Being it a highschool, most students mercifully wear a uniform. But the sixth formers don’t. When I bring them lunch, I usually find them slouching on the coach with their feet in the air, often swearing or listening to loud rap music. Other times they are slouching directly on the floor, in a sort of hippy camping, always in their hoodies and tracksuits.
This is it: and that’s the daugthers of the privileged families who can afford one of the most exclusive private schools in London. To be honest, whenever I have to climb up there I wonder whether it’s worth keeping that job.
On one occasion, the students were being taught some martial art by a young man. Now, leaving aside any thoughts on how feminity and grace can be possibly enhanced by kicking and punching, my point is that the young man was teaching them to shout the “f” word to give a move more momentum. “Three, two, one, f***! Three, two, one, f***!” That was it, the whole 6th Form in unison. Until the gods took pity and sent a teacher to ask the young man to keep it proper -suggestion that the young man seemed to take somewhat scornfully.

Now, could the students be blamed for the amount of televised trash they have absorbed since birth, for the myriads of messages that continously target them and tell them to be vulgar, and for attending a school where even the occasional contract teacher instructs them to swear? Obviously not. Today’s youth are just what they are meant to be: the honest mirror of an age where elegance is not just forgotten, it’s actively destroyed and prevented.

With this in mind, I must admit it would be surprising, to say the least, to come across a young lady who retains ladylike manners and outlook. To achieve that, one would have to go against the stream on purpose, while overcoming a tremendous peer pressure and any inevitable feeling of enstrangement and inadequacy. It would truly require a great deal of understanding and self determination, which clearly one cannot expect to find very often, or to find at all.
In fact, in this light my own love for elegance is truly surprising, and I don’t have an explanation for it. Granted, I love elegance but I’m not elegant myself. Still, I must admit that I’ve never slouched on my school’s floor with my feet in the air.

So, elegance is a rare occurrence nowadays, and among the under 25s it becomes a trace element.
Things get worse when you consider that the lack of elegance is strictly correlated to the fantastic belief that we are all equal. And hey, in a way today we really are. Sure bank accounts may feature much more or much less figures, but in the end we all wear hoodies, listen to the same songs and speak in the same way. The refined ways of the upper class have been flattened to Cockney level, or rather Congo level.

Which takes us to the second point: the mindset that can conceive and even desire a Miss/servant dynamic. If what is taught and instilled today is that we are all supposed to be equal, and that anyone can become more important by robbing accumulating money, is there any space left for the feeling of belonging to a different class, which is the basis for a Miss/servant dynamic?
Clearly not. The distinction between rich and poor is not a class distinction. It’s merely an accident, one that is furthermore to be concealed, mitigated, played down to avoid any feeling of unfairness and resentment and carry on with the pretence that we are all equal. To place an accent on or to be proud of one’s privilege is now an extremely unpopular thing to do, one that would be straight into face of the hypocritical political correctness of our times.

To sum it up, not only could Miss only be someone who pursues elegance in spite of all modern trends, but she would even be aware and proud of her class privilege in spite of modern hypocrisy. No doubt a truly remarkable personality, of clear understanding and strong will. How likely? You decide for yourself.

And it’s not finished. On top of such traits, Miss and I could obviously connect only if we liked each other. No doubt you see why my thoughts have taken a pessimistic turn.

As I said, I have never met such young lady. The elegant ones I see tend to be over 25, and probably dress relatively smart only because they have to adhere to business dresscode. A better opportunity to see people’s true fashion sense is at weekends, during their shopping or dining trips. Even better in summertime, when T-shirts make it so easy to look cheap. In fact I’ve done the experiment by walking on King’s Road in July, and the results were, well, dismal. Let’s face it: elegance is dead.
But even on the rare occasions when I have seen a classy young lady, somehow I could tell she wasn’t Miss. I haven’t seen the poise, the glance, the demeanour of Miss. Perhaps not by chance, those rare young ladies have never noticed me. I can tell their thoughts are far away, they have no interest in a servant. It cannot click.

My thought now goes to the young lady I met in San Francisco’s Nob Hill years ago on my American adventure. I had arrived at the guesthouse where I was supposed to help the landlady keep the place clean. The young lady was the only guest at the moment, a 23 year design student from Colorado. It was her to open the door, and my heart throbbed. Gosh, how pretty she was. Red hair and cute face, like in my dreams. And yes she was privileged. Spoilt, used to getting her way and impatient to wait, according to the landlady. She even liked the beautiful arpeggios of Chopin’s music. Something that I found terribly sweet, she was pretty unable to look after herself for food and daily necessities. What a darling. One evening I even made dinner for her in the best way I could, with the food she liked and the table set in the grandest way. She was pleasantly surprised. I guess I don’t need to tell you what I made of her offer to wash the dishes. Because, yes, she sadly offered to help. She was so sweet and friendly.

