Lyndsay's Blog

Have you ever heard of that atheist guy who spent a year living by all the bible's insane and contradictory rules? Or that lady who organized a national "show your boobs day" to prove that promiscuous dress doesn't cause earthquakes? Well that first guy got a book deal, and the lady went on speaking tours all over the country. Lyndsay wanted a piece of that action.

She would spend a year adhering to the strictest interpretation of traditional gender roles. She quit her job, and focused all her attention on womanly duties: cooking, cleaning, sewing, shopping, doting on her husband, and so on. She set up a blog called "I'm Back in the Kitchen, What Now?" where she wrote about her daily experiences. She assumed she'd be describing a lot of bored sitting around, growing tensions between her and her husband, and the general breakdown of domestic harmony.

The project got off to a rocky start when she realized just how much there was to do around the house. When she and her husband were both working hundreds of little problems built up, always being put off for later. Now she had time to address them, and the improvement in both her and her husband's moods were marked. Add to that the fact they were both eating so much better thanks to the hours she spent cooking each day, and it was impossible to deny that they were both happier and more energetic. Within a few months her husband's extra verve was noticed at work, and he was offered a substantial promotion. Lyndsay wasn't quite sure how to frame any of this on her blog.

Then there was sex. Like a proper lady she'd sworn off masturbation entirely, and ensured her husband knew to act like a proper man: to take what he wanted from her without concern for her needs. The extra effort she put into looking pretty meant he couldn't keep his hands off her, and she found she enjoyed the attention. Far from the uncomfortable chore she'd expected, it was a huge turnon to know he was getting everything he wanted from her. The fact that she so rarely achieved orgasm just kept her eager for for the next time he'd want to screw.

Two months into the project the only thing going according to plan was how awkward corporal punishment was. It had been difficult to even convince her husband to participate, but Lyndsay had been adamant that it had once been a husband's right to discipline his wife, and she needed to embrace that for the project to work. He was so reluctant that she resorted to telling him what to be upset about, and how to punish her for it, usually followed by a scolding that he wasn't doing it right. She delighted in writing about the strain the whole debacle was putting on their relationship, and did her best to downplay how much their lives had improved otherwise.

Unfortunately one day, while she was chiding him for ruining her experiment by being too gentle, something snapped in him. He gave her a stern command to be quiet, pulled her over his knee, and walloped her behind good and red. Lyndsay felt a rush of triumph. Already writing in her head, she imagined how she'd describe the way traditional gender roles inspired violence in otherwise gentle men. Then, as if pounded into her brain by the belt, a creeping guilt appeared in Lyndsey's mind. She'd done this. Not by asking him to be a man, but by taking away his manhood by belittling him. He was so strong. Strong enough to hold her down like this. He'd always used his strength to protect her, and she'd scolded him for something so silly...

When the spanking was over Lyndsay sat on the floor. With tear filled eyes she looked up into her husband's stern face. Something had changed inside both of them. This is the way it was supposed to be.

As the tone of her blog began to change, the only thing Lyndsay had left to complain about was how much time she had on her hands during the day. Shortly thereafter Lyndsay announced she was pregnant, and changed the blog's title to "I'm Back in the Kitchen, and You Should Be Too!"

Thanks are due to Lyndsay for requesting this story.

Money Makes Sluts of us All

She hated him. Such a smug condescending bastard. The quintessential fuckboi douche who thought he was hot shit because he had pockets full of daddy's money. Not the sort of person she ever would have met if her college roommate hadn't dated him. He'd treated the poor girl like dirt, and she always had to be there with tissues and soothing words. Once the asshole finally got dumped she thought she'd never have to see his smirking face again.

Most people think life is easy street once you've got a law degree, but the world has a lot of lawyers already. Through a grapevine of mutual acquaintances he'd found out she was having money problems, and showed up on her doorstep with an offer she couldn't refuse. He was some kinda bigshot do-nothing at daddy's company now, and he'd be happy to make all her problems go away--paid in cash--if she made a porno with him. Not just any porno. He wanted to humiliate her. Revenge for all her meddling in his relationship with that dumb slut back in college. He wanted a video of the holier-than-thou feminist acting like a dumb bitch in heat.

