Why I Didn't Choose You
You sent your message. You waited. You checked your inbox again and again, wondering why the silence stretched on. You might have even convinced yourself I was too busy, too overwhelmed with attention to notice you.

But I noticed. I always notice.

The truth you're avoiding is simpler than you want to believe: I chose not to choose you. And that choice happened the moment I read your first line.

Your First Impression Is Your Last Chance
You think our dance begins when we meet in person, but you're wrong. It begins the second you decide to reach out. Every word you write, every assumption you make, every shortcut you take—it all lands on my desk like evidence in a case I'm already building.

I don't skim your messages. I study them. I see the desperation masked as confidence, the entitlement dressed up as enthusiasm, the performer hiding behind the person who actually wants to submit.

When you open with "Hi babe", or slide into My DMs instead of following My clearly stated process, you're not being casual—you're being careless. And carelessness with my time tells me everything about how you'll handle my attention.

The Theatre of False Submission
You perform submission instead of feeling it. You write to Me like you're auditioning for a role you think I want to see, rather than revealing the person you actually are. You brag about your "experience with other Dommes" as if I should be impressed by your resume, when what I'm looking for is your hunger to learn something new.

You suggest you could "train Me" or "test My limits" because you mistake dominance for a competition you can win. But what you don't understand is that true power doesn't need to prove itself—it simply is. And when you challenge Me before you've even earned the right to speak freely, you're not demonstrating strength. You're showing Me your insecurity.

I'm not here to validate your fantasies about what a Dominatrix should be. I'm here to show you what submission could become when you stop performing, and start feeling.

The Obsession Masquerading as Devotion
You think intensity equals devotion, so you send three emails in an hour. You track Me across platforms. You call Me by intimate names before we've even spoken. You mistake stalking for interest, pressure for persistence.

But real devotion isn't desperate. It's patient. It's respectful. It's the kind of attention that feels like worship, not harassment.

When you overshare your trauma history in paragraph after paragraph, you're not being vulnerable—you're asking Me to be your therapist before I've agreed to be your Dominant. You're dumping your pain in My lap and calling it transparency.

I love working with rough edges. I can nurture someone who's still learning. But I cannot work with someone who confuses attention with intimacy, or who thinks submission means I should carry their emotional weight without consent.

Good Manners Are Not Optional
This is where I become immovable. You can be new to the scene, uncertain about protocols, even nervous about approaching Me (My favourite). These things can be taught, guided, corrected. But rudeness? Disrespect? The attitude that My boundaries are inconveniences to be negotiated, rather than standards to be met? That's not rough around the edges—that's a fundamental misunderstanding of what we're doing here.

When you mock My screening process, laugh at My questions, or make jokes about My profession, you're not being playful. You're being disrespectful. And disrespect doesn't get corrected in My world—it gets eliminated.

Good manners aren't about being formal or stuffy. They're about recognising that I'm a human being deserving of basic respect, not a fantasy dispenser waiting to fulfill your desires. They're about understanding that every interaction we have is an opportunity to show mMe who you are, and that first impressions matter more than you think.

The Mirror You're Avoiding
If you're reading this wondering why you never heard back from Me, stop looking for excuses and start looking inward. Your message told Me a story about you—not the story you meant to tell, but the story you couldn't help telling.

It told Me whether you see me as a person or a service. Whether you're here for transformation, or just another thrill. Whether you understand the difference between submission and servitude, between vulnerability and neediness, between confidence and arrogance.

I don't ghost you to be cruel. I ghost you because engaging with someone who hasn't earned My attention is a waste of the energy I could be spending on someone who has.

What I'm Really Looking For
I want your hunger, not your desperation. I want your respect, not your performance. I want to see the person behind the submissive, not the submissive behind the mask.

I want good manners, genuine curiosity, and the emotional intelligence to approach Me as a human being first and a Dominatrix second. I want someone who understands that submission isn't about what you can get from Me, but about what you can give to this connection we might build together.

I want devotion that feels like worship, not obsession. I want vulnerability that comes from strength, not weakness. I want someone who sees My boundaries not as obstacles to overcome, but as the very thing that makes Me worth submitting to.

If you didn't hear back from Me, it's not because I'm too busy or too overwhelmed. It's because you haven't shown Me you're ready for what I offer. And until you are, My silence is the kindest gift I can give you—the chance to become someone worth choosing.

The door remains open. But it only opens from the inside.