In fact, in the few weeks I spent there it became apparent to me she couldn’t be Miss. Her mindset was so far from having a servant. And her deportment, well, a bit American. But it was a nice try, and I should probably regret not having stayed longer. See, I was 18, and still had a magical view of my dream. I wasn’t ready to content myself with the crumbs.

Anyway you get the gist: even when you do find a bit of elegance, the mindset is not there, and the personality is not there.

So, how about my last endeavour on planet Lolita?
Well, the same conclusion holds true: apart from the fact that Lolita fashion and elegance are rarely synonims, and that at best it’s usually a sporadic kind of elegance that doesn’t invest daily life, the mindset of most Lolitas seems to be up to date with modern trends, and their personality far from Miss’s. That explains why my posts on groups of thousands of Lolitas haven’t got any interest: there isn’t any. They are not Misses. It cannot click.

The mysterious author of the blog I quoted on my previous post, as expected, didn’t reply to any of my emails. If she received them, any comment is redundant. If not, it’s pointless for her to post contact details on her website. This is precisely why I no longer waste my time writing to this or that online user.
Besides, a friend of mine who is a world authority on Tumblr, as she spends inordinate amounts of time on it, tells me that she’s never come across any elegant bloggers. No surprise, of course. And another friend of mine who knows many Lolitas tells a similar story.

So, no elegant young ladies on Tumblr, not on Kings Road, not at my school, not in Lolita groups… seems like there aren’t that many anywhere.
With elegance, the quintessential trait of Miss, being so incredibly rare, to assume that there is somewhere a young lady who is not only elegant but also has no problem with inequality and would like to have a servant, is like betting on the existence of aliens. Sure aliens might exist somewhere in the universe, but to expect to come across any would be a tad far-fetched.

So this is it: after all my attempts, my encounters, my investigations, I’ve come to the conclusion that Miss most probably doesn’t exist. It matters little that there might be one, two, or a dozen in the whole world: I will never meet them anyway.

It is of course a very hard bite to swallow; nonetheless there’s nothing else I can do. Sure the door for Miss will be kept open, but I won’t be checking every other minute. There is no room in modern world for things like class, poetry, discreet feelings. Everything must be debased and vulgar. Today’s girls are after smartphone chats, torn jeans, martial arts, monkey dances… they sure have no time for servants, nor can they remotely see the appeal of such dynamics. Playing the piano, reading classical literature? Ha! Marijuana socials replaced all that long ago. Pride in their heritage and education? You must be kidding -going rough in East End clubs is the cool thing now. And it’s no consolation that modern society will soon crash, as any falling plane is bound to do.

It seems like the only thing I’m left with is to wonder why I was born in this century, or why I was given an inclination that I have no way of fulfilling. And I guess the answer is simply: shit happens.

But, you know what? I won’t ditch my dream. You keep your ragged jeans and marijuana, you cool girls. And I’ll keep my feelings.

Vladimir Gusev 3

A submissive who dislikes BDSM? Precisely, and for many reasons.

As you know from “Part 2: a search with many approaches”, one of the ways I have explored on my quest to connect with like-minded young ladies is BDSM. After all, my submissive feelings could neatly match with similar dominant feelings, so the “D/s” at the centre of the acronym (which stand for Dominance/submission, in case you wonder) would seem to be a very appropriate way to go.

As promising as the literal meaning of BDSM may sound, the practice of it in the real world turns out to have very little to do with my submissive feelings and aspirations. Today I would like to expand a bit on this and illustrate why and how I intensely dislike the actual BDSM world. No need to worry about crude content, as I’ve always wanted to spare that to myself as well.

The first big issue is that, despite what people will tell you, BDSM is very very much about sex. Many will explain to you that BDSM in its essence doesn’t require sex at all, and no doubt they are right, yet wherever you look and whoever you come across in that world, you will see and hear about sex all the time. It makes perfect sense, because the vast majority of people are sexual, they relish physical contact and BDSM is for them a way to spice up their normal sexual life. They may call themselves master and slave, but in reality they are usually boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife who engage in some extra fun. So, one thing is the theory of non-sexual BDSM, another is what actually happens in practice.

The fact that sex does happen to be at the heart of BDSM has obvious implications for me: I am not interested in sex, so I can’t possibly find anyone interested in non-sexual D/s among people who want sex and need it. Similarly, if BDSM mostly happens within a relationship it’s next to impossible to find someone interested in D/s outside of a relationship. Indeed several times you find women who say they would play only if their boyfriend was involved. This typically means that it’s actually her boyfriend who wants to play with you, but even in the best case it shows that BDSM is definitely experienced as a couple thing, as a form of fun to be enjoyed in the context of a sexual relationship.

