During my recent trip to the Southern Virginia town I grew up in, I ended up spending the night at the home of myveryfirstboyfriend (and his wife and twin sons). I had a very early flight and he lives close to the airport. We munched on fine North Carolina barbecue and the boys showed me their video games and tick bites. The wife put the kids to bed and excused herself as well, saying she was exhausted after two nights of partying.
So it was just me and Adam, sitting on the porch. He was sipping some vodka concoction, I cradled a cup of chamomile tea.
One of the things I’ve loved about our relationship is that, well, we still have one. We don’t talk every day, but we IM here and there to keep up on the important stuff. We still have a love for each other and even though he did grow up to be a Republican computer geek, we still have lots of stuff in common. Including kink.
Except when we were kids, we didn’t call it kinky. We were just teenagers having our first kiss at a screening of “The Breakfast Club” (with my cousin as chaperone). I wanted to eat my popcorn but I didn’t want to stop kissing him. So I put the popcorn in my mouth and pushed it into his with my tongue. I asked if he wanted a drink and I whistled my Coke into his mouth, too.
Once we started having sex, I wasn’t tying him up. I just couldn’t wait until he was completely out of his clothes before jumping on him, his pants pooled around his ankles, his arms caught in his shirt sleeves. He’d come in my mouth and I’d spit it back in his not to humiliate him but so he could taste what I tasted.
“You sucked my big toe one time,” he told me on the porch.
“No WAY!” I protested. “Really?” And then I remembered just loving him so much then the way you can only really do when you’re a teenager and just wanting to devour every bit of him all the time. Even his toes.
“Yeah, and you used to give me ice cube blow jobs and bite my nipples with ice in your mouth, too.”
*****
People ask me all the time if I could have a vanilla relationship and I always say, “Of course.” This is why. Because a “vanilla” relationship looks pretty much like a “kink” one to me. I mean, as long as the root of whatever we’re doing is love and desire for each other, what’s the difference if I’m taking him with a strap-on or wrapping my legs around him in missionary or keeping him in a chastity cage for a week or drenching his back with butterfly kisses? It’s all part of the continuum of mature intimacy, no?
If I hadn’t become a professional dominant, I probably wouldn’t have ever graduated to putting my lover in thousands of dollars worth of bondage gear. Or sticking steel rods down his urethra. Or electrocuting his balls. Instead maybe we’d have one of those “fun drawers” next to the bed with stuff like wrist/ankle restraints, a paddle, a few vibrators/dildos, a blindfold.
But I am a Prodom. Now, I’ve got the gear, the space, the inclination, and the education. So my sex life’s gotten a little more elaborate. Some times.
******
Back on the porch, Adam tells me he’s getting more and more into chastity and cuckolding. His wife is slowly coming around to accommodating his desires (her “partying” was a continuation of a recent seduction of a 26 year old guy from the neighborhood that Adam is achingly excited by). I asked him if he thought his cuckold interest was a sublimation of his bisexuality. (Uh, yeah. That was a surprise.) He thought no. “If I want to suck cock, I do,” he said.
Turns out, I might be responsible for his cuckolding thing too. My next boyfriend after Adam was, shall we say, a little close to home. (Hey, it was a small town and I was a busy teen. I just grabbed what was handy.)
******
I know a lot of Dommes who like to play the “kinkier than thou” game. “Oh, I’ve been beating up boys since preschool!” I can look back and find plenty of examples of me being “dominant” or “sexually aggressive” or “freaky” or “kinky” …. but at the time, I wasn’t putting labels on my behavior. I mean, I remember playing “Atom Smashers” in Kindergarten. This was a game where I’d order the boys to sit with their legs spread on the floor and then try to mash their penises between colored PlaySkool blocks (the red rectangle and yellow triangle were particularly effective, as I recall). I just never thought of this behavior as anything other than precocious until I became a Domme and was trying to figure out where all this was coming from “out of nowhere” at age 33.
I guess my point is that in some ways, I have no idea where this all started or why. It’s not like I can point to some seminal moment, such as hiding under a desk and seeing my teacher’s shoes and stockings and being excited. But, like, talking to Adam it’s clear that my “kink,” if that’s what you want to call it, has always been with me. Maybe it’s nice to have a label for it now. “Oh, okay. I’m ‘kinky.'” But, ya know, ironically enough, even saying I’m “outside the norm” just feels kinda limiting.
I’ve been reminded time and time again that it’s the person I’m with and not the act of what we’re doing.
Making out can be hotter than the kinkiest scenario you can imagine if it’s with the right person.
