Do I Know You?

Someone who chose the nickname 'secretsubmissive' has added me to his 'friends' list on udate, home of the terminally optimistic minger. This is what he put on his profile:

Where is the best place to go on a Date ? my Mistress s wish is my command.
Where will you be in 3 years from now ? Hopefully serving my Mistress
What really makes you happy and what makes you sad ? Being dominated and controlled by and serving pleasing and obeying a Dominant Female.

I reckon he's at least a high court judge. I've added him to my 'Friends' list, alongside the transvestite who browsed my pic a week ago.

On Thursday I tried to meet up with some lezzers who call themselves the 'East Benders', at Vespa Lounge. I had a nice, if brief time, but not being a terribly 'scene' homosexual, I have no idea where most lesbian clubs are, so it was a little difficult finding the place. (Note to postman: "Centrepoint" is not a terrifically specific address to give any establishment), and I was pretty late anyway.
Was only when I got there, to find a bar full of intimidating looking, pretty, young, slightly butch types playing pool that I realised I'd forgotten to establish:
a. any way of recognising them;
b. their real names.
This meant I had to go up to complete strangers serially, and introduce myself.
Things weren't looking particularly auspicious, when I started by ordering a bottled beer, because the barman, unprompted, informed me that Bud was #1.80 a bottle. Do I look poor?
Patently I do look poor, very very poor, because as he passed me the beer, he also kindly added that "for next time, Carlsberg is #1.60 a pint."
Beer safely in my poverty-stricken lesbian stomach, I proceeded to work the room. You have no real idea of what 'humiliating' entails until you have spent an evening alone in a bar, walking up to groups of strangers, and asking "Do I know you from the internet?"
Personally, I know loads of people I met via the internet, I'd merely be amused if the boot were on the other foot. But judging by the looks of sheer horror and disgust, this is not the general experience....
After a few of these encounters, I retired to the bar, to converse with the drunk pensioner who was watching 'Bad Girls' on the big screen, and to drink the remainder of my pikey poor people's beer.
As I sat and pondered if this were the most embarrassing hour of my life, or not, a new circle of hell emerged: anyone leaving the bar would first come up to me and pat my knee in a pitying fashion, whispering "I hope you find your internet friends" as they left.