A half dozen lawyers with jobs she'd have killed for wrote up the contract, complete with lines she had to say on camera, criteria for 'appropriate enthusiasm' on her part, and distribution rights in perpetuity for him. He wanted her to lose friends and job opportunities over this. Had hired a guy whose only job would be to follower her career and send the video to anyone she worked with.

The worst part was that she couldn't say 'no.' She needed the money too badly. She signed every paper he put in front of her, put her hair up into the stipulated pigtails, and begged for daddy's cummies on camera.

Timeline of the "Fix Women" Initiative

Content Warning: This story presents gender essentialism, bimbofication, medical mind control, and the destruction of feminism. All of these are presented with erotic purpose for people who enjoy sexual fantasies of that nature. The ideas below are unrealistic, and the beliefs expressed would be reprehensible outside of fiction. Enjoy it in the spirit it was intended. 

1980 - “Weekend Handyman Fix'em! Quarterly,” puts out its first issue. Ostensibly it is a magazine for those who want to learn home repair. Secretly it is a medical journal which can only be read by running its articles through a cipher keyed to Grey's Anatomy. The initial essays present no research, but ask questions like "How can medicine make the world better?" and "Why do we need people's consent to do what's best for them?"

1992 - After years of publishing the results of secretly performed research from all over the world, WHFQ prints its first prescriptive articles. All over the world doctors begin to sterilize undesirable women who come under their care. Powerful women. Intellectual women. Feminists. They are unfit to raise the children of a better world. 

2003 - Testing on Hamaxil tablets is completed, and large scale manufacturing begins. This “Prenatal Vitamin” given to expectant mothers alters the development of any girl children they may be carrying. The full effects won't activate until puberty, after which girls treated with Hamaxil will demonstrate a dramatically higher libido than unmodified women. 

2012 - Tritophenerol is developed. In a paste form it serves as an excellent ultrasound gel. Its pink color is explained in marketing as "just a nice touch for mothers who are expecting girls!" Chemical agents absorbed through the mother's pores will affect the mental development of the child she's carrying. Areas of the brain which have been associated with leadership and independence will have their growth regulated, while areas associated with obedience are nurtured.

2021 - The first generation of girls treated with Hamaxil reaches age 18. A second sexual revolution explodes in every nation of the world. The pornography industry experiences a boom of available talent, with one in every 8 girls aged 18 working in some part of the sex industry. 1 in every 3 girls aged 18 says they would work in the sex industry if there were more jobs available.

2030 - The first generation of girls treated with both Hamaxil and Tritophen reaches 18. College admissions for women drop dramatically, as does the new talent available for the porn industry. Many young women express that they would love to work in porn, but that their fathers or boyfriends forbid it.

2039 - While not entirely dead, Feminism is something of a cultural relic. An odd philosophy practiced by silly old women. It is no longer given any serious consideration in the public sphere.

2044 - A recording is leaked to the press of Senator Laura MacHinley ranting about a "medical conspiracy" in her office. Public discussion revolves entirely around how "uncharismatic" her rant was, and how she seems like a frigid bitch. A recall election removes her from office. There are no longer any women holding significant office in the United States government.

2049 - The 31st amendment to the constitution is passed, repealing the 19th. Women no longer have the right to vote in the United States. Opposition to this measure is minimal. 72% of women polled voted in favor of it. When asked why the most common answer was that a man in their life had told them to.

2065 - The 33rd amendment to the constitution is passed, officially identifying women as an inferior gender with no inherent rights. Women are legally defined as property owned by their father at birth, to be kept or sold as their father prefers. Women polled were overwhelmingly in favor of the amendment. One was quoted as saying “I almost wish they’d never passed the 31st, so I could’ve voted yes on the 33rd!”

One Step at a Time

It started with a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. That’s how it had to start. Back then if he had casually told her to go to the living room and provide urinal service for his guests the very least she would have done would be to run away and never speak to him again. Fuzzy pink handcuffs though? That was just a harmless bit of kinky fun.

Once the handcuffs were in play and she'd giggled through saying "yes sir" a few times the collar and leash had seemed an obvious next step. Once she put those on it begged the question of where he would lead her. You can't just wear a leash. So she allowed herself to be led. Allowed herself to be taught tricks.