Most interestingly, even in the rare cases when BDSM isn’t sexual, it’s still very physical. You even have asexual people who list their interests in the usual range of: ropes, whips, slaps, tingle, wax, and all sorts of things that produce a sensation on one’s skin. I don’t know how you feel about this, but I find it quite disconcerting: I mean, if even my fellow asexual people, who by definition experience no physical attraction, still describe their BDSM interest as bodily sensations, what about the personal chemistry, the emotional connection? Human feelings, anybody?

So it seems that the general practice of BDSM revolves all around the body, with or without sex. If you enjoy much more the verbal interaction, the emotional aspect of submission, you are apparently going to feel very lonely among those folks. As anywhere else, at that.

The second major issue with BDSM is its aesthetics. Oh gosh, don’t let me started. So, you dress up like a vampire who argued with her hairdresser, and expect me to take you seriously? Did you fall under a lawnmower? Is your hair feeling blue today? Goodness me. And what’s with that black lipstick? The assorted pieces of metal dangling off your body? The tacky tattooes, the leather, the fitting latex, the thigh-high boots, the grotesquely skimpy maid uniforms? I guess I don’t need to tell you that I find all that so-called “fetish” gear incredibly gross and ridiculous. Why would anybody want to dress like that is to me a complete mystery.
In fact, why would anyone need a specially designed outfit to dominate or submit to someone is a mystery to me. Sure dress is important for the role, but aren’t there any normal dresses that fit the bill?
The fact that your average BDSM practitioner will reply “no” to such question is illustrated by the dress code enforced at events, which, at the very least, makes sure to specify that business attire and smart dress are NOT acceptable. “Kinksters” find them boring, unappealing. Any more prove needed that BDSM fashion tastes are the specular opposite to mine? Of course the literal definition of BDSM doesn’t imply any dress code, yet this is the standard practice everywhere. So, again a great discrepancy between theory and practice.

I find it interesting that the darkness and ugliness of such attire reflects the concept of BDSM as something dark, deviant, sinful. The references to Christian hell are plentiful, the whole thing is seen as a subversion, a deviation from the norm. Darkness and dungeons are the usual backgrounds of such activities, like they were something that must be essentially hidden. The dress code must be outrageous because BDSM is supposed to be a rebellion. A dominant woman (in jargon called a “domme”) must show in her attire and vocabulary how tough she is, lest she looks like a proper young lady of good taste. In fact the standard assumption of BDSM is that if you look cute and clean and don’t swear you must be a submissive.
Well, if you have read this blog before I don’t need to tell you that this outlook couldn’t be further from mine. I just wonder, why is being vulgar supposed to show one’s confidence, and being proper considered as a sign of submissiveness? Perhaps because self-restraint is so rarely practised today that people forgot how strong one has to be to exert it? Perhaps. Why is the natural hierarchy between humans, the desire to dominate and submit considered dark, deviant, sinful? Perhaps because we live in a hypocritical politically correct society? Perhaps. Why do so many people in BDSM endeavour to look ugly, ill and sad, instead of cute, healthy and happy? This one is a mystery to me.

A third big problem I have with BDSM is that the activities those folks engage in seem to me, um, slightly extreme. Call me particular but wearing a gas mask, being tied to a cross or sleeping in a cage, to name but a few, are things that I would consider, well, a tad over the top.
It’s been said that BDSM is an addiction which as it progresses requires higher and higher doses, and I have no clue on whether this is true. What I know is that things work quite differently for me: the more extreme the activity, the less appealing. How can you find emotionally fulfilling something that has become ridiculous, vulgar, insane? Unsurprisingly, though, your average BDSM practitioner will find my idea of submission bland and childish, in fact totally uninteresting. “No sex? No being tied up like a salami? No functioning like an ashtray? Gee, what’s there to enjoy then?” Yes mate, that’s precisely why I am not part of your “kinky” world.

It seems to me that you can appreciate a perfume better if it doesn’t perforate your nose, that a word sounds better if it’s not shouted. Where’s the good taste, the sense of measure? I was once remarked on this that the concept of measure is an alien one to BDSM practitioners, that self-restraint is the opposite of their spirit. I don’t know, but it looks so. Sure the “kinksters” are supposed to negotiate their limits, but it’s a negotiation between lovers of the extremes. Their activities even require a safe word to be set, and I think this fact alone says it all.