I sometimes find when a woman finds out that I’m kinky, she thinks that kink is the only think I want or enjoy. It’s a label I give myself that does limit me sometimes.
Maybe everyone is kinky, it’s just a matter of degree.
Thank you for the reminder.
Great blog entry Ma’am. Though I have to say, I’m not sure where the lines are – or if there are.
How does one define “the continuum of mature intimacy” – where is vanilla, and where is kink?
I remember a few years ago on the Hang someone asked if you folks still had an interest in “vanilla sex” – I said absolutely. And sometimes vanilla sex includes his and hers butt plugs and nipple clamps!
So what is kinky, where is the line. There are people who enjoy mild pain in their relationships, and those who don’t. I remember dating girls who marked me with hickies like crazy – and others who recoiled at the idea. Are hickies kinky?
What about nibbles?
What about really hard leave marks for days bites?
I remember one girlfriend who out of the blue put her cigarette out on my nipple. It was totally out of context of the moment, and that just made it so hot.
And I don’t know where you draw your lines, but *THAT* was definitely kinky.
Axe,
Sometimes I fall into the trap of thinking that if someone is “kinky” then that means s/he HAS to have kink in order to get off. There are some people like that, but not as many as I think. I think. It’d be as hard for me to be with someone like that as it would for me to be with someone who only liked vanilla sex with me on top.
I agree it IS about who I’m with, more than what we’re doing. Much more. I’m glad you took that lesson out of my post … I needed that reminder, too.
Ya know, Aarkey, maybe the conclusion I’m getting to is that it’s just a continuum. There is no line. Or if there is, it’s not fixed. Some of us think biting is kinky; others think kink doesn’t start until the latex gloves are on; others not until there’s no genital contact whatsoever, just the air redolent with leather and bruises.
One thing I can say is that as a prodom — especially the way I tend to play — what I think of as “really kinky” these days tends to be stuff I don’t do…
That’s a very warm (with overtones of hot) story.
I was married a long time and have now been separated a bit more than 3 years. We’re still navigating the choppy waters of hurt feelings. It will be a very sad tale if we can’t one day sit on the porch and savour the good memories.
Popcorn, eh? Not surprised about that. Yeah, popcorn fetish!!!
wow, you always seem to take me to a nice place,dunno but would love to go back to that time for one week, not sure how ‘kinky’I was but horny as hell.thanks again,off to the corner store for a bag of popcorn.
I agree 100% – there isn’t any line and what defines perverted or kinky compared to exciting or racy all depends on how much spice someone wants to throw into their meal.
Ask a dozen perverts what’s an “edgy” type of scene play, and I am sure that you will get all kinds of different answers – mostly depending on where everyone puts their limits.
And are those “soft” limits or “hard” limits? And how soft does a man’s hard limits become if he’s hard and will the mere suggestion of one of the hard limits make him soft?
😛
MTO, thank you yet again for sharing your experiences, and yet again giving one to think. The question of why some play partners “click” and others don’t may very much relate to ones motives – playing with sensations and love rather than hostility or darker currents….
And now I recall a stroll back from the Museum down the block, back to your Salon…. and a stop in for popcorn 🙂
Aga
An observation: I read lots of dommes’ blogs. Most don’t even mention their BDSM sessions unless something gross or funny happens. Mistress Yin writes about them, but in a sort of sterile analytical style. You seem to be the only Domme who writes about a certain amount of erotic arousal you get from a sessiont. I wonder why that is? Are you fairly new and not yet jaded? It strikes me as odd that no other dominatrix/blogger seems to get much of a sexual kick out of what they do.
@Peter,
I am all for porches. That’s one of the downsides of life in New York City. And I’ve definitely got a thing for popcorn. Not quite a fetish, but certainly a craving. It’s my favorite snack.
@Lee,
Gonna get popcorn, eh? Look what I started … you’re not 23 are ya? 😉
@Matt,
I make better popcorn than I can ever buy, though when the craving strikes sometimes I just can’t wait.
LMPest,
I’ve been ruminating on your comment all day. Interesting. Might have to throw that one out in a post of its own.
Anyway, I’ve been a prodomme since March 2004 when I started my apprenticeship at Luxuria. Been indie since Dec 2004 and I’ve had Salon d’Orleans since Feb 2007. I don’t know if that makes me new or not. As for the arousal … well, uh, yeah. I mean, if I didn’t get turned on by this stuff why bother doing it? Baby, I’m too old to be spending all this time and energy on something that doesn’t make my dick hard.
So to speak. 😉
Pure and lovely. Thanks.
Hello, all. Hello Ms Troy.
