Let's talk about subs. Or rather, let's talk about the strawman fallacy of sexual identity because god forbid anyone just enjoy a single fucking thing without erecting a whole personality shrine to it. You've decided that kneeling on a rug for twenty minutes constitutes a dedicated ontology, like the guy in the gimp suit and a flogger discovered a pillar of the human condition. He didn't. He found a hobby. You found a hobby. Congratulations, you've discovered that leisure activities exist, a fact the universe will continue to be spectacularly indifferent to. "But Dirk", I hear you cry around your PetSmart patented chew toy, "kinks are there to allow exploration of the body and mind, to be free of the shackles of modern society, to shed the ego and touch something primal and honest that capitalism stole from us at birth." You get your nipples clamped for ninety seconds and suddenly you need a full post-scene debrief with the emotional production values of a director's commentary track. Bonus features. Deleted scenes. A whole featurette on "the making of my subspace." Nobody asked for the Criterion edition of your feelings. You did a bit. A fun little bit in a warm room with snacks nearby, and where the only ever real threat was if you shat the bed calling a guy twice your age "daddy". Giving up control is only impressive if you had any to begin with. You were always gonna outsource your executive dysfunction. The collar just gave it a font. #nsfw #nsfwe #bdsm #fetish #kink



