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Gather round, kittens. We need to have another talk.

This time about some sub-on-sub crime.

Yep, that’s right. I see y’all out there, participating in the same bullshit society forces on submissive men. Shaming each other. Shaming yourselves. And then partitioning submission into tinier and tinier boxes.

Those other guys aren’t really submissive, I see some of y’all arguing. Because they get pleasure from humiliation or because they shy away from shame or because they quit and come back.

Most subs aren’t as good-looking as me, some of y’all (audacious as hell) DM me.

Probably some loser in his mom’s basement.

Probably can’t get girls.

Probably society was right.

Excuse the hell out of me, but fuck that shit sixty-three ways to Sunday. Fuck it when society forces it on you. Fuck it when we dommes uphold it. And fuck it all to hell when y’all put it on each other.

Have you thought about what you are doing to your own soul when you drip with disdain toward other submissive men? Have you thought about how much that knife you aimed at their heart is headed straight toward yours?

When you say you aren’t like other submissive men, you are implicitly agreeing with every stupid societal trope that says submissive men are less. Are worse. Are ugly. Are undesirable.

And within this kink, there is space for you to explore those feelings, that kind of rejection, those humiliations—safely, consensually—if that’s your thing. But using those beliefs to rip each other’s self esteem to shreds in public spaces and domme DMs isn’t consensual kink. It’s nonconsensual cruelty. It’s boring, run-of-the-mill unexamined participation in the narrow categories society loves to box us all into.

If there is anyone who should be able to stan submissive men, it’s a submissive man.

Reminder: submissive men come in all shapes and sizes and levels of success with women and in life. Reminder: lots of people live in mom’s basement and that’s fucking fine. Mind your business. Reminder: “getting girls” is a not a measure of your worth as a human being and we’re people, not things you “get.” Reminder: submission looks different for different people, and you don’t own the definition.

In short: maybe if you stop judging the hell out of Dave, you can stop judging the hell out of yourself too. And then we can bid farewell to u/deleted for good and you can just go ahead and live your truth.

Lean in close, kittens, and let’s have a chat.

Because we need to talk about power. And desire. And the truth behind a truth.

I see you there, longing to be devoured. Overtaken. Overpowered.

I see the relief on your face when you think I might. The hope that I could.

Overpower you. Overtake you. Devour you.

That is your truth. Your longing.

And this is the truth underneath it:

I’m not here to overpower you, kitten. I do not bend you to my will by forcing something inside you. I am not the demon slipping under your skin so you can abdicate responsibility.

I am here, instead, to overpower your fears.

I invite you into the darkness, your darkness, and because I’m there, you follow.

I transform the darkness into desire. I rip from it the judgement.

I am shield and stone and safety net. You walk the tightrope because you believe I will catch you if you fall.

You do not follow because I force you. You follow because deep down you want to and you trust me to light a candle, take your hand, and show you that the fifty-foot demon is survivable. That you were always stronger than you thought.

When you ask if I’m going to make you cage for longer than you’ve ever caged before. When you ask for humiliation, for me to speak your deepest fears aloud. When you have been talking around on wounds that healed wrong and I re-open them so they can heal properly this time.

This is not me overpowering you, kitten. This is what you longed for the whole time. And what you needed was someone bigger than your fears.

Our society has a hard-on for the idea of men leaving a legacy. Being remembered. Chasing immortality.

You see it in the tech bros doing their extreme all-meat diets, drinking the literal blood of their sons to stay young (yes, that’s a thing), hustling so much that they break the entire culture in an effort to matter.

It doesn’t seem to come from a place of joy. Not building something because you love it, because you want it to change your world in some way—but building because you desperately need to matter. Need to be remembered. Need to be important.

In other words: fear.

It comes from fear.

Fear that they are not enough on their own.

Fear that they really are meaningless.

Fear of being forgotten. Unloved. Disconnected.

Sometimes I see the echoes of this anxiety in D/s. A desperation to serve that comes from that same dark, anxious place:

Do I matter?

Do I have purpose?

This can manifest in the search for a domme, all anxious energy and a terrible fear that it won’t work. It can keep you from settling in to a dynamic and trying. At the first hint of challenge or reality, you want to move on because the magic you were looking for was a bolt from the blue, a lightning strike.

Purpose! Sudden and complete.

And for a lot of the best and longest-lasting dynamics, there is a slower build than that. A quiet progression. Built not on fear but on love.

I don’t mean romantic love. I mean that instead of being driven by the fear of not being enough, the fear of being meaningless, the fear of being unlovable—and a terrible need to prove those fears untrue—a dynamic can be driven by hope and admiration for another person and a slow-building trust that you can go this deep with them. That you can find yourself in the dynamic. That you can matter.

That love is for yourself. For your authenticity. And for your domme—because even without a romantic component, service is love. Because love is action. Love is care.

What we learn in moments of real connection is that we don’t need to matter to the whole world. We need to matter to a tiny slice of it. As our complete and authentic selves.

Which is why these kink relationships often have deep meaning beyond the sexy bits. For so many in this space (especially subs raised as men), a domme is the only person who sees that secret part of them.

And sometimes sessions and service are requests for the answer to that heart-heavy question:

Do I matter?

Am I enough?

Which means it’s vital for us as dommes to answer that question with a yes in our actions. This means aftercare. It means showing up after you have seen that secret part and saying I’m fucking proud of you or I want you to stay or let’s do it again, bitch. It means consistency. It means seeing and not running away.