As extreme as the nature of BDSM activities may be, the expectations behind them are often even more so. If you read the profiles of dominants, you will find that most of them aim to acquire full control of the submissive’s life: that includes every item of clothing they wear, the food they eat, the words they use and how they speak, and even when they are allowed the loo. Er… excuse me?

It’s like when they offer you a position and say they would expect you to serve them naked all the time. Sure very realistic, very sensible, very safe: do you know of any housekeeper who doesn’t make fries in her birthday’s suit? But even if it was feasible, I wonder: what kind of mentality makes these people think that they would want to see a naked person around 24/7? Would they not get bored? Don’t they suspect they might tire of relentless stimulus? Not to mention the extremely bad taste that such offers entail, of course. Now, would you say that such expectations denote a well-balanced, empathetic, trustworthy personality? Exactly. If someone can even conceive of such offers, they are most definitely not my type of person.

The fourth issue I have with BDSM is the manners displayed on dedicated websites, or rather lack thereof. I have never found any other place where people insult each other with such consistency. For many dominants in particular, BDSM seems like a licence to act in an exceedingly rude and vulgar manner and to diminish, insult, attack or threaten everyone else. I’m quite confident the gangs of Los Angeles exercise more self-restraint than your average BDSM online dominant.
So it’s not usually the kind of people you can have a meaningful conversation with. But if you are curious about the combined effects of alcohol, drugs, unresolved conflicts, anonimity, pornography consumption, etc. on human character, those websites makes for a neat study experience. They seem to attract types that are a bit problematic, so to speak.
Granted, most of the times you are talking to men pretending to be women, and exactly at the time when their brains are somewhat deprived of blood. However, even certified women are often as challenging as a human can be. You will rarely encounter anybody as self-righteous, unreasonable, demanding, entitled, judgemental and narcissistic as some of the women who call themselves “dommes” or “mistresses”. If they are not interested in what you offer, they’ll say you are worthless. If they don’t understand what you explain, they’ll say you are stupid. If you don’t annihilate yourself for them, they’ll say you are selfish.
That’s about it. Enough to understand that if you are looking for someone who can talk and reason as you would expect from a human, you are probably better off somewhere else.

A fifth issue with BDSM is some of its conventions. For example, collars. I never really understood why the BDSM crowd make such a fuss about wearing a collar. I mean, do you need a physical piece of evidence to remind you that you are submissive, or that you “own” one? Apparently so, because every submissive you see is wearing one. Personally I dislike and reject the concept of collars with all my mind and flesh. Dogs wear collars, not humans. To expect a person to wear a collar 24/7 is to consider that person like a dog, plain and simple. In fact, even dogs often only wear a collar when they are taken for a walk: should dog owners then feel dispossessed when they take their collar off their dogs? It’s all so ridiculous. I really don’t know or understand why that piece of metal is considered such an indispensable part of BDSM relationships, but I can see a pattern here: the dehumanisation of submissives. If you can conceive to use a submissive as a piece of furniture or a toy, permanent collars will sure make perfect sense to you. And that again tells you a lot about the ideal behind such extremes: quite simply, to live below human level. Oh well, if that’s what they want…
On the other hand, if you prefer to be regarded and treated as a full human being, as I personally tend to, you may have a hard time in finding a dominant who acknowledges you as such. As a standard you are expected to wear a collar, and that automatically lowers your level to that of a captive dog, no matter what they tell you.

Of course there are many more insufferable BDSM conventions, like the puzzling belief that a dominant should be trained in being such. Pardon me, I thought dominance and submissiveness were innate traits? I, for one, have always had submissive feelings. It’s like any other personality trait: you are to some extent born with it or developed it in the early stages of your life. So what does “experienced dominant” exactly mean? Maybe that they are skilled at using the floggers? Possibly. See, I give to such physicalities so little importance that I don’t see why one would boast experience in being a dominant. Then again, I can see why that is a good thing when your highest ambition as a submissive is simply to be flogged red.
Luckily enough, the traits that matter to me don’t need BDSM workshops. Even though, why not, I could do with some “certified snobbery”.

