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Online dating is hard.
I mean, it’s hard for everyone. You’ve gotta wade through an endless sea of creeps, spammers, and idiots to find someone even remotely dateable, and even then there’s only the tiniest chance that they’ll turn out to be someone you are involved with for more than one or two dates. It’s exhausting no matter who you are (unless you are indiscriminate fuck machine, in which case… more power to you, my friend).
But that whole bleak landscape is made into a veritable wasteland when you look like me.
Biologically I am female. I have the ovaries and everything, I’m told I’m “pretty” or “cute” or “whatever,” and I’ll own it that I’ve got legs for days. But I’m also six feet tall, 180 pounds, tan, thick and muscular, and I like to dress/act/speak more androgynous than feminine. I am not, as they say, everyone’s cup of tea. Most people who want to date a woman want someone… well, “womanly.” Stereotypically womanly, that is.
I mean, where it counts, I’m womanly as fuck.
So there’s that added complication.
But then there’s my preferences, which make it even worse.
It’s simple enough to describe myself in straightforward terms on an online dating profile. “Tall, strong, butch bitch” is pretty accurate. Appended with “feminist killjoy,” while we’re at it. What’s difficult to describe is what I want in a partner.
Now, I’m pansexual. I’ll date a person of any gender, I don’t care if you’re man, woman, trans, non-binary, demi-gendered, wherever you fall on the spectrum, I am beyond cool with it. I find all genders (or non-genders) attractive. I’m open-minded as far as appearances go… I have a very high sex drive and I can get into pretty much anything.
But I am a Dom.
And this is where it gets hinky.
What I value in a partner (beyond the usual boring vanilla “personality” things like a sense of humor, emotional maturity, and so on) is weakness.
Yes, you read that right.
I don’t mean moral or abstract weakness or anything like that.
I mean physical weakness. I get turned on the most by people who are physically smaller and weaker than me.
There’s just no way to write that on an OkCupid profile without sounding completely fucking psychotic.
(Yes, I’m on Fetlife. No, you can’t have my username. Not yet, anyway.)
I want someone who is physically weak in every way. I want someone small and fragile and submissive, who I can dominate and use and protect. I’m not a violent Dom. I’m gentle as fuck. I really get off on being gentle casino oyna and careful. More of a caretaking Dom, a sensual Dom, the kind of Dom who will tenderly wrestle you into submission, bind your arms and legs tight (but not too tight), only to eat you out or suck you off to the edge of orgasm, then stop right before you get there until you plead with me, softly, to finish you off.
Is it as complicated as I think? I don’t know.
My fetish is for any kind of weakness. I would enjoy feigned weakness, if my partner wasn’t truly weak or disabled, but I have fantasies about being with someone truly, seriously, authentically weak. I have especially intense thoughts, for reasons I have yet to understand, about being with an extremely weak man.
My ultimate, ideal body type would be a disabled man. A very weak, delicate man, someone vulnerable, who needs care and protection. I like the look of men with cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, paralysis, atrophy, anything and everything that renders a man weak and helpless, the more helpless the better. It’s hot if he can walk with crutches or a walker or something- but equally hot if he can’t walk, and uses a wheelchair. Power chair or mobile, quad cane or loftstrand crutches or rollator, I think mobility aids are sexy. Because they mean physical weakness, and vulnerability.
He’s someone I’d have to be careful with. Mmm, yes. I get off on thinking about being careful with someone fragile, about how gentle I’d be, holding them, kissing them, caressing them… carrying them. Taking care of their beautiful, precious disabled body. Sensitive to their special needs, even aroused by them needing special treatment and care. Bodies that are sexually mature and sensitive, bodies that beg to be touched, and caressed, and held, organs that beg to be sucked.
How hot it would be to help him- you? Maybe you. We’ll say it’s you, from now on, if you have ever wanted to be fucked by a six-foot-tall Amazon warrior woman. Insert yourself (giggidy) where appropriate.
How hot it would be to help him get to bed from his wheelchair, or maybe from his walker, or from his crutches- maybe he could get to bed himself, if he had to, but he knows that helping him stand and walk turns me on, so he lets me help him to bed. Or maybe I get to pick him up in my strong warrior arms and gently lay him on the bed.
How hot it would be to help him lay down, and slowly undress him, kissing and caressing as I go, his arms small and weak, his breath getting faster. Pulling the shirt slot oyna over his head so I can tease his nipples, blowing on them after I lick them, kissing the sensitive skin over his sternum- if he has a sternum, maybe not, I would relish in kissing his chest either way. I would relish in kissing, caressing, and celebrating every so-called deformity, every scar, every precious inch of sensitive skin on his sexy disabled body.
