The Gospel According to Mistress Kay

Top Five Ways To Guarantee NEVER Experiencing "The Elusive Mistress Kay"

2009-12-22T11:39:00.000-08:00

The boy has suggested that I start blogging again. Though I recently hosted my first play party, I haven't had much to say in awhile as far as fetish is concerned ... my heart just really wasn't in it for awhile there, and I think of it all more as a side hobby or something these days. While I'm still able to enjoy certain aspects of it and still want to stay connected to some of the wonderful friends I have in the community, it's not where my focus is. I'm back in school after four years, finishing my psychology degree and have pretty much become "super student" over the last several months, my number one priority being busting my ass to maintain a 4.0 average so I can get scholarships to pay for everything else. My boy's and my relationship is basically vanilla. I've pulled all clearly identifiable photos of myself from any fetish sites and I've stopped shooting videos, though with several tempting offers on the table recently, I may pick it up again in the coming year. Still, the only thing fetish-related that really seems relevant enough to my current life to take the time and energy to blog about it are the pet peeves that cropped up when I spent my time weeding through emails from prospective subbies, many of which reared their ugly heads again in emails from my would-be party attendees. So, here they are -- in the spirit of the movie High Fidelity, and in no particular order -- the top five ways to ensure that Satan will be perfecting his triple lutz before an individual who commits any of the following will get anywhere near me:

1. Name dropping. I've lost count of the number of times some random whom I've never met before has messaged me with a list of other Dommes he knows by way of undoing having made a horrible first impression on me. Most recently, a guy who wanted to attend my party asked around trying to get my personal cell phone number, finally succeeding by implying to a sweet but easily manipulated friend of mine that he had had the number previously and lost it. Everywhere the event description was posted clearly stated that all would-be attendees needed to do was email me their info so I could add them to my mailing list for when I sent out the address of the private location the day before the party. While he did email, he also seemed to be one of those types who wants what they want when they want it, so he felt the need to violate my privacy in addition. When I called him on it and told him that I wasn't comfortable having him because such behavior prevented me from assuring the owner of the space of his ability for discretion, he replied with his list of references. My response? I am not concerned with who you and I may happen to know in common. I am concerned with your present behavior. Seriously, why do they all seem to think second-hand information from others is going to mean shit to me if their first impression sucks?

2. Breaches in confidentiality. This can be seen as a sub-category of name dropping, and can apply to any revelation of confidential information by a sub about another Domme. Most often, I've encountered it from subs who know I've worked with Domme Dietrich and feel the need to refer to her by her vanilla name when mentioning her to me, just to show me how tight they are with her. The fact that I know her real name because she signs it on my checks notwithstanding, scene names exist for a reason, and something like that really makes me lose respect for someone ... I'm sure as hell not gonna feel any inclination to get all "buddy-buddy" and share my personal information with you after something like that.

3. Long-time players who brag about their experience. While I'm not in any way knocking the old-timers as I've met several who are sweet, wonderful, and have been immensely helpful to me in my growth as a Domme, these are the ones who are respectful, humble, and most importantly, who don't feel the need to go on ad nauseam about how experienced they are. The ones who feel the need to brag about it, in my experience, have always been the ones to top from the bottom ... and the worst part of this is, they don't even seem to realize they're doing it; they'll claim how much they loathe topping from the bottom, and truly believe they are simply making "respectful suggestions" when in reality, they are rattling off a laundry list of demands. My first ever experience with a sub was with a guy like this, and I played with one at my party who has emailed me two or three unsolicited "performance review" missives since, basically complaining about all the things he really likes that I didn't do (or didn't do enough of for his liking) during our short scene (mainly more sensual stuff, which call me shallow, but is SO never going to happen between me and the flabby and hairy who emanate the aroma of BO). I finally just said that while it was fun, we probably just have different styles since I've actually found I often prefer the novices, finding them more inclined to allow the Domme her creative license than some of the old-timers who are more "set in their ways" (which I actually thought was a wonderfully tactful way of putting it) he wrote back complaining about my "lack of flexibility." Ha. All I have to say to that one is: Hi, pot. This is kettle. You're black.

4. Violations of my and/or my boy's personal space. The number of times a perfect stranger has found it perfectly acceptable to make excuses to touch me during the course of our conversation is mind-blowing. I've actually flat out told people at events I wouldn't play with them because of that. Ditto anyone touching my boy; one girl once reached down his shirt and actually tweaked his nipple by way of introduction. She's just lucky I had a happy-mellow-drunk-buzz going on at the time, or she would have gotten drop-kicked. Seriously, the scene just allows way too much space for playing with the boundaries of normal social conduct.

5. Condescending male Doms. These are the guys who have the arrogant mentality that female Dommes "just haven't been topped by the right man yet." I found the mentality equally insulting as a queer-identified woman, so this one irks me times two. Again, as in the old-timers example, it's not the case with all male Doms;I count some pretty incredible male Doms among my closest friends. But I do get enough of the occasional "hey little girl" come ons to maintain there are still entirely too many arrogant dudes who strut around like they're God's gift, and who, if that's the case, I would really like to wrap up and stamp "Return to Sender."

Everything I'm Not

2009-06-01T09:07:00.000-07:00

Yes, I realize it has been awhile. Hello to my empty audience! Plenty has happened; sometimes I've even commented "I should blog about this later."
I'd like to say I've simply been too busy living my life to worry about documenting it, but part of me just plain and simple hasn't had the motivation to do so.
When I was in L.A., I met Oriana* a friend of Brooke's who'd apparently been bugging her for months to take her to see the dungeon. Brooke finally relented the night she and I went out with Oriana.
Once there, Oriana - who was a performer in something similar to Cirque du Soleil - decided to show off some her moves by jumping up and swinging by one arm from a spreader bar that was chained to the dungeon ceiling. Of course, the bar wasn't designed to support someone's full weight, the chain pulled out of the ceiling, and Oriana landed flat on her back.
When Brooke said she didn't want Oriana's on again, off again boytoy coming there to pick her up, chaos and drama ensued, culminating in Oriana's screaming at Brooke that if her boy wasn't allowed to come get her, then she needed the paramedics because she might have a punctured lung (Brooke made the valid point that Oriana wouldn't have been able to scream at Brooke if, in fact, she had a punctured lung). At Brooke's reluctance to the notion of a team of paramedics inside her fully equipped private dungeon, Oriana went off on her for "caring more about (her) business than (her) friends, but then what else can you expect from someone who inflicts pain for a living?" Brooke defaulted to anger right away: "Fuck you, Ori! Congratulations, you just made an enemy," but it was obvious that one stung.
A little under a month ago, I was reminded of that incident when my ex - upset at learning of my new relationship status - lashed out by informing me that what I do is "trashy, like maybe a step above a hooker ... do something real." Up until the other day, she was still groveling to get me to give her the time of day. She apologized finally, claiming she didn't mean it. I countered that she should know me better than that because I bust my ass to make sure, first and foremost, that I never feel personally compromised. I'm a snob as far as what clients I'll even see; I'm all about quality over quantity, and if I don't like someone's initial approach, fuck the money, I'm not gonna see 'em ... a fact of which she happens to be well aware since she's been there with me when I've fielded calls from potential clients before. I mean, I know it was just thoughtless immaturity, but it still stung.
The ironic part of all that is the one big conclusion I've reached lately which is that I don't really think I particularly want to be a pro Domme. Between the aggravation of all the legwork, sleazy approaches and atmospheres, houses run by male "Doms" who view themselves as "pimps" to the girls working there ... half the time anymore, I find myself hoping confirmation calls won't come.
Thing is, if I wasn't me, she might have almost had a point. Only almost though. As it is, I'm sticking with the semi-pro part time thing, and lately, I've also been performing at events; two in May, and my third is coming up at the end of this month. Just call me "Belle of the Ballbusters." Or something. Ha.
At the last one, my boy was inspired to attempt his first public play; he was nervous, but did so great. I was really proud of him. And he commented on how well I can read him because apparently the exact moment I chose to check in during our scene was the exact moment he was thinking that he needed to feel me pressed up against him right now. Pretty awesome.
But on the flip side, we have the downfall that because we do read each other so well, sometimes it's way too easy to forget how fresh and new this all is and how much we both still have to learn about each other. So, maybe we're more thrown than we really should be whenever we hit a speedbump and fall off the wheels.
I don't really want to go too in depth, but suffice to say, it's fucking frustrating: "In a moment, I can't remember how to be all you wanted." I like it that I've been able to crash light through as many of his shadows as I have. But there are also going to be those times when I won't have the magic words to make everything better. Times when I'm feeling tapped out because there's only so much need I can fill for another person in any given moment.
But as displayed yesterday, there will also be times when I'm among friends thinking I'm thisclose to just going off if one more person asks me why he's not by my side today (forcing me to further think about the one thing I've been trying to put out of my mind, even if just for the day)... and he'll text me thanking me for a patience I don't feel, and just like that, full circle - or something like it, anyway - suddenly feels within reach once more.

