Fuck Jazz, Moving on to the Blues

Of one thing about myself, I am sure. If there is mental chemistry, there is bound to be physical chemisty. And without mental chemistry, there cannot be more than a fleeting physical chemistry.

Oh, I've met smart men. Witty men. Men with humor dryer than an Egyptian tomb. Men who self-deprecate their fetishes until my ribs ache from laughing.

But not many of them put me in my place. I don't mean to connote discipline, but headspace. There is a miniscule portion of the male population that has the right combination of all of those virtues (vices?) who actually instill in me a DESIRE to submit. Not just the simple urge that we submissives get, in general terms. But to...YOU. I will submit, can submit, in fact, cannot avoid submitting to you.

But what if this is not what they want? What if their plates are so full that they can not accept you?

Does the need for humiliation at the hands of another extend this far - to self-inflict rejection by submission with no hope of domination?

Is that the definition of devotion, or an exercise in futility?

These are not rhetorical questions, folks...I would appreciate some advice.