I’m not The Perfect Dom™.

I can make mistakes. I can miss things. I can get something almost right, polish it, read it ten more times, and still have a problem slip past me and make it out into the world.

One of the most useful things I learned in business is this: don’t walk into a room trying to be the smartest person there. Walk in trying to be the best listener. Nobody has everything figured out—but a lot of people have something figured out, and if you’re building anything real—inside a dynamic, out in the world, or in yourself—you should be taking notes.

And what I’m building here has a lot of moving gears. An obscene amount of words. Pages that connect to pages, ideas that echo across cycles, tone that has to stay sharp without becoming sloppy, and standards that have to stay firm without turning into theater.

I do my due diligence. I’m serious about craft. I’m serious about clarity. I’m serious about the “final product” meeting the level I’m claiming.

But even with time, effort, and obsessive passes, it’s still possible something slips through.

I run a lot of this work through checkers and a highly tuned, to my voice AI editor—not as a copywriter, but as a proofer. I reject way more suggestions than I accept, but between rough drafts, formatting, and reposting across platforms, something can still slip in: a line “fixed” in one place and left wrong somewhere else. So if you ever catch something truly egregious, out of character, or trying to put words in my mouth—bring it to me. It may simply be incorrect, and you’re welcome to ask about it.

Sometimes it’s minor:

• a typo
• a broken link
• formatting that makes the read feel like a fight instead of a glide
• a sentence that should’ve been clear but lands foggy

Sometimes it’s not small.

Sometimes a word or phrase does something I didn’t intend. Sometimes a train of thought that makes perfect sense inside the sealed room of my mind translates differently on the outside. Sometimes a line hits harder than I meant it to—or hits a reader in a place I didn’t predict. Sometimes someone feels a little too called out. Sometimes a “sharp” moment lands as careless.

Shit happens.

I’m not going to pretend it never does. I’m not going to act like I’m above it. I’m not going to hide behind “that’s just my voice” if the real issue is that something didn’t land the way I meant it.

So I’ll say this plainly:

Nobody likes being told their fly is unzipped—especially when a stranger is yelling it across the internet.

So if you’re going to tell me, tell me privately—like you actually want it fixed.

If you see something that doesn’t make sense—in the words, the site structure, the formatting, the flow—tell me.

If you see something that feels off—where what I’m doing doesn’t match what I’m claiming to be building here—tell me.

And yes: if you ever think my behavior doesn’t line up with the standards I put on the page, you can tell me that too.

Not because you’re in charge of me.

Because I’m accountable to my own frame.

There is no peace to learning. There is no end to understanding the world we’re living in—especially a world that changes faster than people can update their instincts. I’m not interested in being “done.” I’m interested in being better.

Here’s the boundary line:

If your issue is with what I’m doing as a whole—you don’t like kink, don’t like dominance, don’t like my style, don’t like the fact that I exist and I’m putting myself out into the world—that’s a you problem.

I’m not your brand of human. Fine.

You don’t need to read me.

You don’t need to be here.

And I don’t need a manifesto about it.

But if your note is in good faith—concrete, real, and meant to keep the standards honest—I want it. I’ll take it seriously. I’ll fix what needs fixing.

And if this page annoys you?

Good.

It’s doing its job.

Companion track: “Weight of My Mistakes” – Seal