Enjoying the Ride

2009-04-21T23:11:00.000-07:00

When I first started learning my way around the community, I heard both Brooke and Derek refer to vanilla people in terms of D/s on separate occasions.
Brooke and I had several "girl talk" nights during which we would stay up late drinking wine, painting our toenails, and trading stories ... and one night, when I told her about an experience I'd had with a guy who had gotten cold feet about "sealing the deal" with me (so to speak) during a vanilla sexual encounter, she responded matter-of-factly, "Well, he had a true slave mindset then, and a true slave never wants to fuck his Mistress." I wasn't really sure how to take that at the time, so my only reaction was to reiterate his "vanilla-ness" for her. Later, I encountered similar responses from Derek when sharing stories with him in which he would peg vanilla people as submissives based on my accounts of my experiences and interactions with them.
I imagine that much of the reasoning behind precisely why these prosaic, black and white classifications of people who weren't in the scene left me ever so slightly unsettled probably had more than a little bit to do with my own strict religious upbringing, against which I've been rebelling for the better part of my life. It all just felt like something of a parallel to that militant, born again Christian line of reasoning that those who don't share their beliefs must automatically fall into the category of "hell-bound." In the same vein, the whole concept of "recruiting" vanillas has always - at least to me - felt on a par with the penchant those same Christians seem to have for constantly trying to force their beliefs on others.
I'm open about who I am and what I do, and if my vanilla friends are curious to learn more about exactly what all that entails for me, I'll answer any questions they might have and tell them anything they want to know. In Sasha's case - after some careful grilling to be sure her interest was genuine and that she had legitimate personal reasons for wanting to pursue the lifestyle (not unlike Derek's approach to me when I first expressed my interest in the scene to him) - I was even willing to show her the ropes, but for me, that was where it ended. When our mutual friend Alex then asked me to train her - primarily because she hoped that topping the boy who had been spending the better part of a year playing with her mind and heart would bond him more closely to her - I was more reluctant to oblige or entertain the notion ... despite the fact that she does, indeed, have some dominant personality traits. As Derek had eventually explained his reasoning behind his own grilling process as applied to me, "This is something that's extremely personal for me, so I wanted to be sure you were sincere and genuine in your desires before I made the decision to usher you into the lifestyle," and I guess I've been applying that same principle where vanillas are concerned.
As far as a scenario in which I might actually find myself coupled with a vanilla partner, personally, all I've ever really hoped for was acceptance and understanding (something I haven’t always gotten in the past) ... but given my upbringing, I'm also categorically opposed to forcing my beliefs on anyone. So I guess the most recent development in my story so far could just be viewed as yet another example of that whole "where you least expect it" theory that seems to apply to so many aspects of life. Either way, it's been nothing short of amazing so far.
So... the back story behind all that is: I've recently come into contact with this boy. We (meaning he and I, not my split personalities and I) have decided that for the purposes of this blog, I'm going to be calling him Jack.*
We hit it off pretty quickly ... though since he was vanilla, I was a little bit nervous about broaching that whole subject of, "I'm also known as Mistress Kay in some circles." I mean, I wasn't too too worried; he seemed cool and open-minded enough, and he's no stranger to bucking convention himself ... but initially, I guess there's always that little okay so this person seems really great and I really hope this isn't gonna scare them off smidgen of concern.
Well, not only was Jack not scared off, his first response was to inform me of a local dungeon where he had just so happened to have heard that monthly parties are held (he had been there once with a friend who had been buying a flogger, ostensibly for the purpose of spicing things up with his boyfriend, and the owner had given them her promoting spiel), and then to say that as long as I didn't mind his being shy and quiet and hiding out in the corner silently observing, he wouldn't mind going to check it out with me sometime.
Apparently, my reaction to that was an offhanded comment along the lines of, "Sure, no problem. I can just tell people that you're with me and I gave you a speech restriction," something I immediately forgot I had even said ... at least until a few days later when Jack called me, reminding me of it and informing me that he'd been thinking about it and was curious about maybe trying it out and seeing what it was like sometime.
I gave him the same grilling as everyone else, making sure he had his own reasons to back up this newfound curiosity ... namely reasons that didn't have anything to do with his interest in me or our rapidly deepening connection.
Now, a couple short weeks or so later, a confirmation of pure intentions finds him under my protection, beginning to attend munches with me as my boy, and just completely blowing me away in general in new ways every day ... without even realizing he's doing it. Which, really? Is pretty much the best way to do it anyway.
In hindsight, the signs were all there ... I was kinda subconsciously topping him in little ways from day one (hey, someone's gotta take control of a situation sometimes, and I've frequently wound up being that person, so is it really my fault if it's become a conditioned response at this point?). Not to mention the number of times we've inadvertently (and, I suppose one might argue, even almost instinctively) found ourselves engaging in some of the most intense and absolutely incredible power exchanges I've ever experienced.
I've previously touched on my tendencies for beating around the bush, dressing everything up in metaphors, speaking in riddles, and disclaimer-ing absolutely everything to death wherever relationship stuff is concerned. And maybe instinct plays a part in that, too. Maybe every time I've previously only selectively shown myself to someone - ever the open book with certain pages carefully torn out and tucked into my cleavage ... and God help anyone who would ever dream of even attempting to dive in there for them uninvited - it was simply a case of somehow subconsciously knowing better, knowing on some instinctive level that maybe this person wasn't quite "it ..." either because they wouldn't fully understand, or because for whatever reason, they just simply weren't entirely worthy of it, of me. But with Jack, I've had no such hangups. And the best part is, he actually gives me the opportunity to return the favor, sharing himself with me just as openly and honestly as I share myself with him.
And I don't want to jinx it, but I really think it's safe to say that the days of bullshit have ended for me. Last night, showing him off to my lifestyle friends at a munch, I was proudly and excitedly gushing about the lack of "training" that even seems to be required here, in contrast with some of my past experiences: Jack is respectful, attentive to my needs, in regular contact with me ... and he even asked permission before calling me by pet names (kind of a huge thing for me lately since my decision not to maintain the whole "Domme bitch" persona has gone hand in hand with a serious lack of respect and entirely too much familiarity from some subs).
"You mean he actually has manners?" my friend Xani asked with a smirk and in the most priceless tone of mock incredulity once I was done gushing, "Wow, imagine that!"
"I know, what a concept, right?" Derek chimed in, laughing.
Sadly, though, it is quite a concept for me in this particular instance. But (knocking wood, fingers crossed, and all that jazz), I think it's actually finally safe to say that I am now officially onto bigger and better things ... 'cause really? This is what it's all about.
I mean, logically speaking, I know that right here and now, everything is fresh and shiny and new and exciting, and when you're so caught up in just enjoying the ride and the rush of all that, that's when it's easiest to gush and be exhilarated and say these kinds of things.
But at the end of the day? Bottom line, this is exactly what I wanted ... and then some. And I'm loving the ride so far.

Flying Blind

2009-04-16T09:15:00.000-07:00

I've kinda felt like I've been on overload or something lately for no particular reason. More people have been starting to know who I am lately, so maybe that's it. And maybe part of me was just hoping for a little more time to figure out and define exactly who that was. But I think I've come up with some pretty good stuff so far.
I had a request for a session recently with a guy who had seen my clips from my shoot with Trey. The whole thing was pretty last minute; the woman who ran the shoot and the space called me the night before and said that a regular of hers really wanted to session with me after seeing my clips but the only time he was available was the next evening at seven PM. I was a little dubious going in given the nature of that particular shoot, coupled with the fact that she didn't really have any specific details for me; the only direction she gave me was "light domination like foot worship, trampling, light spanking, and maybe some facesitting if you're comfortable with that." Well, that last one is an extremely rare event for me in general, and frankly, I wasn't sure how I was going to come up with an hour's worth of material based on the rest of it. But she assured me that the client was really great and that she'd known him for years, and ultimately, I wound up agreeing, figuring I'd try to pick her brain for a little more info once I got there.
"So, what's his story? What makes him tick?" I asked as I changed into the thong and bra she had provided for me (way less than I'd ever worn for a r/t session before in my life, but since she'd told me not to worry about bringing anything because they had everything there, I was kinda S.O.L.).
The only new info she gave me before rattling off his list of fetishes again was that his name was Billy* (something about grown men who still use the little boy version of their names like that has always kinda bothered me) and that he did something for a music production company and was constantly going back and forth between New York and L.A. Well, that and "don't be too mean because it's really just light domination."
Okay. So clearly I was to be flying blind here and just crossing my fingers for a smooth landing.
As it turned out though, the not knowing what to expect element really made me appreciate the experience. Billy was an absolute sweetheart, clean cut, respectful, well-mannered, and frankly, I think he would have been perfectly content to have spent the entire hour just talking and massaging my feet. He couldn't really take much (even the light spanking was too much for him, and much as he wanted to experience the trampling, he freaked out every time I tried to put my weight on him), and kept apologizing for it saying he "felt bad because (he) didn't want (me) to be bored." So after some cutesy, playful banter, (ie: "Aw... really, that hurts? But you're not even pink!" and "You really can't handle tiny, little 98 pound me?"), I improvised and just went with psychological bondage and sensation play, making things up as I went along. And with what felt like ridiculously minimal effort on my part, he went right into subspace. Which was a pretty cool feeling.
Anyway, I've never been that particular brand of energized after a session before, so I think I'm gonna be going with that whole cutesy, playful bit a lot more. Plus, the contrast of still maintaining that while upping the ante on someone who can take more should be a lot of fun, and I'm amazed something so simple didn't occur to me earlier.
And really? If I don't enjoy someone enough to share that kind of dynamic with them, I probably don't want to scene with them in the first place.
This, among other things, was something I discussed with Trey in an unexpected heart to heart the other day. He had contacted me to ask if I would mind if he were to do a forced bi session with another Mistress, and if not, would I want to be there for it or anything like that? He explained that he wanted to ask my permission first because he respects me and my knowledge of the scene, trusts my judgment, and feels attached to me ... even though he knows I don't formally own him. Which I found unbelievably sweet ... better than I've gotten from a few who shall remain nameless where there actually was some level of "formal attachment," and I told him as much ... though I was also sure to add that I didn't really see any reason why I would need to be there.
Anyway, all this escalated to his saying that even if I wasn't actually there, he wants to know that anything he explores fetish-wise is something I'm into. Which brought us to the whole "I want my subs to have their own interests and desires" theme of my last post, and me telling him that I would never want him to limit his own experiences in his journey because of his connection with me, and that ultimately, that would be limiting for both of us because we wouldn't be able to learn from each other the same way. This was another one of those right off the cuff moments where I say something out loud that I've never thought about before and it turns out to be something I actually really believe in. Those are a little bit awesome.
So I guess I've been doing a pretty respectable job with all this flying blind business I've had going on these days ... and y'know something? I'm actually kinda proud of myself for that.

All I Want is Everything

2009-03-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

I have recently come to the realization that I am an insufferable snob. Actually, I take that back. On some level, I think I've always known as much.
But last night, when I finally spoke to the guy from my last post after screening him all weekend, it pretty much solidified things for me. In a good way.
It was actually a surprisingly good conversation. I was in an especially candid mood, so when he once again brought up his desire to be owned by me, I put him on the spot about it. Nicely. I didn't say, "Why in the world would you want to be owned by someone who can barely stand you?" or anything like that. It was a tactful candor, and I was feeling pretty mellow. I asked him why he specifically wanted me to own him when he's mentioned to me before that several other Mistresses have actually expressed an interest in owning him.
This was a favorite trick of Tool's, too... telling me how in demand he was, but that he only wanted to serve me. I don't know if it was some juvenile "make you jealous" tactic or something like that; frankly, I never really paid much attention to it, and I took the same track with this guy. Unlike Tool, however, he's cute and young and it's more within the realm of possibility... if the challenge of a mouthy sub happened to be what someone was into.
"It seems like you keep coming back to this, and I'm just curious as to what it is about me specifically. Didn't you tell me there were a bunch of other Mistresses who wanted to collar you?"
While a bit vague, his response seemed legitimate. Something along the lines of how a lot of girls in the scene are flaky, and I'm the most genuine girl he's come across. "Plus, you're really cool."
It really kinda made me feel bad that the sentiment wasn't more mutual. "Well, thank you," I said, "I just wondered what your reasoning was behind it since we don't really share any of the same interests fetish-wise or anything, y'know? I wouldn't want someone to have to completely change everything about themselves, so I thought maybe you'd be better off with someone who shared more of the same interests as you was all. Compatibility's a big thing for me, and while it's flattering and all, I wouldn't really feel right asking someone to give up what they're into just to fit into some mold for me."
This wasn't really anything I'd ever thought too in-depth about before - in fact, it was all right off the cuff - but as I said it ... I realized it was something I actually really believed in. Maybe it's not especially "Domme-like" of me, and I certainly support the whole idea of taking someone's fetishes into account, but ultimately, it's my scene, my rules, and I control everything that happens. And I've found that I definitely get off on the power exchange of someone being willing to do something solely to please me (ie: a non-masochist taking pain as Nate did at Suspension or the day John finally caved on the whole forced-cum-feeding thing), but on the flip side ... I also really do believe in having at least some common ground as well. It just seems like setting yourself up for failure otherwise.
"Well, I just want to do whatever the girl's into. It's more about making you happy," he replied, "I mean, obviously we'd need to get to know each other better first."
"Right, of course," I agreed, "And as of right now, I wouldn't rule out having you as a video sub, but as far as anything else, I'm not sure you really understand what you're up against when you're saying you want to be owned by me."
"What do you mean?" That was all I needed; that simple question was the shotgun blast opening of the starting gates, and I was off.
"I'm pretty much the 'all I want is everything' girl," I began (no idea where that one came from, but I dug it anyway, so I went with it), "I want the total package. Respect, reliability ... all those things I listed for you the other day. And then some. I don't own anyone right now, and I'm completely okay with that because, bottom line, I'm not going to settle for anything less than everything, and I'm not going to lead someone on if they don't completely fit my definition of that."
And I could be wrong, but I think that little speech may have watered his respect gene a bit ... at least where I'm concerned.
Either way, it definitely pumped me up. I guess it's true that we learn something new every day, and those lessons are often found in the places where we least expect them. Less than a week ago, if anyone had told me I would inadvertently learn so much about myself over the course of a twenty minute phone conversation with this particular guy, of all people, I would have laughed in their faces. But then again, I suppose stranger things have happened.