A sixth issue I have with BDSM is that it’s a male world. By that I not only mean that men are the vast majority on any dedicated websites, at events and munches, but that the whole culture of BDSM is a male thing. I already hear the screams of the so called “mistresses” calling me names, and yet it’s a fact: standard BDSM is a product of male fantasies. The imagery, the concept, everything. Do you think it’s a coincidence that red and black, the two basic colours of standard BDSM gear, are the ones that men prefer for women’s clothing? It’s quite clear that everything you see on those websites or clubs is the product of male imagination.
The traits associated with a “mistress” are most certainly no exception: no woman in her wits would ever think of herself as a whip-lashing, latex-clad tigress who goes about chaining people. Mistresses are simply the embodiment of male dreams, and they could be nothing else if they want to work as professionals or be desirable BDSM partners. The pleasure they might derive from embodying male dreams obviously comes from the feeling of being desired and having men at their feet. Women tend to be passive creatures so they are used to conform to men’s expectations. In the past, when men wanted them to be good wives and mothers, they were. Now that men prefer adventurous girls and latex-clad mistresses, they are. Simple. In fact, possibly never before had women so well conformed to men’s desires: see, while being a good wife and mother is also an essential feminine desire, being a whipping fantasy character is not. In other words, the supposed female-suprematist “femdommes” are the women who better submit to men’s desires. Isn’t it a paradox? Well, we know, it’s all a pretence for money.

That is not to say, though, that all and any aspects of BDSM are exclusively manly. It’s not that dominance or violence do not exist in the feminine world. To some extent they do, but in very different, much more subtle forms. And this is one more reason why I don’t like the BDSM I see around: because it’s absolutely dominated by male fantasies, by the male version of it.
And it couldn’t be any different. For sure women wouldn’t make of their own power dynamics a public business, we just live our lives as they come, so don’t expect any female version of BDSM to come into view at any time. It’s exactly the same reason why in London there are tons of gay bars but only one for lesbians and it’s still small and deserted. It just works this way, we keep our business for ourselves.

There is a seventh issue that is a not so fundamental but still interesting: the completely different motivation that “kinksters” have for their dominance or submissiveness. You will read dominants claim that they are prettier, bustier, slimmer, cleverer, more worthy or generally better than you, or who will call submissives useless, pathetic, etc. without apparent reason. You will even see dominance based on racial differences. But the one that makes the most sense to me, based on class, is just not mentioned.
In fact, in the BDSM world you find a lot of working class people trying to impersonate the high class, and some high class wanting to experience fantasy slavery. It makes sense. In essence, BDSM is fantasy. It’s a way for people to escape their lives and social condition. As a working class submissive, I must be a sort of exception. And this discrepancy is an issue because we are comparing real dominance (meaning the privilege of a high social position) with the fantasy of bossying about someone who voluntarily submits to you for fun. That wouldn’t work for me. My submissive feelings, as you know, come from admiration for the elegance of the upper class. That cannot be faked. One more reason BDSM is not for me.

Lastly, issue number eight: BDSM meeting tools are a pain. Even entusiastic “kinksters” complain about it: the websites are absolutely infested with fakes and the largest of them, Fetlife, doesn’t even provide a search option, forcing you to browse among explicit images and tire your eyes on a silly black background. The fact that websites like that are so popular with “kinksters” couldn’t prove more clearly that I am not a kinkster.

To sum it up, regardless of its literal definition, actual BDSM is: very sexual, very physical, mostly for couples, grotesquely ugly and ridiculous, extreme, dehumanising, pedantic in its conventions, male-derived and dominated, detached from class, and unpleasant to navigate. Some of the above are facts, some are my feelings about it. Clearly many people find BDSM enjoyable, it’s just not for me.
I hope you guys will take no offence that I’m not involved with your male version of power exchange. You have your girlfriends, models or professional mistresses to enjoy it with.

The question remains open: how do people who don’t want sex, romance, bizarre attire, extreme practices but enjoy the emotional side of D/s, elegance and class meet? Oh, silly me: I forgot I’m the only one.

Sargent the-misses-vickers

The dismal failure of online meeting

As you know from my earlier posts, my search for Miss has made me explore a multitude of online meeting venues that sounded promising from a variety of angles. Today I would like to give updates and further examples of why online meeting is a dismal fraud failure in general, and even more so when the aim isn’t a connection that involves men in one way or the other.
I refer to online “meeting” rather than “dating” because I’m talking about any online platform that aims at making people connect on a personal level, including friendship and platonic partnership.

First of all let’s clear the field from the obvious objection. You will hear many people claim that online meeting is actually great and thanks to it they found their spouse or significant other and lived happily thereafter. Curiously enough, the people who tell you such inspiring stories are usually the meeting companies themselves. Sort of Big Pharma assuring you that drugs work miracles: oh, sure I’ll believe that. Nonetheless it’s obvious that, in a database of millions of users, statistically speaking there must be some genuine success stories. But upholding such stories as the norm is almost like claiming that the lottery is an established means for people to get rich: sure the few winners will confirm this, but the zillions of lottery buyers who waste their money at regular intervals will tell you a different story.

