Actually, no thanks, I’m good.

What? You’re still here? Ah, jeeze. I guess, maybe, you’re hoping I’ll offer some sort of clever, quirky elucidation of my kinks and my approach to BDSM, a theoretical profile of who I’m looking for, all cinched together in a package that’s simultaneously alluring and uplifting, gesturing towards the innate foibles of the human condition, the futility of attempting to make a sincere connection under conditions of late capitalism (somewhere, there is a man reading this who has decided he must make a video in his truck later today defending sweet lady capitalism) and the unavoidable entropy of the entire universe; in short, a Wes Anderson-directed Kink.com production, with Owen Wilson amiably repeating the word “Wow!” whenever you show him a snapshot of your tits.

​

Well, if that’s what you want, I’ll invariably fail to deliver, but failing can be fun too. Just ask the frat boys in my courses.

**But who the fuck am I?** I’m in my early (ahem, mid) thirties, I’m a former professor (perusing online personals, you find a lot of perverts with PhD’s, I have noted) of literature at a Prestigious American University, and a dom or a master or a daddy, depending on who’s asking and how invested you are in labels. I’m not against labels, mind you—what is Saussure’s theory of the sign but a theory of labels? How would we function without labels? What would lonely, awkward teenagers complain about then? Actually, lonely, awkward teenagers have come a long way since I was a kid and now they complain about the rapidly incinerating planet and the ever-present threat of gun violence in schools. But also, presumably, they complain about labels too. In their free time.

These days, post-academia, I spend most of my time writing smut, reading (sometimes smut, sometimes not), consulting (whatever that means). Watching bad horror movies, SVU reruns, the usual.

Once upon a time, I posted here. I talked with some lovely people. Really, tremendous people! Some of whom, I’m sure, were not bots attempting to handout MeUndies coupon codes. Now, I’m part of that guilty cohort who are actually having a decent time of the pandemic. My teaching responsibilities are all the lighter, now that everyone knows how to use Zoom, and all of the boring conferences and colloquia I used to attend have moved online, which means I can turn off my camera, cite internet problems, and make myself a cocktail or jack off, or, hell, it’s 2021—why not both?

I’m in decent shape; what actually passes for “fit” in academia, but that doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot when your entire field literally sits on its collective ass all day. I'm told I'm reasonably handsome, and sometimes even by people who aren't my own mother!

I suppose I have about twelve years or so of BDSM experience, dating from when I was in high school and handcuffed my first girlfriend to her bed, somehow misplacing the key in the course of our passion and culminating in a mad dash to the local hardware store for a handsaw before her parents got home. I’ve improved somewhat since then, but I make no promises.

I don’t particularly care how much experience, if any, you have. Experience is a poor substitute for enthusiasm or a good attitude, and if given a choice, I’d take the latter every time. And let’s be honest—this shit ain’t exactly rocket science. My dad was a rocket scientist, and rocket science isn’t really even rocket science, so being able to tease you, dominate you, and be a half-way decent human being in the process—now that I think of it, so many of us struggle with the last one, so maybe it is rocket science.

**As a dominating agent,** I’m kinky and generous, nurturing and as strict as you’ll allow me to be. I’m eminently adaptable, and I find a lot of things enjoyable. I’ve got few things I need in a BDSM configuration, with the exception of some sexual aspect. **I’m a pervert and proud of it, damn it.** Part of what I enjoy is finding out where our interests overlap, and discovering new things I never thought I’d likeI’d like to do a lot of things with you, including denying you orgasms, making you beg, butt stuff, subjecting you to humiliating dirty talk, and as much pain as you’re willing to take. I recently posted a gonewild story, accessible via my post history, which is a totally unembellished real life experience. That might start to give you an idea of some of the stuff I like.

Now, some of you are real freaks. But it ain’t my place to judge. We can talk. I also like to be told what a great dom I am, so if you’d just like to skip to the praise, I’m cool with that too.

**What I look for in a submissive entity** would include an adventurous, responsive personality; a command of prose stylistics commensurate with your command of English as a language (i.e., the only excuse you have for being subliterate is if English isn’t your first language; if that’s so, I applaud you, and it’s not a deal breaker for me); a good sense of humor; and an interest in all variety of kinky shit. I’d like you to be clever and feisty. Someone I’d actually be friends with, in addition to ordering you to put stuff in your butt.

I’d like to talk to you for a bit, get to know you, the whole shebang. It can be in a sexy, flirty way. In fact, it should be! That sounds great! But just jumping in and being like “daddy I need u to punish me hard” is like, well, okay, you’re either a dude or a bot programmed to sound like a shitty porn star or a dude programmed to be a porn star sounding like a shitty bot, and maybe you’ve also got a MeUndies coupon code for me, but I’m sorry, I have so many pairs of MeUndies already. In other words, charm me, and I’ll charm you back.

But again, I’m flexible! Unless your sole fetish is, like, pogo stick vore, and you know, even though that’s just a random assortment of words I tossed together, I wouldn’t even shoot that down immediately. I’d prefer to exchange a few messages here on Reddit, and then move to somewhere else. I’d like some visual reference, because as much as I’d like to believe you’re an twenty-one-year nymphomanic with 32DD tits and more daddy issues than the newest edition of the DSM, I can’t shake the feeling that you’re a 48-year old dude named Bill in West Texas and you are going to make a video in your truck telling me why the libtards are destroying capitalism and hey, maybe it’ll be anti-semitic too! Jewish space lasers, baby!

In fact, because I’m fundamentally a pervert, I’d love for this to eventually involve picture and video exchange at a certain point, with or without face, depending on how much of a horrible person you think I might secretly be.

I’ll also say that, like most people, I’m most attracted to beautiful people, but that also, like most people, my definition of beauty is neither purely physical nor totally objective and static. Most of y’all probably got some beauty, somewhere, deep down.

**I’d like you to be female, someway, somehow.** Usually, that means cis-female, but not exclusively. I identify as heterosexual, but who knows, maybe it’s all about the boobies. Hell, maybe it’s all about the nipples, or the buttocks—I’m learning new things everyday, dude. If you’re straight up cis-male, I’m not interested—sorry, man. And like, dudes, if you’re on here to pretend to be a lady, fine, whatever, but at least scrub your post history. Hell, that goes for literally anyone messaging anyone on reddit—the first thing anyone does is look at your posts to see if you’re worth talking to for more than fifteen seconds.

Yes, I am married. No, I don’t want to dwell on it. I’d rather focus on the fun we can have together.

**This will primarily be online,** at least at first. But, if we really hit it off—who knows? I also won’t insist on monogamy, but again, if we hit it off, who knows?

This was long, but if you’re who I’m looking for, you probably at least didn’t completely hate reading it. If that’s you—message me. If not, you should probably message me anyway, so I can fix you.