"Strange Birds" and the Places We Go...

2009-03-19T17:23:00.000-07:00

As I sat here shaking my head in amazement at a conversation that transpired earlier, I had this inexplicable compulsion to Google search a rhyme I probably haven't thought about in at least fifteen to twenty years. And oddly enough ... it summed up the circumstances quite aptly.

"You'll look up and down streets, look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, 'I don't choose to go there.'
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
You're too smart to go down any not-so-good street...
Out there things can happen and frequently do
To people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don't worry, don't stew.
Just go right along; you'll start happening too.
Oh, the places you’ll go ...
You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.
You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step, step with care and great tact
And remember that life's a great balancing act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left... (Dr. Seuss)"

Back story, I met a guy on a shoot awhile back for whom I don't think I'm even gonna bother making up an alias. Damn near everything about him rubbed me the wrong way from day one: he was pushy, mouthy, copped attitude at the drop of a hat, and even went so far as violating my personal space when the cameras weren't rolling. Not my cup of tea by any stretch of the imagination, and we didn't really even share any interests fetish-wise. Not to mention he seemed utterly clueless as to how his behavior came across; immediately following the personal space violation portion of the evening, he blithely informed me that he was looking for a Mistress to own him in a lifestyle capacity and that since he was pretty sure I was on his myspace friends list, he would message me there to discuss further.
Much as my knee jerk response wanted to brush him off completely when he did just that, I had gathered that he was a personal friend of the pro-Domme running the shoot... and in the interest of not blowing my chances for future shoots with her, I opted for the "care and tact" response to her "strange bird" friend and corresponded with him sporadically, being polite while keeping him at arm's length.
About a month or so ago when I was freshly unemployed and had just moved back in with the parents, he messaged me with a little proposition: what if he and I joined forces and advertised for shoots together? Since he already had an account on craigslist, he would do all the work; he had actually done this for a Mistress before and made her a lot of money. All I had to do was trek out to his place in Brooklyn so we could take some pictures, and if I wouldn't mind maybe doing some strap on training with him while we were at it so he could increase his repertoire and thereby get us more work because that was one of the areas that was holding him back personally, that would be just wonderful.
I agreed. The day began with aggravation thanks to his crap directions combined with the facts that I had never been to Brooklyn before and can't find my way out of a paper bag as it is. And as he was completely rude and unhelpful when I called him, I hung up on him and ended up calling my friend Patrick at work. Though swamped that day, Patrick got right on his computer so he could figure out where I was and help me navigate the subway system. Five minutes into this, I informed Patrick that it would be really great if he took a break from lawyering to come meet me for lunch so I could just ditch this guy without having wasted a trip to the city. Ever practical, once I had explained the details of the situation to him, Patrick talked me into going out there because, much as he would have liked to see me, this could potentially be beneficial for my career.
So I did. It wasn't so awful once I got there, though he was completely unprepared for the strap-on training. And by unprepared, I mean no harness, no gloves, no lube ... just a grimy looking dildo with some fuzz from the carpet stuck to it and a couple butt plugs. Suffice to say, the strap-on training didn't even happen. We just ended up taking our pictures and talking a little ... a talk that did cause my original contempt for him to wane ever so slightly. And he predicted that he would have work for us by the following week, so at least by the time I left that day, I didn't feel my time had been completely wasted.
When I followed up with him the next week, he told me he had a few leads but no confirmations. Then silence, but since I was a bit distracted by my John saga, I pretty much forgot about it. Today, after a couple one line myspace messages over the past week, the first of which I ignored because it contained only the word "Call" and a phone number, the second asking if I could call him to discuss a possible session, we reconnected. Below is a transcription of the lovely conversation. Some of it has been modified in the interest of coherence. An ellipsis (...) denotes moments in which I didn't feel the need to dignify certain comments with a response. There were several.
Me: Did you lose my number? For future reference, this is it so you don't have to resort to cryptic myspace messages.
Him: Lol, sorry, I got a new phone.
*Insert banal pleasantries here*
Me: Ok, so what's up with this session business?
Him: I have five clients set up for me but still never got to train. I put it out to all my Domme friends; the first Domme to train me gets the session.
Me: ...
Him: Let me know.
Me: Well, I really can't afford to just trek out to Brooklyn right now if it's not for actual work.
Him: Once I make my asshole into a pussy, it will be better.
Me: ...
Him: I think I can get you a shoot.
Me: Wow, really? And only a month and change later!
Him: Well, you never trained me, Goddess.
(Side note: Maybe part of it's my past with Tool, but I really hate when guys just use any old title they feel like. I didn't specifically pick Mistress Kay for my health.)
Me: Because you weren't prepared with any of the necessary equipment for me to do so, if memory serves, so don't even try giving me that crap.
Him: Understood, Queen.
Me: ...
(I seriously think he used every honorific but the one I've chosen for myself.)
Him: I am just a sissy slut... I want you to own me. You could even stay here when you need.
Me: I've had subs before who haven't followed through on their agreements with me, and that's not something I want or need again. If you seriously want me to consider you, prove to me that you're reliable.
Him: Like I said, you can stay here rent free and pimp me.
Me: Okay. But that's not what I want out of owning someone.
Him: What do you want, Queen?
Me: Well, to name a few things ... someone who's respectful at all times, someone who's a man of his word, and someone who can take pain for me or is at least willing to build up a tolerance. Frankly, you have a long way to go.
Him: I will do anything to be your sub, period.
Me: That's very nice to hear. Now why don't you take some time to figure out exactly how you plan to go about backing up those pretty words with your actions. Then we can talk.
Him: Did I tell you I started cross dressing?
Me: Nope. But can you explain what the appeal of that is for you? It's never really been my kink, and I've been trying to get a decent perspective on it from someone who's into it so I can understand it better.
Him: My goal is to be a cross dressing cum dumpster in film.

At that point, since my dinner was ready, I decided that my goal was to eat it in peace and stop talking to him for the evening ... particularly since I had lost count of how many non-answers to specific questions we were up to at that point. So I did. Seriously though ... what the fuck?

Exhale

2009-03-12T17:55:00.000-07:00

There was something very wrong with this picture, but I think I'm starting to set it right. Or at least starting to achieve perspective. Or... maybe this is just the calm before the storm. I'm not completely sure I've turned off the heat on some plots I had simmering on the back burner, and I'm not in the mood to check right now. The point, the part that matters is, just as suddenly as everything fell to shit ... it somehow seems to be back in place.
I've been known to complain that no one ever seems to let me walk away and leave them behind. I found the following passage in the draft of a letter I wrote in my journal four years ago:
You fought for my friendship almost a year ago, at 3 am in my driveway on Thanksgiving Eve: "Come on, don't de-friend me." I was so furious with you that night, demanding to know why it was so fucking important to you that I not walk away. And you didn't have a reason beyond "It just is." You became another person on that epic list of people who wouldn't or couldn't just let me walk, who grabbed at my ankles, pulling me back.
And even the people who do let me walk away for awhile seem to pop out of the woodwork at incredibly inopportune moments. Y'know ... right when I've finished cleaning up the mess they left me in and am just about done thinking about it.
Sometimes though ... those returns are blessings.
As predicted, Matt has come back into the picture, albeit very peripherally. While he still hasn't grown a pair in the being true to himself department, I missed his sunshine, and his timing couldn't have been better.
I've also been presented with the opportunity for the return of my controlled black and white, via a shot and sake bomb fueled love confession from the ex last Saturday. I have every intention of making her prove it just like anyone else, but even in the cool, clear, sober light of day almost a week later, she still hasn't backed down, and if nothing else, she also still hasn't lost the ability she's always seemed to have as far as somehow managing to instantly make me feel less empty, so I'm definitely not about to discount that.
I heard from Trey, too, who I'd thought had vanished from the scene.
Basically though, I am now officially acknowledging the fact that I have more productive things to think about than who said or thinks what and why people behave in the fucked up and despicable ways they do. And as interesting and oddly comforting as I found one mutual acquaintance's allegation that she believed the artist formerly known as "my little boy," (now fondly referred to as "scumbag" in the increasingly rare instances I feel the need to reference him) might potentially be a dangerous sociopath, there are far more useful things to expend my energy on than doing Google searches on sociopathic traits, which was my last pet project before I woke up one morning and just suddenly had that sweet sensation of, "Nah, fuck it." And I'm certainly not complaining, but ... is it really possible to heal this quickly? I don't completely trust this, and I'm waiting for the catch.
In the meantime, I've been easing my way into bottoming, too ... whether it winds up being for catharsis or just for my own personal growth. Magnum and I did a little knife play the other day, and while I still really don't believe there's a submissive bone in my body ... I could easily become a slutty knife bottom. I think I'm just a sucker for sensation.
And today, after being nice and productive and going on a job interview, I got a phone call invite to go to a BDSM lesbian Mafia party (not the technical term, but I forget what it's actually called) with an absolutely adorable little Filipino subbie girl who's become a recent and welcome addition to my circle of friends. She's taking normal people length healing time as far as recovering from her last relationship, so I'm not shooting for more than friendship at the moment, but adventures with the BDSM Lesbian Mafia should definitely make for one delicious story either way.
So, all these random, unrelated updates to say: I'm still alive. I quoted a song lyric in those old journal posts: "A stronger girl would shake this off in flight and never give it more than a frowning hour." From how I've been feeling lately, it really seems like somewhere along the way, I may have actually managed become that girl. Which is a pretty awesome thought.

