Sometimes I see a question and I think, “What the hell are you going on about?” Then I pause and ask myself if Me from ten or twenty years ago —the Well-Behaved BDSM Person— would have been more sympathetic, and if so, I adjust my attitude.
But Me from twenty years ago just reported back with, “Dude, grown-ass women are for fucking. Let her throw a plastic-porcelain tea party and make her serve your piss to herself. Give her an old, hairy-hippy copy of The Joy of Sex as a coloring book. Stick a pacifier in her mouth, your dick in her ass, and tell her to close her eyes and think of England. I mean, c’mon… if she feels like a little girl, then show her how little girls break.”
(Me from twenty years ago is kind of a creep, but he knows what he likes.)