She had fun posing for sexy pictures. Strictly his-eyes-only of course, but maybe it'd be more fun if more people saw them? Just a few posts to obscure porn sharing sites, all anonymous, no pictures that showed her face. Until he did start posting pictures that showed her face, and by then that didn't seem like a big deal.

The wild, once-in-a-lifetime threesome became regular group sex. The adventurous finger in her butt started her on the road to installing a special shower head in her bathroom so she could always be clean when he wanted her ass. A little pee on her leg while they showered together dominoed into her begging to be his urinal. The length of time he'd refuse to let her cum had stretched from hours to weeks.

So today when he casually told her to go to the living room and provide urinal service for his guests she hadn’t run away. She hadn’t said ‘no.’ She’d said “Yes sir,” stripped off her clothes, and knelt between a pair of strangers to take a face full of piss with a big grin. It never occurred to her to examine the path that had led to this. To recognize how every little concession had made her more of a whore. At this point it seemed like what she had always wanted.

NOTE: This is not how humans work. Boundaries may change and shift as a person gets to know themselves better, but they can't be altered by an intentional outside influence. Anyone attempting to do that to another human being would be absolutely reprehensible. This story is strictly a fantasy. 

Remember candy?

Remember candy? Not the thing itself, but the way it made you feel when you were a kid. Candy was an obsession at that age. You always wanted it, would do anything to get it, and as soon as you ate one you already wanted another. The only thing stopping you from eating candy all the time was the fact that you didn’t have candy all the time.

Then your tits start to grow in, and your hips round off. The part of your brain that used to obsess over candy starts to notice dicks. All around you. Attached to boys who seemed more interesting every day. You started to blush and giggle when they said things that would have made you mad a year ago. Words like “know-it-all,” “meanie,” and “bossy” started to fall out of your vocabulary, replaced by “bold,” “rough” and “commanding.“

You could tell they were noticing you too. They thought they were being subtle with their eyes glued to your butt as you passed them, but you didn't say anything. The attention felt good. Sometimes you’d hear them talking about girls when they thought they were alone. Sometimes the girl they talked about was you. A lot of the things they talked about sounded exciting.

Sex started to dominate your mind. This strange new thing that was better than candy. You were like a kid looking forward to Halloween. Sex was some day in the future when everything would be amazing in some explosive, unbelievable way. The waiting was interminable.

And then you realized something that made sex infinitely better than candy ever was: you can have as much of it as you want. Just thinking about it can make your mouth salivate, and conjure a warm moist feeling between your legs. Just whispering what you're thinking into a boys ear will make him ready to do it to you.

So get down on your knees, flash that sexy little smile, and suck dick 'til the candy comes out.

Marissa's Story: A Firm Hand

I bumped into a coworker in the hallway. It sounds normal when I say it like that, but there were extenuating circumstances. It was my hallway. The one in my home. Also, she was mostly naked. 

Seconds ticked by without either of us speaking. I wasn't at a loss for words so much as I couldn't decide where to start. I had a lot of angry things to say about her breaking into my home. How did she even know where I lived? On the other hand the subtle mounds of her breasts were exactly to my taste, so I was happy to let it slide. After a couple minutes even a great pair of tits like hers gets boring to look at, so I spoke up.  

“Marissa?” 

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing in my apartment?” 

She stood up straight, and slid her hands down her sides to trace her own figure. She swayed her hips slightly in the way women only do when they want men to watch.  

“Turns out, you're fuckin' dense.” she said, “I figured I might finally get your attention if I skipped ahead a few steps."

I blinked. There had been signals? Apparently my confusion was obvious.   

“Christ, there’s no way you’re actually this stupid, are you? I came here so you would fucking fuck me. Your cock. My pussy. Take me, I'm yours. Do. You. Get. It?”

“Marissa…I honestly had no idea.” It felt like my brain was chugging along a mile behind the conversation. “I’m on my way to work but…I mean yeah, I don’t like to call in sick, but I can call in sick for this. So, um, what do you, uh, what do you want to do?” 

The more I spoke the more her contempt was obvious in her posture. It occurred to me that she often looked at me with contempt. She might actually be worse at giving signals than she thinks she is. 

“You’re still not getting it. I didn’t say I wanted to be your fucking girlfriend. I said take me, so fucking take me.” 