How would it feel to have his weak hands in my hair as I take off his pants with my teeth? Would I unzip the fly first, or would he be wearing something with elastic, something easy to take off, so that he doesn’t have to struggle to use the bathroom or get himself dressed? Would his hands be shaking as he felt my breath stirring his pubic hair? What would his breath sound like, as I kissed his cock, from the base where it meets his beautiful disabled body, all the way up the shaft, until I kissed the tip? Would he moan as I took the head of his dick in my lips and pressed my tongue against his glans, sucking on the cleft of it like a popsicle in July? Or would his voice arrest in his throat while my fingers slowly wrapped around the base of his dick, while I slid the tip back on my tongue, and tightened my lips around the shaft?
I would be so fucking wet by then. I mean, I would’ve been wet long before getting him undressed. I already mentioned what a fucking horndog I am, so I would have been wet pretty much since I first imagined the possibility of getting to fuck him. But, you know, relatively speaking- relative to how wet I’d be at work while thinking about fucking him, relative to how wet I’d be with his dickhead actually threatening to gag the back of my throat- I’d be so fucking wet. I’d be touching him with both hands, one on his dick (or maybe on his balls, tenderly, gently, carefully cupping them and fondling the soft skin and peculiar firmness of the testes… I love balls almost as much as I love dick), the other one roaming his body, rubbing his chest and stomach, his hips, gripping his leg. I’d be enjoying that dick like I was dying of starvation and had no teeth to eat the sausage so I could only suck it, making deep, contented, “Mmmm” sounds in the back of my throat. But at some point, I would stop.
I would slowly slide his dick out of my mouth. I’d probably kiss his thigh (I really like kissing, can you tell? All this would come only after a lengthy foreplay session with lots of kissing), and kiss my way up his abdomen, and kiss his lips. Would he be able to kiss me back, I wonder? Would his lips be canlı casino siteleri soft and slack? Would his kiss be unsteady and erratic? Would his kiss be weak? That would depend on the man, obviously, and each possibility gives me a thrill. Both of my thick, muscular thighs would be resting on either side of his hips, his sensitive, eager erection just inches away from my tight, dripping cunt. Would he be able to touch me on his own strength? Would I get to guide his hand to my body? If he couldn’t do it on his own, I would ask him where he wanted to touch, and how, and help him do whatever he wanted. It’d be so hot to help a weak, disabled man touch my body. It’d be so hot to feel his weak hands on my flesh, grasping and squeezing my breasts, caressing my shoulders, my face, my hips. I’d want him all over me, as much as he could be, as much as I would be all over him.
His breath might be shaky as I finally eased my pussy down over the tip of his dick. I’d reach down to guide it in, and then I’d sigh and moan a little as his dick filled me. Would he moan, too? I love it when a man is vocal, but it would be just as hot if all he could do was pant. I would kiss his neck as I started to move my hips, but I’d have to stop kissing, after a moment, to focus on moving my hips. I’d keep my face close to his, my ear near his lips so that I can feel his every erratic breath. I’d fuck him for a minute in an even rhythm, then, with my hips raised, the tip of his dick resting just outside of me, I’d stop. I’d slowly lower myself until I felt the head press inside of my pussy, until about an inch of it was inside, and then I’d raise my hips again. I’d fuck the tip until he moaned, until I moaned, because I cannot even describe how incredible that shit feels to me when I’m on top like that. I’d keep fucking the head of his dick and then suddenly I’d plunge the whole thing inside me and groan with pleasure, settling into an even, gentle rhythm. I’d throw in a few humps of just the head of the dick every now and then, kissing his neck and lips and fucking him until I felt his hot cum squirt against the inside of my pussy.
I’d stay there a long time. I love resting with his dick inside of me. How tired would my weak man be after getting fucked like that? How frail would he be in my arms as we rested together? Would he be too weak to embrace me back? Would his hands be unsteady- would he be shaking?
Eventually I’d have to get off of him. Mostly because I exercise a lot and my legs would get stiff being in the same position for a long time. I’d clean his dick off gently with a tissue and climb into bed beside him, taking him in my arms again. Or maybe I’d lay down and hold him that way, and his arm would rest across my chest, while his cum leaked ever so slightly from between my pussy lips.
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