For two years the swiping kind showed me to nobody, or to nobody who reacted, which comes to the same thing. I am a middle aged man who does not photograph well and I had quietly accepted that as a verdict on me. Then I wrote nine hundred words on the platform you join instead, about something I actually think, and had four serious conversations inside a month.
Forty four, north of the river, dominant, sixteen years in. The lesson was not that I am secretly fascinating. It was that the two models measure completely different things, and the one I had spent two years on was measuring the thing I am worst at.
What I run is unglamorous. Standing expectations, a fixed evening, correction that is spoken and specific rather than performed, and a written note at the end of every month about what has and has not worked. People who want intensity find me dull by March. People who want a structure that holds tend to stay for years.
I am looking for a submissive who wants an ongoing arrangement rather than an occasional one, and who can say what they need in a sentence rather than a mood.
Not interested in anybody running this across four platforms and treating each as a shortlist. Not interested in service that is really an audition for something else. And I will not be doing any of it at short notice, because my life does not contain short notice and pretending otherwise wastes a month of both our time.