And for subs, if this is the dynamic you crave, it means being brave. It means being honest with dommes as you build trust. It means working on entering into what you hope will be a long-term dynamic with a readiness to face the hard emotions instead of running from them. It means prioritizing care over fear. It means prioritizing the opinions of yourself and the person who truly sees you over the rest of our extremely dumb society.

It means facing the hard emotions along the way and finding the part of yourself that serves from a place of care, admiration, and connection.

And the big secret is this: that’s when the fear recedes. That’s when you stop caring about some big bad legacy, stop fearing that you are not enough, and find instead that you are precisely where you want to be.

Oh hey there, nervous kitten. Let’s sit down and have a chat.

Because I see that shame spiral you’re stuck in. And damn it looks nasty. You’re fucking tired, aren’t you? Fucking desperate. Because no matter how much you chase the thing your soul is craving, it never seems to work.

For some of you, that’s because you’ve hit a crossroads and you’re paralyzed with indecision about where to go.

One side leads to your authentic self. Which sounds like a pretty fucking easy choice. Yes, please and thank you.

Except the part where you aren’t sure you like that person. Where you haven’t reconciled with them. Where you see the ways that taking that path would make you subject to societal ridicule.

The other path is a path of abstinence. Cutting off that part of yourself that society isn’t thrilled out and pretending it never existed. Keeping it tied up tight and locked in a closet (and not in the fun way).

That sucks a lot too. And your soul knows you really don’t want that path. To have to pretend to be dominant forever and ever. To have to subscribe to a very specific (boring) version of masculinity that isn’t really you. To never know what it would feel like to really sink in, find the edges of that part of yourself, know entirely who you really are.

So here you are, at the crossroads, building yourself a little tent city.

I’m here to say that won’t work either. You’re in fucking quicksand there. Never able to really sink into a dynamic and find yourself. And never able to fit like you want to in Just Vanilla Land either. And so it’s yo-yo time. Back and forth. Shame over what you crave. Shame that you can’t pretend effectively enough to stop craving it.

Ultimately, you are the person who gets to decide if you:

Work (because damn it will be work) toward embracing your kinks as part of your authentic self and actually giving a shit about yourself as a whole person instead of just the parts society finds palatable

Or

Keep hiding parts of yourself, keep wearing a mask and performing a stupid form of masculinity that most women don’t like anyway (notice how in polite society more and more women are opting out of dating men). Choose this route and you get to keep feeling exhausted and shitty about it.

Make no mistake: the society path will keep you in that shitty place and so will camping out halfway. So will scrolling on Reddit and telling dommes you want to submit but then being unwilling to show up for yourself when something is asked of you and running away when the shame hits hard.

It doesn’t move you closer to being the person society is trying to force on you. And it doesn’t move you closer to confidently living as yourself, society be damned.

I’m not saying the first path means living loud and proud as an armpit fetishist with everyone you meet or putting “foot worshipper” on your resume. I’m saying that first path is about meeting your real self and deciding you’re cool with them. Deciding that you like yourself as a whole human being with messy parts and silly parts and exquisitely stupid parts (which we all have, including the vanillas).

Let me also be clear that I understand that shame is part of the kink for many. Shame is a desired feeling in some cases. But it’s also how a lot of subs describe the thing that keeps them from what they want—and it’s to those subs that I am speaking here.

If you want to take that journey, it’s one you’ll need to take with yourself, probably a kink-safe therapist, and a safe domme who can stand consistently with you in that space. But to do that, you have to stop planting that flag at the crossroads.

What you are chasing here is the relief of submission, of being who you are, of being safe to let go. And when you hold back, plant your heels to keep from going down that self-loving path, the person you are cheating out of that relief is yourself.

Throughout my life, I have often been the one people come to when tragedy strikes. When loss upon loss presses heavy on their souls.

And a common thread in those conversations is this:

The people around them cannot tolerate the discomfort of their sadness, their rage, their grief.

They want to solve it. They want to banish it. They want optimism and positivity and movement away from the sad, hard thing.

And what I can do in that moment is sit with those hard things. Defend those hard emotions. Welcome them because hard emotions aren’t evil things trying to destroy us. They are part of us. They are signals. They tell us this mattered.

You grieve because you love.

You hurt because you hoped.

You’re angry because something is wrong.

You are in pain because you are alive.

Discomfort is not my enemy. Pain is welcome in my space. And because of these truths, I can witness those things without trying to usher them away, sweep them under a rug, pretend they never happened.

This is a mirror into how I see the uncomfortable parts of BDSM—the intentional pain, humiliation, and degradation. The requests to make someone cry.

They are sometimes a request for permission to feel those taboo feelings.

Especially for men, who are raised to think of so many feelings as an indictment of their masculinity. As if being human wasn’t man enough. As if pretending not to feel pain was some kind of courage.

Part of my role as a domme is to hold space for the hard feelings. To let them exist and grow and excite and relieve.

This space lets you face the questions society is uncomfortable with. What happens if I am humiliated? What happens if I am crushed? Where are the limits between tolerating discomfort and finding a boundary?

And this is part of why the vanilla world cannot understand. Because as long as they are running from the so-called negative feelings, they cannot know the depth of those feelings. The way that they can be tangled up with pleasure and relief. The way that you hold them and find yourself more whole. The way that they shape not only your sexual desires but also—if you are going deep enough—the way you show up in the world overall.