Blood Beneath the Domme Armor

2009-03-05T17:33:00.001-08:00

I have an entire paragraph in all my online profiles geared at male Doms. It goes something along the lines of: "I'm open to friendship if you approach me with respect and as an equal. I'm not into the 'you just haven't been topped by the right man yet' line of thinking, and frankly, that's a presumptuous and rude way for anyone to approach anyone else anyway ... been there, tried that; I don't switch. If you're looking for a Domme to play with your female subbie while you watch, you're barking up the wrong tree. And I already have a daddy... he's married to mom." So, yes ... I'm ever so slightly leery of male Doms. But ... I also know a few who are pretty great. I was reminded just how great last night.
It's no secret that I've been hurting lately, and you know what? Fuck it. I'm not apologizing for that, and I'm not hiding it. Especially since the responsible party has been making a point of twisting the knife by ever so subtly and gradually broadcasting my apparent expendability in public forums where he knows I'll see it ... because apparently just hurting me and using me and wasting my time as exquisitely as he did wasn't quite enough. And I don't really think I'm dragging anyone's name through the mud here either ... only a couple people are privy to the gory details; I'm simply answering honestly when concerned parties ask me how I am. And for me, that's a sign of growth and progress. Back when I was about fifteen, I worked in a grocery store. And I remember this one day when I was hurting, kinda like now, and just standing at my register crying, this older lady customer started prying to find out what was wrong, and I damn near took her head off, like, "Who the hell are you and how is this your business?" Needless to say, she was more than a little taken aback. After last night, I'm really glad I didn't feel compelled to react to my Dom friends in a similar fashion.
The first check-in came from Damien Saint; we have several friends in common but only met a few weeks ago, so we don't really know each other that well yet, but I really like what I do know of him and his girl Salome so far. It was just a quick little message on fet, "Hey, saw you changed your status. Hope everything's ok." I wrote back, keeping it vague, "I'm hurting, but I'll be ok. Thanks for asking." He encouraged me to come out to a munch last night which he and a bunch of our mutual friends were planning to attend. So I did. I figured it was better than sitting home on the verge of tears ... even though that verge kinda stayed with me throughout the course of the evening, and whenever I wasn't involved in a conversation about something else, I wondered whether this had really been the best plan.
There was apparently a play party after the munch, which I'm not sure anyone knew about 'til we got there, but then, I never really check my email updates for those things either. I drove over with another Dom friend, Magnum. I think I've known him for just under a year now, but up 'til last night, we'd never really talked about anything real and gritty. As it turns out, he's a counselor in his vanilla life, so I figured he knew what he was talking about. More on that later.
So we walk into this lifestyle home and upstairs to their attic dungeon. My friend Kitty* who's an awesome hardcore bottom (recently renamed a "middle" in our group since she's a wealth of knowledge and helps people out with their scenes all the time) was sitting on a couch. She's one of those supersweet, comforting, snuggly types, so I lay down with my head in her lap and just kinda started thinking out loud while she stroked my hair, verbalizing bits and pieces of the ridiculous fucking blender that's been passing for my brain lately.
And maybe it was just partly appreciation because of how sweetly, unexpectedly there for me these guys had been, but for a second there, I had another little breakthrough. Another new Dom friend Leo* has been asking to suspend me for awhile, which I've considered as long as I can stay clothed. We kinda haven't really gotten past going in circles with him trying to talk me out of that condition. Anyway, I remembered a story from Scarlette's TES class about how she'd once let a friend of hers top her when she'd been bottling things up emotionally, and as part of my thinking out loud, I said something like, "Maybe I should get one of you guys to smack me around a little so I have an excuse to cry all this out." No sooner were the words out of my mouth when a hand grabbed my wrist, and I looked up to lock eyes with a random, creepy old dude I'd never seen before in my life. "Well, you I don't know from a hole in the wall," I quickly rebuffed him, "I meant one of my guys."
Muttering something about how, well, if I was gonna be picky about it ... he ambled off.
As it turned out, after that little display, I didn't end up bottoming to anyone that night. Instead, I turned to a sweet guy a few years older than me who'd been sitting across from me at the restaurant and had told me his story while I picked at his cheese fries, explaining that he was experienced but had just moved back from Georgia and didn't know anyone in the local scene and was looking for "someone who'll show me around and someone who'll hit me."
"Hey, Jay,* come over here a minute and talk about your limits with me."
Yes, I'm blunt, and I put them on the spot. It's fun for me. I watched him trip over his tongue for a minute or two, then asked, "Well, would stripping down and having me spank you a little in front of a room full of people you just met be a limit?"
"I wouldn't rule it out," he said. I think he might've blushed a little, too.
After a mini group discussion, we decided I'd start out with the form of catharsis I already knew and see if it helped. Then, if I didn't feel better, my guys were more than happy to lend a hand ... or a few well-placed lashes.
Topping Jay was a great quick fix. I felt like I maybe should have been a little more attentive as far as aftercare, and I don't know if it's technically "ok" to play with someone when you're as stuck in your own head as I was that night, but he was really sweet and didn't seem to mind ... actually, he seemed to have quite enjoyed himself.
But for no apparent reason, once I was done I decided that, for my next trick, I would wake up a napping Magnum by jumping on his lap and straddling him.
From that point until he dropped me off at my car, I basically got the free therapy session of my life. I remember a girl I knew from when I was more active in the GLBTQ community once trying to pick me up by analyzing what I was feeling about a recent breakup with the line, "I read your poems in your myspace blogs so I know you." I guess it was a clever concept in theory, but at the time I was once bitten, twice shy and more than a little bitter, so I just laughed and responded pretty condescendingly, "Oh, really now? Well, enlighten me then. Explain me to me." Surprisingly, she actually does still talk to me once in a blue moon when we run into each other.
Anyway, last night, Magnum actually managed to do just that. He pretty perfectly explained me to me. How what I'm feeling right now is normal because I had originally intended to keep everything black and white with dating vanilla girls and keeping my D/s play completely separate and nonsexual, and now everything is a gray area. I didn't even have to mention to him how notorious my burning, fiery, passionate hatred of that gray area has always been. The other thing he said that really hit home was that, as dominants, we don't like to be vulnerable. "Trust me, I get how much you just want to put your Domme armor right back on and zip it up, but you're bleeding underneath right now." Which meant that basically, I need to give myself time and just deal. And of course, I fucking hate that part. He did kinda give me a loophole on that though: "You can still go out and play and smack the shit out of someone tomorrow. Take it out on the subs. They don't need to know why."
So today, I'm bleeding through the cracks in my armor. I've cried it out a little bit, done some scream therapy. Alternating between sobbing and rage is lovely. But I'll only do it in five minute increments for some reason. I'm really wondering if I shouldn't just try and complete the catharsis at this point by going back to that original notion of having one of them top me, just so I can really feel everything and hopefully just get it all out of my system. I'm toying with the idea, but it would be a pretty huge deal for me, and a completely different experience and dynamic from the one time in my life I had Derek do it, so I'm on the fence still.
The most fucked up part of all of this is that I have so many more people in my corner right now than I've probably ever had at any one time in my life. Most of whom I haven't even asked; they've just offered their assistance, whether it be in the form of arms, ears, shoulders, laps, advice ... or yes, even a bare ass beneath my paddle. But even though I know I can essentially turn anywhere for support ... I also feel - on some weird level that I haven't completely been able to wrap my brain around yet - more alone than I ever have before. I've been trying to make sense of that one all night, but I still haven't really come up with much.

F.I.N.E.

2009-03-02T14:40:00.000-08:00

We've all heard the saying, "Rules are made to be broken." If that's true, then it would stand to reason that if I made the rules in the first place, they should, easily and without consequence, be subject to change at my slightest whim. One would think, anyway. But ... one would be wrong.
Alex was the first person I told when I broke my own rule (okay, or technically my own Brooke-inspired rule) and slept with John. Her reaction? "Welcome to hell, and please enjoy your stay." I took that with a grain of salt as classic Alex "the world is a terrible place and everyone in it sucks," negativity - she's a bit prone to that - and assured her that everything would be fine. Ha! Famous fucking last words. Unless you're going by my old friend Riley's* interpretation that "fine" is merely an acronym for "fucked up, insane, neurotic, and emotional."
I hadn't spoken to Riley in about four years, but he's on my mind today because according to yesterday's paper, he got blown up in Iraq this past Thursday. Fucking surreal. I had actually just been talking about him to Scarlette that afternoon ... in the context that he was kinda the reason I wound up doing my first "forced"-bi, even though I wasn't really aware that that was what I was doing at the time. I knew him during kind of a crazy experimental period in my life that I don't exactly look back on as my finest hour, but that boy was a truly beautiful soul and one of those people who just oozed charisma from every pore. It looked like he had found happiness before his tragic end, too, married for five months to a girl who was not the one who had given him boundless heartache when I knew him (little miss "I'm not a slut, I'm just a free spirit") and I was glad to see that at least ... he deserved it.
So let's go with that. Everything is Riley fine these days.
Nate gets another shout out for sitting on the phone with me 'til three AM and witnessing an extremely excessive display of humanity. Seriously, he's so sweet I just want to take a bite out of him ... and I plan to, just as soon as I fix my smile. In my opinion, he deserves a hell of a lot better than what he's been getting these days, too. Karma needs to return from its unannounced recent vacation.
In other news, I kinda want to adopt Scarlette as my BDSM big sister. The hanging out with her portion of yesterday was awesome. I love how she's got even less patience for John's bullshit than I do, even though I'm the one who's feeling its wonderful effects: "All's fair in love and war," and yeah, there are plenty of clever ways I could retaliate. But what it all boils down to is that, first off, I was certainly never under any ridiculous delusions that I was "in love" ... trust me, it ain't that easy. And secondly? Well ... I sure as shit don't want to be at war.
Tool, Matt, and John have all written an essay for me entitled, "What service means to me." I had come across John's when I was moving and stuck it in my wallet, so I let Scarlette read it yesterday. It was a really good essay, one that began with the line he had given me when I mentioned it to him over the phone (yes, once upon a time, he actually used to pick up a phone): "Ooh, can I try and just answer the question without writing the essay? Service is about making you smile." And sure, that was cute and all, but want to hear a couple things that don't make me smile? Meaningless daily flattery from random strangers paired with complete disregard from someone I actually care about. Or bullshit double standards where that aforementioned someone, by all appearances, seems to spend whatever little free time he has available utilizing the worldwide web to whore himself to every girl in the tri-state area ... and then gets all bent with me for doing a fucking play scene with someone else. Because in light of those two previously cited behaviors ... it should have occurred to me that you did, in fact, actually give a shit? Um ... my mistake. When he chose to make me aware of his displeasure, I had just finished a shoot with a pro-Domme who - while she's a lot of fun to work with - I've never exactly pictured as the warm, fuzzy, intuitive, compassionate sort ... but even she took one look at me when I got his messages and her immediate response was, "Oh my god, what's wrong?" I gave her the cliff notes version (or actually more like the little blurb on the inside of the bookjacket), leaving out names and identifying characteristics. "Um ... aren't play partners supposed to be fun?" she asked when I had finished. Ha. Excellent point.
Scarlette's advice was that I should use everything he said in his essay against him. At first, I thought the only problem with that idea was that the essay in question had been addressed to "Mistress Kay," and that now he sees me as just me. Which was cool in theory. Being able to be real with someone is good; being in "Mistress mode" twenty-four-seven is a little exhausting. But that begs the question: Why isn't "real me" deserving of the same respect as "Mistress Kay?" 'Cause, correct me if I'm wrong, but ... I'm actually pretty sure she is.
It's funny how the night I met Harrison, he specifically requested that I be "just me," and then right when I've been starting to do that, right when I'm about to get over that whole viewing my humanity as weakness that undermines my dominance thing ... this is the result.
Luckily, I generally manage to do a decent job of finding distractions for myself to help take my mind off these types of situations. But the part where I always seem to find a necessity to go looking for those distractions in the first place? I could really do without.