So the point is, how many people actually found the person they were seeking online?
For a more realistic answer to this question, I now and then entertain myself with statistical articles on the subject, and put their data together with my own direct observations. YouTubers can be a useful resource too. If you have been looking in vain for your match online and wonder whether your are alone in such misfortune, you may want to listen to the rants of the countless people, men and women alike, who have given up online meeting because it simply sucks.
Another measure may be given by the number of inactive profiles you find on any meeting site, which is usually massive. I’d love to think that the inactive users are people who happily found their matches, but sadly it’s way more often people who signed up, had a quick look around, grew discouraged, and no longer log in. Other times it’s people who signed up, had a thourough look around, grew discouraged, and no longer log in. In contrast, you have users who have been there for years and are still looking. What do these observations tell you?

I seriously had the experience of re-joining websites I had left after a few years, and of finding the very same users still looking for the same thing! I don’t know how you feel about this, but it saddens me a bit. That so many people cannot find a match, and that they feel stuck in looking for it on improbabile online venues, is, in my eyes, a proof that we live in the times of loneliness and despair. My take is that modern society is incapable of connecting people, but what is certain is that for the great majority online meeting does not work.

You may contend: so why do millions of people use it then?

Well, for various reasons. First of all, for the very reason that it doesn’t work. Match-seekers may try out Tinder, get frustrated and move to OKCupid, get frustrated and move to PlentyOfFish, get frustrated and move to Match.com… until they understand that no website or app will work. A bit like people with ailments, forever trying out a new drug until they realise no drug can solve their problem. The zillions of new users boasted by website owners and drug producers alike are simply the nomadic masses that keep falling for new traps because the previous one didn’t deliver.

People also use online meeting because it’s easy. Rather than coming up with some creativity and investing energies in some pragmatic way of meeting people, it’s way more convenient to slap a picture online and browse the pictures of others, in the fantastic belief that making friends, playpartners or significant others online won’t be as challenging and problematic as it is offline. In other words, online match-seekers think that the same strangers who studiously and invariably ignore them on the street will suddenly become affable and approachable dates and confidants once safely behind the screen. As if it was two separate sets of people.
Seriously, doesn’t that sound like a form of delusion, of detachment from reality, to you? It does to me, as well as a form of disdain or incapability to deal with fellow humans in flesh. There can be no doubt that online meeting tends to attract people who are either extremely shy, intractable, or otherwise incapacitated at making human contact. Or who just hope to arrange a quick fix. What a promising pool!

Nonetheless, some people see online meeting as their only option because they live in the middle of nowhere, or are disabled, or have other impediments. Or they are part of a tiny minority with slim prospects to meet in real life, like asexuals.

So you have quite powerful reasons that explain why online meeting is popular. Most definitely not because it works, but rather because it doesn’t, it’s easy, it saves from exposure, and some people feel they have no other choice.

Needless to say, though, when the drug that was supposed to cure you doesn’t work, the drug producer will blame you for not following the instructions scrupolously, and the same objection of course applies to online meeting. The site owners will say that if you are not successful it’s because you didn’t upload a picture, or you didn’t upload the right picture, or you didn’t write a text, or you didn’t write a catchy text, or you are too passive and don’t make the effort, or you can’t hold a conversation, and on and on. In a matter as complex and varied as human interaction, there’s obviously endless shortcomings to blame on the user, in contrast with the supposedly astounding features offered by the website.
It also goes without saying that, according to the site’s owner, your chances will dramatically increase if you invest your hard-earned money into an upgraded membership.

As a person who has spent a good deal of time exploring a variety of meeting websites and apps, I can professionally and safely assure you that they don’t work no matter what you do or what you don’t. I’ve tried uploading pictures, or going without; writing capsule-profiles, or long essays; using creativity, or simple facts; messaging a lot, messaging a little, or not at all: it doesn’t make the least bit of difference.

The ineffectiveness of online meeting is due to both the terrible way such venues are conceived and the terrible way they are used.
The awkwardness of sending an intriguing message to a static picture, for example, is due to the unnatural ways the venues are built, but made even worse by the unrealistic expectations most users have in regard to messages.

Just look at how some users (always women) explain why they don’t reply to most messages they receive. Who do you think they think is at fault: they or the senders? Well, invariably the senders of course. See, once such women have set up a scant profile with a couple of shots, they truly believe their job is over, that they’ve already given away too much of themselves to the world, and that all they now have to do is sit on top of the hill and laugh at the people who try, with more or less effort, to climb up and get in touch with them. They automatically wear the judge’s robe and set off to mock every request they get, with the same sarcastic anticipation of the jury of a talent show: comfortably sitting behind the desk in a position of power, holding in their hands the fate of the nervous candidates who strive by every means to get their attention and approval.
So the reasons they usually provide for ignoring messages are as follows.
First of all, this grand jury doesn’t like “one liners”. They keep complaining about the numbers of “hi, how are you?’s” they get, and say that it’s lame. Well, ok, I suppose it’s true that the sender could do better. They are right in saying that such a sparse approach shows lack of creativity, and possibly that the sender just applies carpet messaging techniques until someone replies. And yet, isn’t “hi, how are you?” the way people usually greet each other out there? Isn’t it a common approach as well? I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been approached in real life by a bloke who offered remarks on Shakespeare’s writings, the stock market, or the amazing properties of cranberry juice.