Sorry fo the earlier deletion, a mishap. Here’s what I posted:
Sometimes a post or a blog entry will resonate like a Gregorian chant in a Romanesque babtistry. This one does that for me. And it goes a ways toward explaining why conventional purely professional domination is ultimately unfulfilling for me. I never thought of myself as kinky or anything like that. I don’t think it “starts”. I think it “is”. Fetishists need the object of their fetish. It becomes a sine qua non to arousal.
For me there is no telling, no predicting, and no explaining what is arousing other than to say that it is inextricably bound (sly reference to bondage) up in my emotional attachment and attraction to somebody and what pleases, excites, and gratifies them. And that is not the result of a solely commercial transaction.
I don’t have anything against commercial domination. I do not devalue it. It just doesn’t seem to work for me.
Lately I have been finding all sorts of outlets at home and abroad in likely and unlikely places. For me, the conceptualizing, the setting up, the anticipation, and the aftermath are as important and in many ways more important than the actual event, deed, or act itself.
Thank you for such a wonderful blog entry.
Your wonderful post made me think of my first “kink” memory. A day dream when I was eight or ten or so one afternoon at my desk in grade school. Sitting at that metal wooden torture contraption I thought of four of five teenage girls in tight black leotards … they ride fast right up to me on their bikes, screech to a stop and jump off. They overcome me physically, tie me with rope and make off with me. They take me “across the tracks” to a waiting boxcar. They heave me up onto the dark raised bed of the train, jump up inside, slam the door and …
Know any dungeons with boxcar rooms?
Garrett,
Glad to see you here. Welcome.
FWIW, purely professional, commercial domination doesn’t really work for me either. I’ve worked really hard to structure my practice in such a way to bring as little of that vibe as possible. You come in, we talk, warm up to each other, take our time. Maybe you’ll have a beer or a glass of wine. There’s some Nina Simone or Thievery Corp. or obscure Sting song playing softly on the iPod across the room. There’s no rush, no hustle, no knocks …. and everything conspires to make you feel unlike anywhere or anything you’ve ever done and yet there’s no question that it’s real.
At least that’s the goal.
Or, as you said, “the conceptualizing, the setting up, the anticipation, and the aftermath are as important and in many ways more important than the actual event, deed, or act itself.”
I don’t really understand how to do it any other way. It’s not satisfying to me. I think when I get hurt the most is when a client assumes that all this is just a ruse, some really good game I play and not about what’s genuinely “pleasing, satisfying, and gratifying” to me.
I’m straying from your point sorta. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough month. But I hear ya, babe. I mean, if I could have the diversity of play partners and afford to own all my equipment and have a dedicated play space, I wouldn’t need to be a pro. Eh, maybe. I think the transaction part, in certain ways, makes things easier on both sides sometimes. Bah. All I know is that I’m really happy where I am right now. Things work. Except when they don’t … which, fortunately, is rare.
advochasty,
Adam still talks so fondly about how I used to ride my bike to his house on my way to or from dance class and how hot he thought I was in my pink tights and leotard. Says my ass was so cute and tight then, and that when he kissed me, I always tasted like Carefree bubblegum.
I love your boxcar fantasy. I don’t know any dungeons with one as a theme, but I’m sure you could figure out a way to get yourself hauled off by a gang of catsuited vixens….
And thank heaven for professional domination for providing you with diversity of play partners, allowing you to afford to own all your equipment, and making it possible for you to have your own dedicated play space.
Thank you for the welcome, Ms Troy, happy to be here, to surface here, to come up for air here, as it were.
And thank heaven for professional domination for providing the means for us all to meet and to know one another.
The idea of arranging an appointment, coming in, talking, warming up to each other, taking our time. Thievery Corp. sounds good. No rush, no hustle, no knocks? The idea of the knock is the fundamental reason I would never consider a session in a BDSM Mall. Everything conspiring to make me feel unlike anywhere or anything I’ve ever done and yet there’s no question that it’s real?
I believe in this scenario you describe. I believe that it is real because I know you are real.
The way you do it, professional domination, is very, very appealing. Your descriptions, your vignettes, your musings are all quite intoxicating. I must admit I feel a little dizzy…
Ya mean they don’t have a boxcar room at Rapture? Sheesh, forget it then. ;).
A gang of catsuited vixens … hmmmm …
The domme friend I write about on the board had a bike. Like an old school type 50’s girl bike. Big wide white wall tires and a handlebar basket. She wore a pink helmet when she rode. Once, she let me push her bike while we wandered over toward GCT. Can’t say as I got any bubble gum action, tho.
BTW, did you see the coverage of the Superhero Costume exhibit at the Met?