Good Girls, Bad Girls, and Everything in Between

2009-02-25T11:22:00.000-08:00

"It's only the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time. But me ... I just want to live the kind of life I'm going to remember, whether or not I write it down (Tallulah Brockman Bankhead)."
I'd have to second that emotion because I think I fall in the middle on that one. That vast, proverbial "gray area." I can still be sadistic even if I do occasionally feel the need to excavate my emotional navel lint. But I still can't help wondering if I'd be able to enjoy the former more if I spent a little less time on the latter. If I could just find the off switch for my brain. I'm doing a hardcore corporal shoot tomorrow and I definitely plan on earning my keep. I need to get out all this pent up ... whatever I've been going through lately. I don't really have an appropriate word for it.
I should document that I had some help in that department the other night at Suspension, and I owe my new friends Nate* and Birdie* (I'm calling her that 'cause she kinda reminded me of a hummingbird ... I'll elaborate on that later) a big thank you for that.
Nate and I met about a week ago at a workshop Scarlette taught for TES. (It was awesome, and I apologize to her if I at any point, in any way utilized it as my personal "Domme therapy." But either way, Maitresse Scarlette Stangata rocks pretty hardcore. Period, end of discussion.)
The next day, he fetlife "stalked" me and we exchanged numbers, started talking, and he wound up inviting me to meet up, grab dinner, and check out some fetish stores for a bit before the event. None of the stores we'd wanted to check out were open, but there was a cute little gay bookstore on the way, and it was immensely fun for me to waltz through the door and watch him squirm as I dragged him along behind me, informing me that, "If I get hit on, I'm gonna be really upset."
Anyway, true to form, I was shiny and bubbly and "on." It was nice to be around new people and have that brought out in me. While it has its downfalls, I actually kinda like how easily and quickly that trait of mine helps me forge connections with people when I so choose. And since I was in that mindset, his friend Birdie and I were able to hit it off pretty quickly, too. Birdie's a switch who's just starting to test out her Domme side, and she had brought a toybag so she could practice on Nate. When I suggested, "Let's double team him," she eagerly agreed.
I've played at a public event exactly once (not counting foot worship scenes). Brooke wasn't really into it (something about not wanting anyone else to steal her techniques ... as her "Mini Me," I was somewhat exempt from that rule), and I pretty much was just too self-conscious about being new and inexperienced to want anyone actually watching me do what I do at a public event. It wasn't until just before the holidays that I finally tested the waters in that department, sceneing with John when I took him to his first fetish event at Black Phoenix in Philly. We didn't really do too much for too long (Derek could tell I was still kinda psyching myself out a little), but it was fun. But thanks to Birdie, my second time around was even better.
Even though Birdie has even less experience than I do, she threw herself into our scene with Nate with such enthusiasm and such a complete lack of self conciousness, that I was able to finally stop overthinking and really just enjoy getting into it myself.
I've done corporal stuff, and I've done tease and denial type stuff, but I don't think I've ever actually blended them quite like I did that night. And it felt pretty fucking fantastic. I still need to work on my back swing, but I knew that already. And even though he had warned me about a tendency to hold back reactions to piss people off, as it turned out, Nate gave awesome feedback ... which made gradually deepening the rosy hue on his cute little butt just that much more enjoyable. And even though he's not really a pain slut, he took it like a champ, which was even better. Seriously, that fact alone made it good enough for me to not even mind how crowded it was, or that random people kept bumping into us or walking through my back swing ... and even the being watched part was actually kind of fun. I was just right there in the moment, into just doing what I do without worrying about dissecting my every move.
Birdie kept on disappearing, excitedly flitting from one person to the next socializing (hence my choice of alias), so I was the one to finally end the scene when I decided he'd taken enough. The whole thing was a really nice little buzz.
The only fly in the ointment is this: I really hate hate hate that little part of me that gets distracted from great experiences like that. That annoying little, wistful part that sometimes whispers, "That was awesome. And you should have been there to share it with me; I really wish you had been." I really kinda wish she'd just shut the fuck up and quit killing my buzz. Maybe next time I'll come prepared with a ballgag or something for her.
Granted, she's got a point. The whole business of wanting is shitty. Particularly when you can't help thinking that if the feeling were mutual, wouldn't it make sense that they'd actually want to be there sharing in it all, too? That then the wishing would thereby be rendered unnecessary, and that, since it's not, there's really no point?
I mean, Nate actually even asked me to keep him in mind if things didn't work out, which was really adorable. It would be beyond awesome if everything really was just that easy.
Of course, all wasn't lost or anything so melodramatic as all that. I still got an incredible experience out of the deal, and I'm really grateful for that. But I would love to find out how much I'd be capable of if I stopped allowing myself to be so distracted. Oh, well, there's always next time ...

Growing Pains

2009-02-21T13:16:00.000-08:00

I've had my share of growing pains during my little evolution. Thing is, I'm not the only one who feels 'em.
The first hardcore beating I ever delivered was actually born out of my growing pains in a way.
It started one late summer night at Paddles. Tool had been complaining that he felt I hadn't been spending enough time with him in exchange for the monthly rent money he had agreed to pay me, so I had told him he was welcome to join Derek and Rachel* (the girl Derek was seeing at the time), Alex, Sasha and me that night, letting him know in advance that I had already made plans to play with Harrison once there. I had also offered a few of the guys I had been talking to on CM the opportunity to come introduce themselves to me in person. Add to the mix that Alex and Sasha were both having problems with the respective men in their lives (this night was actually Sasha's last foray into fetish because her boyfriend didn't approve), and I was being pulled in about six different directions all night.
My day had gotten off to a bad start as it was; I had spent the afternoon having lunch and puppy play in a public park with one of those "energy vampires" Brooke had warned me about. I didn't even see it coming because he was a really sweet guy, so it took me by surprise that I felt so drained and shitty by the time I got home ... I kept taking breaks from getting ready for our Paddles evening to commission Derek for hugs so I would feel better.
Anyway, it was all downhill from there. In the car on the way there, I was telling Tool and the girls about my afternoon with the energy vampire in sheep's clothing when Tool's cell phone rang. Shushing me, he held up a hand and scrambled to answer the call. Ooh, bad fucking move, buddy.
I turned to Sasha, "As soon as he hangs up, pay attention."
We waited a good ten to fifteen minutes for him to wrap things up, his whiny, nasally voice and loud, nervous laughter grating on my last frayed nerve.
"Okay, I realize you might need to take work-related calls sometimes ..." I began.
"Oh, that was a personal call," he breezily interrupted me for the second time in the last half hour. The man's denseness really knew no bounds, and given my already bad mood, I pounced on this little nugget of information.
"Oh, was it? And you think it's perfectly acceptable and appropriate behavior for you to 'shush' me so you can answer a personal call?"
"I didn't shush you ..." he started to protest.
"And now you're arguing the point with me to boot!?" I exclaimed, holding up a hand as he began spewing more excuses, "Ohhh, no. I'm speaking now, and for once in your life, you're going to stop flapping your gums just to hear the sound of your own voice and listen. That is completely unacceptable! Now, what do you think would have been a respectful and appropriate response to your phone ringing when I'm in the middle of telling you something?"
"I ... don't know."
"Well, think," I snapped.
"I ... could have said 'Goddess, may I please answer my phone?"" he tried.
"That certainly would have been a preferable plan to the gross display of disrespect you just forced us to witness."
"I'm sorry, Goddess."
"We've been over this," I told him, "your being 'sorry' is worthless to me. Don't be 'sorry,' be better." I had recently picked that line up from Derek and had been using it quite liberally.
"Yes, Goddess."
We drove the rest of the way to Paddles in silence ... not that anything improved once we got there. The place was packed (I forget what the event was), and no one was really playing, which kind of defeated the purpose as far as I was concerned since I couldn't really come up with a better training method for Sasha. Only one of my CM guys had showed up, which was just as well, really, since I wasn't in the mood to even have him and Tool trailing me like the Pied Piper, let alone anyone else. I chatted a bit with CM guy, but focused most of my attention on Sasha and Alex (Derek and Rachel were long gone at this point, exploring the club while he led her around in her lingerie). We finally found what looked like the set up for a scene, but there was nowhere to sit, so Tool volunteered his services as a chair while CM guy turned himself into a footstool.
They picked a ridiculous spot left and center across from the bar where people were tripping over us, and as it turned out, human furniture was not my thing at all, so after a few minutes, I announced as much, throwing in a catty comment about how if I had wanted a vibrating massage chair, I could have purchased a far more comfortable one for good measure. Of course, Tool immediately went into a snit over that one, but thankfully, Harrison chose that moment to enter. I launched myself at him (well, as much as I could "launch" in stiletto thigh high boots, anyway) in one of those classic "never been so happy to see anyone in my life" bear hugs, but he kind of killed the moment when, by way of greeting, he said, "Hey, my friend who has a huge trampling fetish is here if you want to play with him."
"Why? I don't know him," I retorted way more shortly than he deserved.
He held up his hands, "Okay, just thought I'd ask."
"I'm having a bad night," I explained, softening just as quickly, "I really am glad to see you."
Then when we made our way over to the couch so he could try to fix my smile with some of his fabulous foot worship, Tool and CM guy followed, planting themselves at my feet on either side of him, both successfully making Harrison incredibly uncomfortable and catapulting my aggravation to heights I hadn't even known existed in one fell swoop.
CM guy got the hint first, making his way over to the bar, and after what seemed like ages, Tool finally followed suit. But the damage had been done, and my bitchy disposition (regardless whether I was directing it at him or not) was apparently reminding Harrison of his ex-girlfriend in a really bad way, compounding the fact that he had recently been struggling with depression. Once he confided as much to me, we finished off the foot worship with me snuggling his face into my cleavage, stroking his hair, and asking him to call me when he felt up to talking (which he did a few days later, so I must not have been that awful ... well, to him anyway).
Tool was sitting by himself at a table when we finished, so I made my way over and sat down across from him.
"I hope you'll play with me like that one day," he said.
Not really thinking, I replied, "Well, we can certainly play, but it won't be quite like that ... Harrison is a bit more age appropriate for me."
All hell broke loose then. I still can't decide whether I would have actually preferred it had he lain down on the floor, kicking and screaming. In any event, it simply blew his mind that I had stated the patently obvious fact that he was old enough to be my father. And furthermore, while he claimed the foot worship scene had been beautiful, he also deemed it, "Too obnoxious for me or the other guy to sit there in service anymore."
"So I'm obnoxious now, am I?" Really, he was making finding fault with his behavior entirely too easy, "Because, I don't recall asking either of you to join us. However, I do recall telling you when I invited you here that I had already made plans to play with Harrison this evening."
"Well, I didn't realize it would be like that," he pouted.
"Where are my friends?" I spat, rising, "I'm sick to death of talking in circles with you."
Alex was in the car, pseudo napping and wallowing in her boy problems. I chatted with CM guy for a bit, acknowledging the chaotic vibe of the evening, explaining about my bad day, and encouraging him to call me for a second meeting where things would hopefully be less hectic. Then I found Sasha, and we watched a few more scenes before deciding to call it a night. After wishing Harrison a good night, we headed outside where Tool was talking to Derek and Rachel by the car ... complaining about me, I shortly learned via a text from Alex, informing me of the disruption of her nap courtesy of his whining and obnoxious laugh. Of course, when confronted, he denied this, too.
"Are you accusing Mistress Alexandra of lying now, on top of your tantrum?" I asked incredulously, "Apologize to her, and then I don't want to hear another word out of you the rest of the way home." Once he complied, I added, "Thank you for driving and for paying our cover, but the rest of your behavior this evening was deplorable."
A few days later, Derek volunteered to mediate a discussion between Tool and me (and a cane), in hopes of helping me to reign him in. True to form, Tool spent the first half of the discussion mouthing off until I slapped him across the face, wondering why I hadn't done so ages ago. Since Derek had spent our planning frequently employing the quote, "The beatings will continue until morale improves," it wasn't long before the discussion escalated to me turning to Tool. "So, I don't give you enough attention? Well, that's all going to change tonight. Tonight you're going to get the attention you've earned. Tonight you're going to be my little pain slut."
And, while Alex and Derek watched (Derek narrating a play by play to his friend Libby* over the phone and informing me that Libby's suggestion was "harder"), I made use of every toy in both Derek's and my toy bags, several clothespins, and the knife sharpener from the kitchen (which, as luck would have it, doubled quite nicely as a surprisingly mean little paddle). There was no warm up, no safe word, and I had what I referred to as "flogger's elbow" for a few days afterwards. I beat the shit out of him with everything I could get my hands on and flicked the clothespins 'til he doubled over. And the whole time, I mockingly demanded, "Is this enough attention for you, my little attention piggy? Do you feel like you're getting your money's worth now? Maybe now you'll learn to show me some respect and realize that I'm not your little puppet Mistress!"
"I never thought that, Goddess," he whimpered, "I just want to please you. I'm sorry I didn't realize your power before."
"Which is code for you didn't take me seriously before," I corrected. Oh, please. Like he was really going to win with me? "Sit up!" I barked as he rolled in pain on the floor after a particularly savage flick to one of the clothespins on his nipples, "I thought you said you wanted to please me? Well, this pleases me."
Behind me, Alex let out a snort, as I emphasized my statement by giving the clothespin another good, hard flick.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel much better," I announced cheerfully when I finally showed him out later on that night. As the door closed behind him, I at last allowed myself to join Alex in her cackling.
"Now that gives a whole new definition to the word 'owned!'" she declared.
Hurting Tool was, hands down, the best possible medicine for releasing all my pent up frustration. I did feel worlds better. And I had learned from a few mistakes that I didn't plan on making again. All in all, it was a win-win for me; since he was the most irritating individual I had ever encountered, I really didn't feel any kind of remorse over my lesson's expense to him. The important part, just as I had said to him that night, was that I felt better.
I don't really deal with things that way anymore. Up until recently, I've been making a more concentrated effort to keep my growing pains to myself a little more.
Putting them in print here has been really cathartic for me.
But the other day ... once again, I stopped being the only one who was feeling the effects of my growing pains. And hurting John hasn't been nearly as satisfying as beating the shit out of Tool was. Wait, let me rephrase that: hurting someone I actually care about isn't even remotely satisfying. In fact, it kinda sucks.
The silver lining there is that it was nice to find out he actually cared. 'Cause I really wasn't sure either way before. Communication on the subject has been limited to text messages, but for once, I really feel like I'm finally being completely straightforward and putting it all out there, saying exactly what I mean, and trying my best not to leave anything out. Well, I think we both are, really. He's got a bit of a problem with vagueness himself, but he's been a lot more expressive in this instance. And part of me is really pleased with what seems like an extremely healthy development.
As for the other half? She really wants to be lying in bed with a certain little boy's head nestled into that nook between her breasts and collarbone, fingers in his hair, brushing her lips in the occasional kiss across his forehead ... just 'cause that's the best aftercare idea she can come up with in the aftermath of this particular brand of hurting.