I mean, come on! At least these people who send a “hi, how are you?” have the guts to contact you, even after considering what an ordeal it is to impress shallow bitches like yourselves. In contrast you don’t write to anyone, so what’s there for you to judge and be so demanding? Plus, a simple greeting is polite and discreet, it works as a “I’m here” signal to draw your attention to the sender’s profile. Oh, sorry, I forgot you are way too lazy to check out other people’s profiles. Of course you expect to be fed with a silver spoon every bit of info.
Well but in fact, some senders are so terrified of being called “dumb one-liners” that they resort to writing whole essays when they message online women. And then, guess what? Online women complain the messages are too long, that there’s no need to write so much for an introduction, that it’s a spoiler, that it takes too much time and effort to read, and on and on. OK, true. One obviously could see it from the other point of view though: that you brats are too lazy and uninterested to spend more than a few seconds reading a message, and that you magically expect it to be exactly how you expect it.

So: not too short, not too long. But wait, there’s plenty more. If it’s sexual, these angelic prudish creatures who often post shots of their clivage or tongue, and clearly state that they are looking for hookups, complain that the men who send direct proposals are jerks and total losers. Granted: I don’t know if there are any girls out there who enjoy getting explicit messages from men as an introduction; I certainly don’t. But then, if you dating ladies are so pure and virginal, why not make an effort to convey that impression with the pictures you post, the words you write, the vibe you give off? You are on a dating site (which mostly translates as hookups site), so you are telling men that you are available, often even for non monogamous sex. Complete that with clivage pics, and then you complain that men send sexual messages??

Conversely, if someone sends a totally platonic message that steers clear of direct proposals, the verdict of the jury is: “how boooring!” Yes, because these types who post their faces (or something else) on the dating sites are desperate for some thrill, some excitement, so they expect something that will surprise and impress them. You may reckon their lives are indeed so boring that they rely on an online stranger to come up with some astonishing message that will leave them captivated and ferry them to magic land. Needless to say, it’s up to the sender to guess what will surprise and intrigue these bitches, who often don’t give a clue other than an enigmatic gaze or a moronic smile.

It’s not over, of course. If you write something they mentioned on their profiles, they will say that was too easy, you need to be more original. If you don’t write anything they mentioned on their profiles, they will assume you didn’t read it as scrupolously as they never read yours, and take so much offence that you will be likely banned from contact.

Honestly, guys, I don’t know how you can cope with dating sites. I see many of you complaining that online dating is a scam, and you are totally right. Dating sites are a joke, and they are a totally unnatural way of seeking a connection with someone.

When you meet offline, at the pub, at work, or anywhere else, a simple “hi how are you” is totally acceptable. You don’t have to peruse improbable pictures and interpret enigmatic texts to get an idea of the person, because you have it in front of you. No way someone can hide their true traits for long, because body language is where most of human communication comes from.

The latter is probably the most damning shortcoming of current meeting websites: they almost completely leave out body language. Websites with video-based profiles would be a terrific improvement to see real humans in action with their voice and mannerism, and yet for some reason it seems such simple idea isn’t gaining traction, so all you have is static pictures and texts -if you are lucky.
I suppose requiring by default a video would put off the majority of users, because most don’t really want to take things that seriously, and this fact probably tells you all: most users of dating websites are not serious at all in what they claim (or not) to be seeking. Online women in particular are just having some fun in posting pretty or provocative pictures and seeing the reactions of men. They get a boost of self-esteem from it, they get laughing material for their friends, and that’s pretty much all there is to it.

However, guys, there is one thing you are partially wrong about the woes of online meeting: that is, when you claim that online meeting is especially bad for men. I would rather say: it’s especially bad for anyone looking for a woman for any reason. If you think that women read or reply to messages sent by other women, boy I can personally prove that’s a complete myth. What makes the difference is not if you are male or female, but if you are looking for a male or a female. If you are a man looking for a woman: bad. A woman looking for a woman: equally bad! In fact perhaps worse, because the pool of women interested in connecting with other women on any level is ridiculously small. In contrast, I would tend to think that men looking for men for a quick fix have it quite easy online, but you tell me on that one. I’m just pretty sure that active seekers can find other active seekers, but passive choosers cannot find other passive choosers. Simple as that. It cannot be a coincidence that all apps ever tried to make women connect have lasted very little. It’s our nature, as I discussed in a previous post.

