Impersonal Ad by Anonymous

IMPERSONAL AD I sit here in a virtual world. My pixels slightly different from the boy next to me. Quietly sitting like the girl on the other side. Neatly stacked we sit in a circle. Like little kids waiting to be chosen for the kickball team. Really, there are no teams. I wait for some hint of recognition. A kind word. Even a "Hello" would do. I am one of many hoping for the same damn thing. They sit on the couches, or tower above. The soundwaves are filled with interesting conversation. By God, if it isn't interesting you better pretend boy. They police the circle. Careful eyes scanning each one for an infraction. Multi-tasking Queens looking over profiles at the same time. It's a mystery, we think. What line could I write to turn her head for just a moment? She finally speaks to you, and this is your shot boy. The audition. Sink, or swim. Heat under your collar as you quickly grasp for words...pithy words. Make her laugh. It is the safest bet. The brief attention is over, and you have no clue how you faired. The interesting conversation picks back up. Sounding, needles, saline play, feminization, cutting, all have a story to share. The laughter rises, and my spirit sinks just a little. I am not a slab of beef on a table to be the subject of verbal cuttings. I am not a voodoo doll awaiting the stick pins of your tongue. I am not a science experiment waiting in anticipation for surgical steel to pierce. There is no checical, or mixture that needs to enter my body to make me more fit. You wanted a boy? Don't put me in a dress then, because the humiliation tears me down and snuffs out my spirit. If I ever dared to say these words allowed in that virtual circle, the laughter would be deafening I imagine. How dare he? Is he really submissive? Yes, I might be laughed right out of virtual town. My submission has nothing to do with how much pain I can endure. My submission has nothing to do with how much shunning, or negative attention, I can take until my feelings are hurt. I am practical enough to know your Dominance is not measured by the size of your stable, or the amount of toys in that special box. I am a human being behind an avatar that carries a very special gift. My submission is a gift. You cannot steal it, or force it out of me. You want me to work to know you. Prove it, the ladies say. I agree. There is another side to the coin. You got to prove you can handle my submission. It is something to be earned too. I suppose gifts can sometimes be cheapened by this virtual world. Boys willing to kneel for any woman that claims to be Domme. I am just a face in the crowd. Quietly observing. Whoops, I gotta go. She spoke. Time to be clever.