Lost & Found: Finding FemDom, a Love Letter.
The Dommes I've had the pleasure of getting to know often talk about always being different, always falling outside of what is expected of a woman in our society, at this time. Often it's being raised by a strong, confidence-instilling parent or perhaps the opposite, fighting for control from an early age. Regardless of origins, there seems to be a similar path to discovery. The incubation of dominant tendencies in youth, the realization and rejection of self in young adulthood and the eventual acceptance of oneself. This story of identity often parallels that of the submissive men who provide our counterpart. A wonderfully complimentary journey through rejection and acceptance, laced together with only empathy. On this day, December 17th, International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers, I've written my story in the form of a love letter to all my fellow sex workers, but in particular, my fellow Dommes. Living in the margins is often isolating, sometimes dangerous. For those who join me on this path, I see you, and you will always be safe with me. Everyone's story is different, here's mine...
Submission begins in solitude. It is either a nature you were born with or it is a choice you've made for this moment. Your motivation doesn't concern me, your execution does. Hey, if you're going to do something, do it well.
I'm sexually dominant. It's impossible to distill the nature from the nurture but ultimately it doesn't matter because this is who I am. Present yourself as my natural counterpoint. Present me with a mind that has soaked in the bliss of female dominance and I will step into my natural role with you.
I close my eyes, as directed.
"What do you hear?" she asks.
"The dogs playing, the air conditioner in the bedroom, you moving around on the chair," I respond. A distant yet familiar feeling immediately presents itself under the darkness of my eyelids. The thoughts slide into my mind, involuntarily. The hope that my answer was correct, the fear of disappointing her, the familiar discomfort of vulnerability. I feel a bit silly for succumbing so quickly and pull myself back, comforting myself with the understanding that my eyes are simply closed, nothing to fear.
Lovely, little sadist living in Toronto, Ontario. This is my journal, where my brain gets to play.