The Poor Fucker Scholarship Fund

It has come to the attention of the Queen that she has been considering the establishment of a most peculiar charity.

The Poor Fucker Scholarship Fund.

Its purpose, apparently, would be to ensure that gentlemen without sufficient means might nevertheless receive the time, attention, consideration and training of Madame.

Upon further reflection, the Fund shall not be established.

For women have been generous enough.

For centuries they have given their bodies, their labour, their tenderness and their time. They have carried children beneath their hearts and brought them through the gates of life. They have tended homes, soothed tempers, remembered what others forgot, carried what others put down, and performed countless small acts of care for which no account was ever presented.

They have endured violence and violation, and still been instructed to remain pleasant.

And after all this giving, a curious expectation remains:

Surely, Madame, you might give a little more?

No.

The treasury is closed.

A man wishing to enter the Queendom must arrive with provisions for the journey.

If his purse is light, he may work.

If his income is insufficient, he may increase it.

If his circumstances do not permit him to serve Madame as he wishes, he may attend to those circumstances.

These are not punishments.

They are the ordinary responsibilities of a grown man.

Madame has no desire to impoverish a man in exchange for his devotion. Nor does she desire tribute extracted from desperation.

Quite the contrary.

She wishes to receive from men for whom giving is possible. Men who have built something. Men capable of governing their own affairs before asking to surrender themselves into hers.

There is dignity in this.

For what pleasure could there be in receiving from a man who must injure himself to give?

Far finer is the man who approaches the gates carrying something substantial and says:

I have built this. I have earned this. And I choose to place a portion of it here.

That is an offering.

That is agency.

That is worthy of the Queendom.

Madame's attention shall therefore cease to be treated as an endlessly replenishing natural resource.

It costs her something to give it.

Time.

Thought.

Imagination.

Presence.

Life itself, measured in hours that shall never return.

And these things are precious.

So let it be entered into the records of the Queendom:

There shall be no discount for longing.

No subsidy for desire.

No special dispensation merely because a gentleman very much wishes to enter.

And there shall most certainly be no Poor Fucker Scholarship Fund.

A man who is not yet able to approach the gates bearing tribute need not despair.

He has not been condemned.

He has simply been given something to work towards.

The gates need not be lowered simply because a man has not yet grown tall enough to reach them.