"Kisses are for Lovers"

2009-02-17T11:57:00.000-08:00

"Trying to keep you off balance ... is just the evil version of sweeping you off your feet. (Thomas Rayfiel)"
I just read that line over breakfast this morning and it kind of smacked me in the face.
I really need to learn all the different faces of topping from the bottom and control manipulation. According to Derek, it comes in about eighty five thousand different forms, from the obvious (Tool trying to change my name or presenting all the things that catered to his own fantasies to me as the hard and fast rules for what BDSM was and wasn't about, banking on my lack of experience to keep me from questioning it) to the more subtle (a slave or submissive who is obedient but takes their sweet time carrying out a task). Or, in the same vein ... one who's prone to things like sporadic contact and dropping off the face of the planet periodically. And that quote just might perfectly sum up why I've been putting up with it.
Brooke was dating two guys when I apprenticed to her. Ben* was sweet and reliable and openly adored her, sending her daily "thinking of you" text messages which inspired snorts of disgust and which she frequently read aloud in a mocking, singsong voice. Brendon* was elusive and distant and inspired such behaviors in Brooke as dialing his number and listening to it ring and go to voicemail twenty eight times in a row ... for the specific purpose of allowing him to find the twenty eight missed calls from her - all made within two minutes of each other - in his call log.
Brendon was the reason I saw her break and give her vulnerability permission to emerge for a brief moment. Granted, it took her under five minutes to pull it together, but before that, I got the works: first, a text sent from their private dinner for two about how he was barely even talking to her and the admission that "I'm so hurt right now," then the screaming, crying phone call on her drive home, and finally, the seat next to her on the edge of her bed when she got there, stroking her hair and catching her tears with my fingertips ... until she caught herself in the role reversal because "(she was) supposed to be the one taking care of (me)." When I left L.A., I reminded her, "Plenty of people pay good money to worship you ... so don't spend too much of your time settling for anything less anywhere else." Which I thought was incredibly sweet and insightful and adorable of me at the time, but like so many other things ... it's easier said than done.
Case in point? I'm new, I'm young, and (while, obviously, I have my insecurities just like everyone else) most would say genetics have been kind to me. I have no shortage of attention from submissive males, and the simple act of checking my email is a daily exercise in equal parts of ego boost and annoyance.
So, naturally, I decide to make my play for the one who goes disappearing on alternate Tuesdays.
And it sucks, 'cause after last weekend he was doing really well, too. I was even prepared to cut him some slack because he was starting a new job that entailed a six day work week, but even with that, he was still keeping in pretty regular contact ... even if it was just to text me to say good morning before work. It was all looking really promising, and it made me happy because it also looked like just maybe he really did want to prove to me that he could be mine. But now, he's back to his old charming habits and has gone M.I.A. Yet again. And that little game? Has gotten really fucking tiresome. And twenty eight missed calls all within two minutes of each other is kinda not my style.
My last correspondence with him was a very polite text message last night (sent after he had ignored two or three previous text messages between Sunday night and Monday), informing him that if there's any way he can get out of work next Sunday, Derek is planning a bondage party. John's a huge bondage slut, and I still need to learn how to handle rope properly. Usually I just stick with restraints (conveniently hooked to the headboard of his bed), and I don't really even do that as often as he'd probably like, both because we do a lot of breath play and also because I like the feel of his hands on my hips. Anyway, the text also contained the postscript that this would be the last text message I would be sending his way unless or until he decided to become responsive again. I've been a bitch about that in the past, but this time, I was sweet as cherry pie. Now, one of two things is going to happen: either I'll get a text or email apology from him within the next few days, likely something along the lines of, "work's been kicking my ass, and I've been passing out as soon as I get home," or that text message will be the last time I interact with him in any way, shape, or form. Because seriously? Fuck this noise.
I was wandering through Borders yesterday and flipped through a paperback in the erotica section with the storyline of an escort who gets picked up by a dominant woman who awakens the escort's submissive desires. I didn't feel especially compelled to buy it (all those sex scenes are too extra cheese for my taste), but one excerpt stood out. In it, the submissive is bound, the Domme leans in close, and right when she thinks she's about to kiss her, she pulls away and tells her, "Kisses are for lovers." I have every intention of stealing that one now: "Kisses are for lovers ... and as far as I can tell, the only thing you really seem to have any interest in being to me is my part time guinea pig." And then I'd really love to hear how exactly he'd go about trying to tell me I'm wrong. Yeah, as fantasies go, that one's kind of boring. But know what? Plenty of people are begging me to show them the slightest attention on a daily basis. So why would I settle for anything less anywhere else?
My saving grace is my excellent willpower. I do this in vanilla relationships, too. This New Year's Eve was when I decided I was done with all the back and forth, on again off again nonsense with my last girlfriend once and for all. We still talk, but she hasn't been able to suck me back in since ... and not for lack of trying on her part. And it was actually just a few days after that when I first blurred the lines between play and more for myself with John. I'd been inching my way there since I ended up at his house around four AM on New Year's Day (that was the first time I ever bit his bottom lip ... a pretty regular occurrence these days, but up until that point, I had still been all about keeping everything separate ... well, with the exception of utilizing his warm body for spooning purposes, anyway). And a night or two later, curled up on the bed in our now-familiar position, I asked him, apropos of nothing, what he wanted.
"I want to learn how many different laughs you have," he told me.
If not necessarily the sweetest thing I'd ever heard, that one was definitely well within the top ten. And the most appropriate thing I could come up with by way of response was to turn and kiss him full on the mouth ... our first kiss. But when he requested another one before I left the next day, I told him no and didn't relent for a good couple weeks before letting it happen again.
"Is this fucking with your head?" I asked him the second time around, "'Cause I can hear the argument now: 'If you don't want to be a kinky girlfriend, then why do you act like one?'"
Of course, he assured me it was fine, that he was taking everything at face value: "Did you notice how after I asked that one time and you said no, I never tried to initiate anything? Everything is completely up to you."
Well, if that's the case, then I guess it's "up to me" to decide that kisses are for lovers and that since, quite obviously, he isn't mine, there will be no more. Maybe I should have simplified things even further for him: "proving it" equals being there. And, no, I am not actually naive enough to imagine that that would have made the slightest difference.

Mistress Addicts Anonymous?

2009-02-12T10:35:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I'm feeling a little guilty over the shameless exploitation that's about to ensue, but this is a personal first and I'm really not quite sure what to make of it.
During one of John's flaky periods, I had an opportunity for a shoot ... but the woman who was running it wanted me to bring my own sub so I would be working with someone I was already comfortable with. By this point, a fair amount of guys on CM had stumbled across some of my other clips and contacted me asking for an opportunity to shoot with me. I had spoken to Trey* on the phone, and he had seemed sweet and normal (if ever so slightly cocky and shallow, but judging by his photo attachments, Mother Nature had blessed him with a reason for this), so I contacted him to see if he might be interested.
Trey was married, but assured me that his wife (unlike Matt's poor, oblivious girlfriend) knew about his "extracurricular activities," and readily agreed to help me out as long as I could give him a ballpark figure of when he'd be back ... perhaps I should have thought to ask beforehand exactly how much she knew. Anyway, once I talked him through a minor case of cold feet about appearing unmasked (after which he texted me thanking me for explaining things and apologizing for "being a pussy.." his word choice, not mine, though it did make me smile), we were set.
I had him meet me at a nearby Starbucks (apparently my venue of choice for attached submissives) an hour before the shoot so he could be "comfortable and at ease with me." I didn't see any reason to mention that this was as much for my own benefit as for his ... might as well maintain my control from the start, right? Upon arriving, I was pleased to discover both that the pictures hadn't lied and also that - contrary to some of my intial impressions - he did, in fact, have slightly more depth to him than your average puddle.
Though the shoot itself didn't exactly fit my idea of "FemDom" (the storyline was more porn-ish: guy walks in on his girlfriend cheating on him with another girl, then the two girls humiliate him, trample him, and smother him with their breasts and asses), we had a lot of fun. Suffice it to say, I didn't really achieve full-on topspace at any point, but now ... I can't even begin to imagine what the aftermath might have been if I had.
Trey and I have texted and emailed a bit since the shoot. I heard from him the other day, just your average check in, during which he told me he would be going away on vacation, and that he missed me. I told him we would figure out a time to see each other when he got back.
Fast forward to last night. I'm at home, minding my own business when I receive a text message from Trey telling me how gorgeous I am and reiterating how much he misses me. Since it also contained the line, "You're so hard to not forget," I responded much as I would have to anyone else in those circumstances: "Aw, are you drunk right now, little boy?"
Figuring I'd throw him a bone, I also asked when he would be back from vacation because I wanted someone to accompany me to a class next week.
Trey responded that he was just "buzzed enough to grow the balls to text (me)," and went on that no one had ever made him so nervous and that I was "such a fantasy." Unfortunately, he wouldn't be back until late evening the day after the class, which I told him was a shame.
The response to that was something along the lines of, "Yes, it is a shame, but please find another way to use me because I'm addicted to You and want to do all kinds of disgusting, humiliating things for You."
Well, I actually had no idea what to say to that. So I waited until this morning and simply asked how his hangover was, another classic response of mine after a bout of drunk texting.
Trey said he was recovering nicely and thanked me for asking.
Of course, then I just had to feel things out a little more. I started by casually mentioning that he was the first sub to have ever drunk texted me. (Okay, so John and I may have texted back and forth a time or two when one or both of us has been out drinking, but not like that.)
Then he apologized and said he was embarrassed.
I told him it was fine, and not to be embarrassed because it had made me smile. Which - despite my being completely caught off guard in the moment - was true.
And now?
Well, as I began typing this, Trey and I were still texting back and forth about the dirty, degrading things he'd be willing to do for me. All because I mentioned maybe using him for more hardcore shoots next time if he thought he could handle it, and when I got the response, "For You? Fuck yes. I'm open to more nasty stuff, too," of course, I had to press the issue even more and ask for examples.
To be honest, I'm not really sure why all this caught me off guard as much as it did. I certainly get enough messages from randoms containing worse; I once had a fifty something year old guy write me an unsolicited seventeen page long erotic story about his new life as Mistress Kay's sissy panty boy ... and while the more explicit sexual descriptions made me throw up in my mouth a little, for the most part, I just found it amusing. With Trey, I actually want to play with him again, and hell, just as two people with pulses, if he wasn't married, I'd tap that.
But when I said "prove it," the other day? This was kinda not quite what I had in mind.
Hey, then again, maybe Trey read that post and this whole thing was just a manipulation on his part because he wanted to be in my blog, too? Then I wouldn't have to feel quite so bad about the whole shameless exploitation thing. Oh, whatever. I can dream.

