On Dating Men:
Oh look. My relationship with every man on earth.
But I mean, I like it this way, you know? I love knowing you’re wanting it so hard you’re ready to cry, meanwhile I’m busy daydreaming about everything I do when I don’t have to look at you. Perfect, soul-crushing longing and rejection.
But Ms. Yve, aren’t you pansexual?
It’s true, I am – but that doesn’t somehow preclude a desire to reject you for sport.
But Ms. Yve, what if I paid your rent and bought you clothes?
One of my favorite questions! Thank you for asking, Internet Stranger. In a nutshell, I already keep a home and wear clothing, so obviously I’m alright without you – and my autonomy and self sufficiency spare me from having to look at your ugly mug every goddamn day. So, application denied, fool.
I heard that most Pro Dommes are subs in their personal lives – that’s why you won’t date me! You’re a fake!
This is a great one. I love hearing it. I especially love hearing it because the assumption here is that accusing me of subbing is so offensive and outlandish that I would immediately go through the trouble of furnishing proof of my personal sex life, showing that it is congruent to my professional persona. Subs are awesome, firstly. It takes a lot of courage to be a sub. I’m not into referencing it as some derogatory term. I’m also not in the business of proving a goddamn thing to any asshole who can’t handle rejection. Like, you have plenty of information on this blog to reference when trying to determine if I’m pure, uncut Domme. – But more to the point: I DO date men. I just date them with the understanding that part of what I enjoy is endless torture and emotional sadism. Fucking duh. How is this possibly unclear to anyone? I’m pretty upfront about it.
I wanna live in your basement and be your slave!
I promise I’m not a weirdo!
Dude, I don’t like living with people in general, much less fostering basement goblins with 24/7 erections.
Ms. Yve, why do you regularly construct straw man arguments in blog posts?
I don’t, actually. These posts are basically patchworks of all the emails I get in a given week. Tedious and strange, no? Men aren’t super clever.