Straight-identifying people always ask me, “What made you a dominatrix? Why do you want to do it if you’re not getting paid??”
People made me a dominatrix! They forced me to be myself. It all began one night with a friend who could not for the life of himself decide what he wanted to eat. I remember him shuffling his menu to his wife, and his wife shuffling it back. He pouted. My stomach growled impatiently. I couldn’t stand watching adults do the “whaddoIwant?” one-step. They knew the menu! We ate there every month. Yet every time, the husband could not decide what to order until his wife snatched the menu from his hands and announced to the table, “He’ll have the fish.” Later, he complained that the fish wasn’t as good as last time.
That’s when I realized two things: first, that people needed to be guided or they’d end up like untended chickens, roosting in trees, only to be eaten or lost the next day. And that men were not the strong, silent types I expected from Hollywood movies. They were more like whiny dictators who expected women to take care of life’s little details, like what and when you eat.
I Had Control Issues
OK, in fairness, maybe it wasn’t exactly like that. Still, I had control issues. Chaos disturbed me. I wanted order. Adults should act adultish and seem wise. They should KNOW what they wanted to eat. And where they wanted to go afterwards, so you didn’t end up freezing your butt off on a sidewalk while they quibbled.
Why couldn’t things make sense? Why couldn’t adults adult?? When I grew up, I’d be a queen, a Broadway star, a woman who wore pants and rode horses and flew planes. My circumstances didn’t even vaguely suggest I’d make it past a job at a local hair salon. But I nursed fantasies in which I had physical power and social power. And that drifted into my sexual fantasies.
In my 20s, my eyes were opened through a combination of people making comments about me being kinky, while I kept denying it, and finally swallowing the bitter pill of my personal truth. Well, of course, I was a dominatrix. I beamed at being dominant but burned with shame nonetheless for being kinky. Yes, I liked to hurt men. It was wrong. But not when they wanted it, right? I remember how much I enjoyed when a classmate begged me to kick him. And how he wriggled on the ground in happiness when I did. But that memory made me ashamed for years.
A Good Girl Complex Muted My Needs
See, I didn’t WANT TO BE who I was. It didn’t fit with my self-image. The challenge was accepting that a nice Jewish girl like me COULD be this archetype of the male imagination. I didn’t fit the mold. Confining clothes like corsets and bondage skirts were not my thing. High heels were the demon, and garters with stockings were a hard limit. I didn’t like the caricature of the sneering, man-eating bitch either. I felt GREAT to finally have a label for my sexuality. I always knew I was different from other girls. I never liked being vulnerable in bed. I preferred having most of the control.
But holy crap, there was so much social programming against women! My generation shoved misogyny down your throat and up your tush to a point where women simply didn’t DARE to admit they loved being in charge. It might mean the next worst thing a woman could admit to, which was LESBIAN. Culture somehow seriously believed that only lesbians had the balls to be powerful. So to speak.
I went to a therapist. She was European and a woman of the world. After 3 months, she told me that there was nothing wrong with me. I was rational. I was where I should be in life. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with the kinky things I did: everyone was an adult, everyone consented, and despite my early blunders, things were pretty amazing kink-wise.
Those were the most liberating of months my life, capped off by my therapist’s affirmation.
When Your Man is Sub
Fast forward 30 years. Now I’m the therapist. And every year, I see couples with the same problem. The man wants to explore submission. He may have a specific kink or fetish (like a love of feet or a powerful reaction to leather or latex in bed).
Based on clinical therapy over the decades, the women who thrive as dominants are the ones who are either (a) able to connect with their inner dominance or (b) loving and clever enough to find a way to keep him happy while negotiating a compromise that makes HER happy.
Quick example: he cleans up after dinner, gets the kids to bed, and gives her 1-2 hours to luxuriate in a bath and prep for adult fun with him. OR: she engages in his fetish with him, but expects a long session of oral service before he gets his fantasy fulfilled.
There are hundreds of little tricks to building seamless compatibility in bed as long as both adults are willing and able to make small compromises. AND there are several different paths to becoming the femdom you’d love to be. I’ll be tackling how to assess your own potential and how to hack your sex life with … BRIBES! (aka “compromises” and “fair trades”)
Summary
Come back on Thursday this week when I’ll share a Self-Assessment test. Let’s find out if you just might be someone who’s been dominant all along but not ready to admit it . . . .UNTIL NOW!
Don’t forget my latest ebook for women on Menopause will be out any day now! Bookmark the Pleasure Literacy Emporium and come back for your free copy.
photo credit: RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com