Proof

2009-02-09T12:52:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting one Maitresse Scarlette Stangata (a fiery and fascinating lifestyle Mistress) through our mutual friend Patrick.* I can tell you she's fascinating just by the single meeting because I've also checked out her blog since then ... I'd link to it, but it's an invite-only deal, so you'll have to take my word for it as I take my moment to gloat about how I'm a member of the cool kids' club and you're not.
Anyway, meeting her and reading her blog were another main factor that both got me thinking more about what I wanted as far as the whole lifestyle aspect of things and also answered a lot of questions that that particular thought process had raised for me as far as how to balance everything ... because a part of me really does still have my guard up. Then again - Brooke's training as far as not showing weakness in front of submissives notwithstanding - I'm pretty much notorious for my guardedness ... kinda goes hand in hand with that whole being famous for dysfunctional relationships thing I have going on.
But reading Scarlette's blog helped me realize that the balance is possible. While the undeniable dynamic force that she is comes across in every word, whenever she talks about "her boy," there's also this sweetness and vulnerability that comes through and kinda calls to mind that famous movie moment where Julia Roberts tells Hugh Grant, "I'm still just a girl standing in front of a boy." And I'm okay with the fact that I'm drawing that analogy, because even if I do know the line, I don't actually remember what the movie is ... so I am, thereby, still a tough little Domme.
Point being, I got to take comfort in the thought that it is, in fact, possible to command a room, bring grown men to their knees, and still allow for your own humanity to come through without it being weakness. I certainly felt anything but weak the times I curled up in bed with John when the rest of my world was swirling chaotically around me ... if anything, it made me stronger because I was able to breathe easier and get through it.
I'm still working on being one hundred percent comfy with all that though.
I drove out and saw my little boy this weekend for the first time in a couple weeks. By the time I was about fifteen to twenty minutes away, I was in the best mood. Soon after I had walked through the door, we were on the bed making out like a couple high school kids, me raking my nails over his chest and back, holding him by the throat, and throwing in the occasional bite to that sensitive spot where collarbone and shoulder meet for good measure.
"I missed you," he told me after a few minutes of this.
"Mmm.. you'd fucking better have," I replied, catching his lower lip between my teeth.
But underneath all that flippant bravado ... I was still just a girl. And a cynical girl, at that. I had gone back and forth on exactly how many of my latest "secrets" I wanted him to know before I went out there, telling him he should check out this very blog, then taking it back and saying to wait.
See, I wasn't sure whether or not his reading it would result in his getting weird, breaking plans, and doing that whole dropping off the face of the planet thing he does so well for the billionth time. And that would've sucked. So now that I was there, I needed to pull back, just snuggle, and beat around the bush a little bit (okay ... a lot) before I was about to entertain any notions of setting the truth out in straightforward black and white. And getting a few drinks in me first couldn't hurt either. So we went out with two of his good friends. It was nice to finally meet them. And ever notice how everything's somehow less intimidating after you've spiked your bloodstream like a prom night punch bowl? Yes, confessions intimidate me ... my own confessions, anyway. Shut up.
And even then, it was still like pulling teeth to get it out of me. I've really got to give John credit for his patience in that department, even though it was pretty self-explanatory where I was going with it. Before we left the house, I casually mentioned that I had recently figured out what I wanted as far as the whole lifestyle aspect of things. Naturally, he inquired as to what that was ... and I helpfully informed him that, "It's in the blog I wouldn't let you read."
Halfway through my second glass of wine while his friends were involved in an animated banter over some inside joke or another, I leaned over and elaborated, "I want this ... with some modifications." Still no prying; he let me take my sweet time on things. I don't really know if he did that because he gets me or if it was just another aspect of this silent, stoic, internalizing thing he sometimes does, but it worked either way.
In the dark back in his room later that night, I pulled back for a moment, "This isn't what I went to L.A. for," I told him, "And this isn't why you emailed me. Remember? You emailed me volunteering to be my guinea pig."
"I'm still your guinea pig," he told me.
"But you've already fulfilled your obligations in that department," I murmured, "And now I want more out of you. So ..." I finally asked him, "How far will you go for me, little boy?"
"That's up to you," he replied.
I shook my head. "That's not an answer." And I repeated my original question: "How far will you go for me?"
"All the way, Mistress Kay," was his answer this time around.
After we had both paused to giggle at the unintentional rhyme, I replied, "I guess we'll see about that, then, won't we?" Then I told him I wanted him to be three things: reliable, accessible ... and mine. The last of these was delivered as a purred prelude to a kiss, and in the morning when I asked him if he remembered his three things, he repeated the first two back and claimed he hadn't quite caught the third.
Given his response in the moment (did I mention that I really dig how intense his reactions to me are when I get sensual?), I'm not entirely sure whether that was actually the case or if he just wanted to hear me say it again.
At first, I told him it didn't really matter because as long as he pulled off the first two, the third would follow. But then I relented and murmured it into his ear in between bites to his neck and nipples.
"Okay. I'll be yours," he said.
"Not just like that, you won't," I told him, "Prove it; you're not mine just because you say you are ... you'll have to show me."
I take that track a lot. I've been fed too many beautiful lines of bullshit in my couple decades and change on the planet. I can't do anything with easy, pretty words; I want them backed up by deed. My one exception to the "never say never and never say always" rule is that I will most likely always ask for proof.
Of course, John pointed out that he was still here, and wasn't that proof? "I'm not going anywhere," he told me, "I'm content. I don't want or need anything else." Which was nice to hear. Certainly a promising start ... but now? Keep on showing me. Prove it. And don't stop or slack.
So, hopefully I wasn't too vague for him, what with all that beating around the bush I did.
We'll see what happens ...