This time my look of confusion was intentional. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m a mouthy little shit who broke into your house and told you to fuck her. I don’t need you to romance me. I need you to be a fuckin’ man. Take charge.”

I thought I got what she was driving at. Without a word I bounded for her, took her in my arms and kissed her hard. Just as I was congratulating myself on the sex I was about to have she pushed away and wiped the back of her hand across her lips. 

“Are you serious? Do you even hear the way I’ve been talking to you? I broke into YOUR house. I treat you like shit all the time. Why haven’t you slapped my whore mouth closed yet?” 

Her eyes bore into mine. I couldn’t help but glance away. She made a dismissive “tsch” sound, and bent over to pick her shirt up off the floor. She was going to leave after all that bullshit. My chest filled with an angry heat. I bounded forward again, grabbed Marissa by the neck, threw her against the wall, and slapped her. Head knocked askew I felt a brief clutch of fear as I saw a tear welling in her eye. Then her head rolled back towards me and I saw the grin. There was a ravenous lust in her eyes.

“Oh fuck yea-” she started before I cut her off with another slap, and another. She stopped trying to say anything, just made little sex moans after each slap. I kept going. Her face was sticky with running mascara, her cheek was starting to swell up. She stopped making noises, but kept turning her head back for more. I paused to get a good look. She didn't look so smug anymore. She looked afraid now, but the gesticulating hand she'd slid into her shorts told me everything I needed to know about this girl. 

She winced when she saw my hand coming again, but this time I took firm hold of her hair and forced her down. Her hands were fumbling with my belt before her knees touched the floor. She threw herself on my dick with desperation. Put her heart and soul into getting me off as if it were the most important thing she'd ever done. I finished. She swallowed. I she looked up at me expectantly while I put my dick away. Looking for approval, ready for whatever I did to her next. 

“I don’t feel like being late for work.” I said. “Go cover my shift.” 

“Yes daddy.” Marissa replied.

(Thanks to Marissa for requesting this story!)

A Christ Centered Marriage

Elizabeth crossed the threshold in her husband’s arms. Her cheeks ached from smiling, but she didn’t want to stop. This was it! The moment she’d waited for since girlhood, here with the man she loved, the way god had intended for it to be. When her feet were under her again she lifted the hem of her white dress and practically skipped to the bed, throwing herself onto it, and looking back at her husband with what she hoped was a seductive glance.

She could see the same broad grin on his face as he locked the door behind them. His pants bulged as she’d often seen them do, and today for the first time he wasn’t in sin. She wasn’t in sin for looking. They’d waited, and now they’d reap the tenfold pleasures of a Christ-centered married life. Each step he took towards the bed sent a throb of anticipatory desire through her belly.

“Kneel down for me.” he said. She twinged in frustration. They’d waited so long, done everything right. Skip the praying and just…DO me she thought. But then, it had only been an hour since she’d vowed to love, honer, and obey this man. Christ had chosen him to be her spiritual guide, and she would not begin their life together by casting doubt on that. She sank to her knees, dress ruffling around her as she folded her hands and bowed her head.

When he didn’t begin the prayer, Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open and she discovered his…his thing hovering before her face, no more than an inch from her lips. She recoiled, turning her head away.

“Ohmygosh, eugh!” she hissed, “That’s disgusting, what are you doing?”

She didn’t even see the slap coming. She just felt the stinging blow against the side of her face. She fell on her side. Then his hands were under her arms, lifting her back to her knees. His -thing- wobbled in her face as he did so.

“Open your mouth.” he said. She did, too shocked to do anything else. He shoved the thing into her mouth. She gagged and pulled back, but he held her head firm.

“You’ve got to suck it.” he added. Elizabeth felt the stickiness of running mascara on her cheeks. She looked up at him, trying to plead with her eyes for him to stop being crazy. He looked back expectantly. “C’mon!” he added with impatience.

Elizabeth tried. She closed her lips around him and sucked. Sucked like it was a straw, or a pacifier. Her husband began to make frustrated noises, he gently rocked back and forth for a moment, and loosed a little moan of unexpected pleasure. He pulled back, and Elizabeth was relieved it was over, but then he shoved himself into her mouth again, further than before. She tried to pull away, but his fists grabbed at clumps of her hair, holding her in place. 
“Do NOT stop sucking.” he said, as he pulled back to ram himself forward again, and again, over and over pressing Elizabeth’s nose into his belly.

