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Because certainly someone too old wouldn’t know how to use one of these sites to begin with, right?
I narrow the radius to twenty-five miles, which will include a few of the surrounding small towns along with the one I live in, because I have a feeling if I were to choose the smallest radius, which is five miles, then the only people who would show up are my neighbors. And while I’m kind of curious to see if any of them are on a sugar daddy site, I could really go without any of them trying to pick me up when I plan on living here for the foreseeable future.
Surprisingly, in the twenty-five mile cluster of small towns, there are 108 profiles within the confines of my filters. As I scroll, I’m relieved that I don’t recognize anyone in the profile pictures. However, forty percent of the photos are dick pics, which means I would have a very small chance of recognizing them by their profile picture anyway, unless they happen to be members of Club Alias and have an astoundingly recognizable cock.
Like that one guy who has a Jacob’s ladder piercing, barbells going all the way up his massive ten-inch schlong.
And if a penis is that recognizable, I would have to be very desperate in order to contact them for a date. Because if I can distinguish a penis from it being so highly recognizable, then that penis has been around the block. It has made its rounds. And while I don’t mind a man having a very high number of past sexual partners—no slut shaming from this “porn” author—I would prefer any cock I’m interested in to not have been in a countless number of people I know.
“Why do men think that a woman would rather see a picture of their cock instead of their face?” I turn to ask my cat.
Sure, maybe down the road, after we’ve spoken for a while, I might be more open-minded if a guy were to send me a photo that included his member with the rest of his body. But I don’t ever see myself wanting a photo just of someone’s beans and wiener. To me, there is nothing attractive about a screen full of just cock and balls. If the image happens to be a full frontal, including a muscular torso and nice manly legs, I might be able to swallow it—snort—a little more easily. But again, not until I’ve gotten to know him at least for a little while.
Somebody’s penis doesn’t have nearly a high-enough percentage of importance to me when choosing a man to spend time with, for me to give a shit about your dick-pic-taking skills. How big or small you are won’t interest me in the slightest if you can’t even greet me with some level of intelligence. The design of your manscaping will have no effect on my lady garden if the second you open up a conversation with me, I want to shoot you with mosquito spray.
With my profile complete and no one really catching my eye after clicking through the pages that did not include a dick pic, I decide putting all my eggs in one basket isn’t a good idea. After all, there are people on Instagram who refuse to create a TikTok account. There are TikTokkers who left Facebook. And there are people who still stick with Facebook as their one and only social media. So I might as well dive in to the deep end and see what a few of the other sites have to offer.
Making it easy on myself, I copy the About Me from my first profile and use it to make the process much faster while creating the new ones, using the same screenname on each one to keep it simple. If someone happens to see me on multiple dating sites, it’s not like they can say anything bad about it, since they’re obviously on them too.
While I’m at it, I also create a new profile on Fetlife separate from the one I’ve had for years. All the friends I’ve made on the social media site for fellow kinksters were found while I was married, and all the photos and posts and general information about me on that profile revolves around that relationship. I haven’t been on it since the divorce. All the groups I’m a member of don’t even pertain to me any longer. I’m not that person anymore. I shouldn’t have even tried to be to begin with.
That’s not true. I was doing my best to be a good wife and a good submissive, to give my husband, my Dom, what he needed. But instead of completely losing myself in order to be who Art needed, with Doc’s guidance, we chose to go our separate ways. It was a mature decision that was best for everyone, and while it was sad our marriage came to an end, we got what we needed from each other.