Three Portraits of My Personal "One in a Million's" Amidst the Dime a Dozen

2009-02-04T13:31:00.000-08:00

According to both Brooke and Derek* (my former roomie/big bro/mentor), male submissives are a dime a dozen. Admittedly, there is some truth to that statement; for every one who doesn't pan out, it's hardly difficult to find several more who'll eagerly line up waiting to take his place.
But I've run across a few who've had a bit more to them than that.
Shortly after I returned from L.A., my friend Sasha* who was the childhood best friend of my best friend from work, Alex,* asked me if I would be willing to take her under my wing as my Domme in training. Excited by the prospect of having my very own "Mini Me" after Brooke had paraded me around, happily introducing me as her little Domme in training all month, I readily agreed, and the three of us and Derek planned an excursion to Paddles in NYC. According to Alex, it took about five minutes before I was approached by Harrison* (who introduced himself as "Harry," but I insist upon calling him by his full name because, as far as I'm concerned, the only instance in which I find "Harry" to be an appropriate name is if one happens to be of the canine variety).
I had two training goals in mind for Sasha that evening, both of which had been extremely helpful to me during the first stages of my own learning process. The first was to watch some public play. The second was to get her past her aversion to foot worship. You'd never know it to watch me now, but initially, the whole prospect of foot worship really skeeved me. But Brooke loved it, and watching how much fun she had, seeing the gleam that lit her eyes when she grabbed a guy by the hair, jammed her foot far enough into his mouth to make him gag, and then wiped his own slobber on his face, made me want to try it. And once I did, I was hooked ... but it's certainly lucky for us both that Harrison and I didn't make one another's acquaintance until after I had reached that conclusion.
Anyway, he made his way over while Alex, Sasha, and I were watching two late thirties to early forty-something Dommes who were topping a slight, wiry, wild-haired old man; one halfheartedly flogged him while another took a riding crop to his flaccid penis. It was pretty unremarkable as scenes go, but it was the only FemDom one I could find. Still, I wasn't too bothered by Harrison's intrusion. "I don't know if you're aware," he began, "But it's kind of common in a place like this for guys to offer girls foot massages ..."
Now, I had a little air of haughtiness about me that night, partly because I was putting on a show for Alex and Sasha, partly because in those early days I was so concerned about not doing anything "wrong" that I was really self-conscious about letting my guard slip in any way. Harrison would actually help me out in that department a lot, beginning later on that night when at one point he had laughed, not unkindly, declaring with a shake of his head, "You're being such a Domme!"
"Well, what should I be?" I had replied.
"Just you," was his response.
At any rate, the first words I spoke to him that night were when I leveled him with my eyes and interrupted what seemed destined to become an unnecessarily long, drawn out explanation with a simple and blunt, "So, you're saying you'd like to worship my feet?"
Taken aback for a second, he eventually nodded and replied, "Yes. Yes, I am."
"Okay. Let's go find a place for me to sit then." And I turned on my heel, motioning for Harrison, Alex, and Sasha to follow.
I have yet to meet anyone else who does foot worship quite like Harrison. It's ridiculously sensual, and he puts his whole body into it, sprawling across the floor, nuzzling his face against my feet like a kitty cat, massaging with just the right amount of pressure ... I could go on, but let's just cap it off by saying he's the reason I now swear I have an extra clit between my toes.
Harrison is a self-proclaimed fetish slut who's always on the lookout for fresh meat, and he told me he likes to do this whole "Bonnie and Clyde" thing where he kind of takes new Dommes under his wing, letting them know about events and meeting up to play together there. It didn't take long before I was okay with that idea though, because in addition to the killer foot worship, he's a pretty awesome person. Which isn't to say we haven't butted heads plenty of times ... he's a bit of a switchy sub, which is tricky, especially for a new Domme. And what with his meeting me fresh from training and right in the middle of all the trial and error of my learning process, I made my share of missteps in my early dealings with him. I don't think I'd be up for being his Dominant in any kind of regular scenario, but I'm really lucky to call him a friend.
Next up was Matt.* Let's call him my personal human happy pill. I met Matt during all my trials and tribulations of dealing with Tool, and he was the most welcome change of pace I could possibly have asked for. Brooke had warned me about submissives who were "energy vampires," and would leave me feeling inexplicably drained after my interactions with them. I met a couple of those in between, too, but Matt was the polar opposite. Whenever I spent time with him, I always left feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and in a better mood. A newbie like me, he was also adorably eager to please and learn ... and the icing on the cake was the way he giggled and blushed when I talked to him, ducking his head into his shoulders.
Our first meeting outside the world wide web was at a Starbucks before he went to a wine tasting for work (he was a regional manager for a liquor distributor) during which, for some reason, we wound up discussing forced cum feeding and I mentioned to him that pineapple would help make things more pleasant for him in that department. Later that evening, I received a text message from him informing me that there was pineapple on the cheese plate at his wine tasting and that he couldn't wait to see me again.
The only downside to Matt was that he was never quite able to balls up and be honest with his girlfriend about his "dark side." She never found out, but I couldn't seriously put him under consideration given the situation. There was some soul-unburdening on his end, and some counsel on mine (which I think I handled quite nicely), during which I shared the experience I'd had being confronted by my ex and told him quite honestly that after having been in his position myself (and regardless of whether or not I was in the picture for him), I wouldn't recommend that he - or anyone else, for that matter - go around living a lie. While to this day, he maintains that I'm "probably right" (cute, huh?) in my prediction that he won't stop dabbling in the lifestyle, he still has yet to make any moves to be true to himself (either by way of 'fessing up to his girlfriend or ending the relationship), and I'm not about to be the one to force the matter. But he also claims he now can't picture exploring it all with anyone but me, so I haven't neccessarily heard the last of him.
And last - but certainly not least - we have John.* I fondly refer to him as "my little boy" (well, okay, I call a lot of them "little boy," but he's the only one with whom I've ever added the possessive modifier.) With his endearing perpetual crooked smirk (the product of a dog attacking him and ripping his lip when he was five), John's gotten under my skin deeper than any of them. Maybe there's just something about your first, too ... because he was really my first serious regular play partner. Alex accused me of getting attached when my playdates with John started becoming a regular occurance. At the time, I flatly denied any such thing, but she was right.
The whole thing with John is complicated. We had been in sporadic contact since before my training with Brooke when Derek had suggested I put a post on CM looking for "guinea pigs" who would be willing to help us out serving as targets for my target practice while Derek taught me how to use the "tools of the trade" to "give a proper beating." When John flaked on that initial meeting, I assumed that he - like many of the other guys who had responded - had simply had second thoughts and decided he was uncomfortable with the thought of another guy being there. As it turns out, though, "sporadic contact" is the only kind of contact John seems to know. Prone to bizarre sleeping habits, it can take entire days for him to return phone calls and text messages ... but in some instances, he'll disappear for even longer. Most commonly, when he's trying to avoid a confrontation of some sort or is working through the occassional weird personal head space (though I suppose his disappearing act method on the latter example might be preferable to my own usual M.O. of venting to everyone and anyone who'll listen). And yes, his unreliability is more than a little maddening at times, and I never miss an opportunity to tell him as much.
Anyway, when John and I finally did meet, I had a lot going on personally. My relationship with my girlfriend was falling apart, Derek and I were clashing, my grandmother was dying of terminal cancer, and I had finally gotten rid of Tool and was stressing about how I was possibly going to make ends meet. John responded to a CM post I had put up looking for a space to session out of. Then he found me on http://fetlife.com/ and messaged me there asking if I'd gotten his CM message and whether I remembered talking to him a few months back.
I responded that yes, I remembered him, quickly slipping in that I also remembered his failure to get back to me before glossing over it to transition to anyway, why didn't he tell me about this space, and he could also feel free to call or text if he still had my number.
We texted back and forth that night. The space he had in mind was a huge warehouse in his town, which was obviously a little out of my price range. After commiserating about the effects of the crappy economy on our respective personal finances, he asked if I'd ever considered fetish modeling or film work. After I told him I had toyed with the notion but was a bit hesitant about pursuing it, he replied that he was trying to set up a shoot for that weekend and that I was welcome to come watch and see what it was all about.
That evening was probably the first time I smiled over the course of what had been an ungodly stressful week. The other two girls - who were actually both porn stars originally and were excited to learn about Domming from a "pro" (it made me smile that they thought of me that way, because I had yet to elevate myself to that level in my own mind ... and I still haven't, really) - were incredibly sweet, and honestly, if I'd had any clothes with me other than the jeans and hoodie I was rocking, I probably would have jumped in and shot some improv stuff with them that night. At any rate, we planned a shoot for the following weekend, and John and I spent that week talking and getting to know each other a little.
The evening of my first shoot, my grandma was doing really badly and everything was coming to a head with my girlfriend. And even though he barely knew me, John jumped in and offered to help me through it ... not in any kind of pushy way, mind you, there was no prying or anything like that; he was just there in a way that proved to be exactly what I needed, from offering an open ear all the way up to and including asking if I needed a hug and requesting permission to provide one. And he pretty much continued to provide that support system for me from that point on ... at least whenever he wasn't pulling his whole "falling off the face of the earth" routine.
Writing all this, I realize I should probably retract the reference I made to my "recent lost lustre story" yesterday. John's been sporadically in contact and then M.I.A. again lately, but accusing him of bailing because I've somehow stopped being fun and sparkly and bubbly isn't really fair to him. Apparently somewhere along the way, I forgot that he met the raw, real, gritty version of the "shiny new Mistress" pretty early on and stuck around ... and that? Is a pretty big deal.
As with Harrison, I made some mistakes and butted heads with John a time or two. Brooke had conditioned me not to get too friendly and personal with submissives, which was a big part of why I had come back from L.A. with my guard up so much. As it turned out, while the whole untouchable, hard-as-nails bitch thing was fine in my dealings with someone like Tool - whom I truly couldn't stand as a person - it didn't really work for me as far as establishing any kind of connections with the people who actually genuinely interested me by merit of who they were. And while my relationships with both Harrison and Matt had done wonders by way of clearing some hurdles for me as far as bending Brooke's rules in that department, John became a whole new level of uncharted territory.
When I went to L.A., I went there to train as a pro-Domme. I was happy in a relationship with a supportive vanilla girlfriend, and I was pretty confident that I would always want to keep those two areas of my life separate. But Brooke's first lesson to me was, "Never say never, and never say always." And she was right on the money with that one.
And even though he doesn't know it, even though I've flat out told him, "I don't think I'm quite ready to be anyone's Mistress yet, and I definitely have no desire to just be someone's kinky girlfriend," John has played a big role in changing my mind on a lot of that. We've had our fights, and his flakiness annoys me to no end, but other than that, in a weird way, he just might be the healthiest relationship I've ever had. Of course, anyone who knows me well knows that's not really saying much. I'm kinda known for my dysfunctional relationships. But hey, it's a start, right?
Point being, because of John, I now have a much better idea of what I want out of all this as far as the lifestyle aspect goes. And honestly, the two main factors that make our arrangement work for me are simpler than you might imagine: quite plainly put, he gives me a safe place to go and he holds me like he means it when I need it the most. As I told my friend Patrick* the other day when I announced to him that I had had the epiphany of figuring out what I wanted, "I want exactly the scenario I have with John ... with someone who's reliable." See, I've made some allowances for him in that department, but at the end of the day, I want the security of feeling like I can one hundred percent count on someone one hundred percent of the time. While I certainly realize that life happens, at the very least, I want to feel it's important to someone to make that kind of conscious effort for me because I honestly believe that to be the truest example of what I'm worth to them. And maybe one day John himself will decide he wants to be that person. Maybe not. But either way ... it's still really nice just to know.

The Boring, Requisite Introduction

2009-02-03T09:17:00.000-08:00

"Shiny new Mistress" is the handle I use on the oh so wonderful website, http://collarme.com/ (and also on yahoo since most variations of "Mistress Kay @ yahoo" were already taken). I borrowed the concept from a girl my roommate was talking to at one point who once made the comment that she loved "shiny new people." Which I decided was pretty perfect. I'm quite fond of shiny new people myself, with the exception of the tools who think they're being cute when they email me at said addresses saying things like "Hi, Mistress Shiny!" or "I'm a shiny new submissive!" or my personal favorite back in December, "I need a shiny new Mistress for Christmas!" And no, even he did not merit an "'A' for effort" response. It's rare that I'll find stupid plays on words endearing, and my inbox there is unfortunately overflowing with them.
But I'm a fan of shiny new people. Mostly because they make me shiny. I don't know what it is, but I get this compulsion to be ridiculously ungodly fun and bubbly and sparkly... which is part of my personality on a good day, but when I meet someone new, that part of me gets even more enhanced. It's like a line from one of my favorite movies of all time: "You know that guy who can pick up any girl? I'm him. On crack." (Bonus cool points to anyone who got the Thank You For Smoking reference).
Problem with that scenario is, eventually life happens, and I can't be fun and sparkly and bubbly all the time. No matter what else is going on, I can manage to pull it off with new people for however long I'm around them in an initial meeting, but once I know someone for awhile, I'll eventually show them something real and raw and gritty (I'm a Sagittarius, so while I can be trusted to keep someone else's confidence, I'm really bad at keeping my own secrets). And, inevitably (at least in my own mind, though that belief is supplemented by the people who've bailed when it's happened), that's the moment when the shiny new Mistress starts to lose her lustre. But there will be plenty of examples of that to provide stories for another day (one main one in particular soon to come).
I first began exploring my "dark side" in October of 2007, using the scene name "Mistress Estella" (I had just watched Great Expectations the night before I made my profile), emailing back and forth with a guy I met on CM who, with 30+ years of lifestyle experience, seemed like he might be a good resource if nothing else. That went on for about a month, ending abruptly when my crazy, jealous, paranoid and otherwise all-around sanctimonius cunt of an ex-girlfriend went through my phone and found a text message to him in my outbox, sent after he had done something wrong: "Do not respond to this text, and I do not want to see you. I am at work. There is bird shit on My windshield. If it is gone by the time I take My break at 5:30, I will consider forgiving you." For some reason, she interpreted this as, "Are you cheating on me with a guy!?"
Now, just to be clear here, I honestly hadn't intended to carry on behind her back, but she had been such a collosal bitch about it when I had brought it up to her, that, being me, I had naturally rebelled. At any rate, the truth came out, we broke up for about a week and then decided to make an honest go of it. After eight more months of misery, during which I got pretty close with a friendly acquaintance and co-worker who knew the whole story and was not only supportive, but actually got a kick out of the whole dominatrix thing (and whom, in an eventual self-fulfilling prophecy, my ex was convinced I would cheat on her with and leave her for), that hostage situation of a relationship ended for good.
So, with my shiny new girlfriend by my side, Mistress Estella returned. As did CM guy who will henceforth be referred to as "Tool" for reasons that will soon become clear. Much as he boasted about all his experience, Tool was nothing more than an opportunist looking to take advantage of and manipulate a young novice Mistress into fulfilling his own fantasies under the guise of "Total Power Exchange." I suppose he can't really be blamed since without such an opportunity, he was nothing more than your standard, stereotypical aging divorcee wasting away in his crappy apartment and feeding his fetish by jacking off to girls on the internet.
The topping from the bottom began with him changing my title to "Goddess Estella" because he "preferred Goddess worship to Mistress serving," and it only got worse from there. Unfortunately, I had made the mistake of taking him on in exchange for having him pay the bulk of my rent, so I was stuck in that horrendous and tiresome little rut for the better part of a year. Two good things did come out of it, though. Firstly, now that I have that experience under my belt, I can smell anything else like it coming from a mile away. Secondly, it led me to seek out my own training, which brought me to Brooke.*
Brooke was a pro-Domme out in L.A. who was a friend of my former roommate/adopted big brother/one-time lifestyle mentor. Shortly after he put us in contact via phone, she suggested that I come out there, live in her guest room, and apprentice to her for awhile. So, at the end of summer '08, in perhaps the most spontaneous and impulsive move of my existence thus far, I booked a flight and spent about a month doing just that. Upon meeting me, Brooke may as well have just come right out and quoted Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers films, declaring, "I shall call you Mini Me." In any event, as far as she was concerned, for that month of my life, I was her little disciple. Not that I was complaining. I learned a lot from her, had a ton of amazing experiences, and in no way would I be where I am today without her (not that I'm under any delusions of granduer that I'm hot shit, but I'm at least beginning to put myself out there in a proactive attempt to start making a name for myself, and not being the wholly self-motivated sort, I wouldn't have done so otherwise).
I once read that no story really has any kind of definitive beginning, middle, and end ... because there's always something that came before and always an epilogue of sorts. Which makes sense. But if you're going to tell a story, you need to find some kind of starting point. So I figure a boring, requisite introduction is as good a place as any.