He cried out, thrusting forward a final time and holding her there, suffocating, as her mouth filled with a foul taste. He released her, and collapsed back onto the bed with a contented sigh. Elizabeth fell forward to her hands and knees, semen and vomit dribbling from her mouth to stain the hem of her pretty white dress.

She lowered herself to her side and curled into a ball, sobs finally able to escape her mouth. Her husband sat up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He sounded genuinely concerned.

“WHAT’S WRONG?!” she shouted, gasping for air. “Why did you do that to me!?”

“We’re married now, Elizabeth. I finally get to have sex with you. I’ve been waiting so long.”

“But that was awful!” She tried to hold his gaze. Stare him down with her anger, but the quiet concern on his face was too much. She turned away. He moved to sit on the floor beside her, lifting her head into his lap and gently caressing her side.

“Sweetheart, I know it’s difficult. God didn’t make woman to enjoy sex the same way a man does, but generosity in the marriage bed is the wife’s burden. You knew that is what we would do tonight. I’m sorry this first time was so difficult for you, but I’ve heard the first time is always the worst. You’ll get used to it, trust me.”

“Not like that! This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just…I just really wanted you to touch me softly. And rub my…rub me down there. And then you’d put it in there and we’d kiss. I wanted you to make me feel good, and beautiful. All you did was hurt me. Use me. ”

“Oh sweetheart, Elizabeth, I love you. You are so beautiful and so good and so loved. But…that’s just not what sex is. You can’t understand, women just aren’t built to have sexual thoughts and desires the way men are. This is something a man needs, and a suffering woman must endure.”

“I mean…I just…I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Trust me, you’ll get used to it, it’ll get easier.”

“But what we did was a sin!”

He gave her a kind of confused, but self assured smile. “No it wasn’t. We’re husband and wife now, and I claimed my rights as a husband. You should not have resisted me, but I corrected you, and you submitted. I forgive you, we’re both still learning.”

“No, it’s the sin of Onan! You spilled your seed.”

He glanced down, noticing the semen smeared on the floor and dress, bits still dribbling from Elizabeth’s chin.

“No,” he said, his voice taking a slightly stern edge. “You spilled my seed. I’m disappointed in you for adding to Christ’s burden, but I forgive you.”

Elizabeth lay on the ground, sniffling softly, trying to absorb what her husband had said. It was starting to feel as though she should apologize to him, but she didn’t want to. He saved her the trouble when he spoke again.

“Why don’t you get up on the bed now. I need to plant our first child in you tonight.”

A little unsure smile crept across Elizabeth’s cumspeckled lips.

“R-really?” she asked, a crack of a smile appearing on her lips. He nodded.

She removed her gown, too off-put by the evening’s events to perform the seductive ritual she’d fantasized about, but eager all the same. She endured his little pinches and gropes with giggles and bawdy winks. A small flicker of warmth returned to that place low in her belly. She lay back on the bed, looking up at the man who was her Christhead. She was ready at last to lose her virginity to the man God had chosen for her.

“Turn over, on your hands and knees.” he said. “I wanna slap your butt while I do it.” The warmth began to turn cold in her stomach. As fresh tears welled in her eyes, Elizabeth turned her head so he wouldn’t see them.

Elizabeth obeyed.

(Thanks to Elizabeth for requesting this story!)

Mind Control Man, Vol 1

When he’d first gained his mental powers, he spent awhile just compelling women to fuck him. It had been fun, but ultimately unsatisfying. Like fucking a blowup doll: sure you get off, but it’s just glorified masturbation. More recently he’d learned to use his powers with greater subtlety to achieve much more satisfying experiences.

Sitting in a park, he watched the people strolling past with their families. He scanned for someone suitable, and his thoughts were pulled towards a young mother walking beside her husband, their infant son in a stroller. For a moment her husband glanced to the side, and immediately she quietly stepped out of sight. She walked to where He sat, and when she reached him he saw a look of confusion pass over her face. She smiled at him awkwardly, the way you do when you inadvertently violate a stranger’s personal space. 

“Don’t worry about it.” he said. “You came over here because I wanted you to come over here.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. Sit down with me for a moment.” His voice made it clear that it was an instruction, not a request. 

