Know what you want. Be willing to take it. Know who you are. Be willing to show it.

Authenticity is my highest priority in a dominant. Your rope skills and infinite toy shelves are nice and all, but I’ll take an authentic man over The Red Room of Pain every single time. These men don’t dilute their identities with shame, apologia, or other extraneous things. They’ve found their true selves, and they’re willing to express them. The best kink is inspirational, and you can only inspire if you’ve found the most distilled version of yourself.

Want to compel me? Then know what you want. Be willing to take it. Know who you are. Be willing to show it.

Decades of rope lessons do nothing to distill your identity, so I’m not going to lose my mind with glee if you can tie a futo. I’ll admire your talents on an aesthetic level. I’ll respect you for the time you spent learning them, but I don't care if you're the Dogen Zen Ji of floggers. I care if you know your desires. I care if you’re willing to manifest them.

I want a man who knows all the grit and blood that makes him who he is.

It’s a tough ask. I know because I’m on the same journey as a sub. Showing your rawest self is profoundly exposing. Hell, it’s terrifying. It’s a million times harder than learning traditional kink skills, so men who embrace self-disclosure are the rarest of treasures.

If you’re a writer, words are the rarest treasures. They don’t give them out at Christmas parties. You’ve got to be in just the right frame of mind to receive them. You can’t write a poem. A poem must come to you. Trying to force it is like cracking an egg from the outside. Nothing alive can come of it. All you get is an omelet. You’ve got to let the bird hatch in its own way.

The same rule plays out in BDSM. You can’t force it. You’ve got to feel the life of it nudging the surface.

I’ve known dominants who force the egg open from the outside.

I’ve known dominants who let the bird hatch on its own.

Guess which one was the sexiest.

I once knew a dom whose lust was big enough to swallow an ocean. This wasn’t the lazy, formless stuff you find in lesser men. It was the sexual expression of all the things he was unwilling to hide. He showed me who he was. I showed him who I was in return, and then we flew.