The general rule described above of course applies to any kind of online meeting place. No matter if it’s a site for dating, hookups, friendship, or BDSM, women will not make the effort of contacting you, nor respond to your efforts.
As with any rules of course there are exceptions, and that’s all they are: exceptions. Like myself, after all. My natural naivity, friendliness, inexperience, along with the apparent uniqueness of my aspiration, have made me not only try out the hilarious world of online meeting but also encouraged some boldness in making first moves.

In fact, not content with the kind of websites I had already tried, I recently let myself into yet another exploration: that of the asexual online meeting.

Perhaps luckily, the websites where asexuals look for each other are still so few and small that one cannot possibly waste any considerable amount of time on them. Still, I think it could be neat to come across a fellow asexual Miss. I suppose the mutual lack of sexual attraction would make it much easier to develop a strong bond on a purely emotional level. Or at least that’s a possibility. So I decided to have a go.

With astounding precision, the general rule was yet again confirmed: women will not reply to your messages. Interestingly enough, they won’t even read them. I thought maybe they didn’t like my profile picture, so I took it off and later messaged a few other people. Still no reply, still unread. I mean, asexual girls who wrote they were looking for just friends too. Some even aromantic people, just like me. Truth be told, I did get a couple of very-delayed replies, but that was it. When I replied in turn, the recipients reversed to silent mode. I came across some Youtubers relating similar experiences.

On top of the general rule about online women not replying or making contact, meeting sites for aces present the endearing match seeker with further significant challenges: a great number of profiles have no picture, and many leave you quite confused as to who you’d be talking to: agender? genderfluid? non-binary? From people who claim to be in a relationship with themselves (leaving you wonder how they would split if they no longer get along) to self-described aliens or amoebas, if you enjoy extreme science fiction you’ll certainly love asexuals meeting sites.

Of course, everyone is different and even there you can come across more conventional humans. In my case though it would have to be unapologetically female, elegant and comfortable with being served. Something perhaps not so common among sexual-minority “social justice” warriors, what do you think? Not only the essence of lesbianism seems to run contrary to the spirit of my ambition, but also that of the ace community.

Oh well. Once again, I may not have found Miss, but I’ve gained a few insights into yet another facet of this mad modern world.

So, sexual or asexual, BDSM or vanilla, straight or gay, romantic or platonic, online meeting is mostly a dismal failure.
Could it be any different, after all? Meeting websites and apps aren’t a service offered for your sake, they are a product you purchase. If they are free, then you are the product for sale. They more or less blatantly collect your political views and sensitive information that someone no doubt will want to buy, so you are wasting your time to make them rich, all while not getting what you want.
You can even become an involuntary guinea pig for psychology and manipulation studies, like OKCupid users did when their trusted website decided to skew the compatibility percentages to see whether users were still able to evalute compatibility by themselves. That OKCupid is still very popular after such manipulation become public, and that anyone would trust a matching algorythm, be it purposedly altered or not, tells you a lot about the average user of online meeting platforms. In England they have tactful expressions like “a sandwich short of a picnic”, to describe that part of mankind. Because, let’s face it: how can you not have a tiny doubt springing up in your mind, when you see that the algorythm declares a 76% sex compatibility with someone who has replied zero sex questions? It’s such a joke. OKCupid has hundreds of matching questions, most of which are totally irrelevant to assess compatibility and obviously designed to be sold to advertising companies or government agencies. Yet users can choose to ignore all important questions and reply to meaningless ones, thus leading to a totally irrelevant match percentage. Suppose you and another person have only replied to the question about ideal room temperature: the algorythm of OKCupid will declare your compatibility just based on that. If you both prefer around 20°C, you are a match! So, when you read profiles stating that they won’t even speak to anyone with less than 80% compatibility, you really don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. You just feel sorry for them.

But, here’s the thing. No amount of evidence will ever discourage your desperate match seeker from buying the online scam.
Because online meeting websites and apps know that you will try anything to find your imaginary match. They prosper off your desperation and sell you hope, converting your innermost needs into cash. And here’s the trick: they will always have new customers, because people cannot give up hope. In a fragmented and suspicious society where real-life meeting becomes more and more problematic, they offer you more and more online meeting illusions, and you will fall for it again and again.

By the way: did you notice that also Craigslist, former staple of anonymous online meeting, closed down the personals section? Could it possibly be because they want to force you to use websites that aren’t free, or that harvest your sensitive data? Um, interesting.

 

Razumov 12