“uhm, no, I think I better get back to my husband.” she said, with polite discomfort.

“Why?” he asked. “No matter how many times you ask him to take charge in the bedroom, he’s never doing to give you anything better than a cheesy stern voice and an occasional slap on the ass.” 

She was already three steps away from him when he said it. When he finished she was about to break into a run, but it only took a little mental nudge to make her more angry than she was afraid. She spun back on him.

“Who the FUCK are you?”

“I’m the faceless man you think about while you rub your clit after your husband has rolled off of you and gone to sleep. The one who’s too strong for you to fight off. The one who’s hands on your throat don’t let you cry out. I’m the man you closed your eyes and pretended was fucking you the night you made your son. The man who didn’t want to put a baby in you because he ‘loves you,’ and ‘wants to start a family with you,’ but wanted to do it because you’re a woman and it’s the only thing your body is good for.”

She stood stock still, eyes wide, mouth open. It was the posture of someone whose most private thoughts had just been laid bare for them by a stranger. He locked his gaze with hers and didn’t say a word. He’d only destroy the mystique by saying anything before she’d processed what just happened.

“Samantha?” called her husband’s voice from around the hedge. Without hesitation she moved away from the voice, towards the stranger on the bench. He didn’t compel her to do that, but at this point she couldn’t have done anything else. 

“How do you-”

“Shut up.” he cut her off. He felt the sudden pulse of arousal shoot through her mind. He pushed on. “Your mouth is for sucking dick, not for asking stupid questions.”

He felt the impulse form in her mind. A fantasy she would hold close to her heart. One she’d masturbate to at the earliest convenience, but never one she would act on. At least, not without a little mental nudge…

“Yes sir.” she breathed as she fell to her knees. He feigned disinterest as she excitedly pulled open his pants and wrapped her lips around him. Without prompting he knew she was pushing herself deeper, sucking with greater vigor than she ever had for her husband. He felt the pain of the uneven pavement on her bare knees, and felt her push the pain aside. “My pain doesn’t matter” she thought of her own accord. “I am an object for men’s pleasure.”

With a final mental suggestion, he let her know that it would be better if he came on her face. She would have been happy to swallow every drop, but he wanted to mark her. His spray came out thick and voluminous, and she smiled as it draped itself across her features. He put his dick away while she knelt, silent and smiling. In that moment he knew she would abandon everything if he told her to do it. Her mind was racing at the thought of being his slave. Being treated like this all of the time. It was the only thing that mattered. 

“Go back to your husband.” he said. He felt her heart sink, but he continued. “You can tell him whatever you want, but do not clean up. Let him see my cum all over your whore face.” He stood up to leave. “Maybe I’ll come see you again some day.”

As he walked away he listened to her thoughts. A half dozen lies bounced around in her head. Maybe it was just bird shit, or maybe she’d been raped by a hobo…but no. She would tell him the truth.

Never once did he have to nudge her away from cleaning the cum off of her face. The thought of disobeying him never even entered her head.M

Statement of Intent

I am a man, a feminist, and a communist. Misogyny turns me on. I love to imagine my deeply held beliefs being forcefully violated. These fantasies go beyond the healthy and sanitized power exchange of BDSM to extremes that ought only ever exist as stories. I'm not ashamed of my kink, but it can be a difficult line to tread. I've been writing erotic fiction and essays under the name Sinful Syllables for 10 years.

Most numerous and edifying are the women who enjoy my work. Often they've struggled with that same internal contradiction I have: how can you be a Good Feminist™ when the idea of women being inherently inferior turns you on? It's a struggle compounded by the culture of MaleDom/femsub spaces where it's not always clear where role playing ends and a person's true beliefs begin. It's a space filled with abusers masquerading as kinksters. That I've been able to serve these women by satisfying their kink without threatening their ethics makes me think the work is worth doing.

Then there are the men who take my fantasy misogyny as support for their factual misogyny. It's because of them that I write posts like this one. I'd rather err on the side of being a turnoff than unwittingly feed into the delusions of a fragile and dangerous man. I believe wholeheartedly in the essential nature of continuously enthusiastic consent between partners. I practice Risk Assessed Consensual Kink. I'll do my best to turn you on, and if going out of character to remind you that everything I'm writing is a fiction kills the mood for you, then sorry not sorry.