A trick, indeed.

So, we’ve all been in that particular spot. Someone we know, someone we care about — someone with whom we’re good friends — suddenly gets re-categorised into the ‘why am I blushing? Why is my heart beating this quickly? Why am I Goddamned fucking melting?’ folder.

I remember when it happened with my fiancé, Mr P.

Ahhhhh.

He was with his crazy girlfriend at the time, but it brought out that softer, romantic, definitely submissive side of him that, being his co-worker sharing his office, I’d never seen. As a result, I (somewhat legendarily now) poured myself an extra cup of coffee … having completely forgotten that I’d just done so.

Yeah.

Because my head was so caught up elsewhere. No one had ever affected me like that before — to the point where I still couldn’t forget about them years later. He just got to me. I don’t believe anyone will ever affect me the way that Mr P does — but that doesn’t mean every now and again someone can’t come somewhat close ….

Enter my co-star. Oh, bloody hell. Rational thought just … takes a little holiday some of the time. We writers are all more than just a little cracked anyway, so to find a fellow lunatic is always a bit kismet. That being said, it got me to thinking about this whole Roulette mumbo-jumbo, just what it is, what it was supposed to mean, and what I’ve really been doing with it.

Not much, is the short answer. Question is — why? When deciding to become a domme, and creating my (what is it, third?) alias, I did not do so lightly. Oh, of course, I went through all the classic configurations, finally deciding to stick a bit closer to home and go with something at least French. And, being with a professional poker player, (though, anything even moderately themed sounded retarded) I ventured to explore all gambling possibilities. What’s French and a game of chance? (Well, unless you count the ridiculous house edge, but that’s neither here nor there.) Yep! Roulette.

Ah, but a name has to mean something. It has to be a part of you, or allow you to express that which you’re having trouble doing as yourself, using the name you were given, saddled with your past, and all it entails. Roulette … I mused. What could I do with Roulette?

The answer did not evade me for long … .

What couldn’t I do with Roulette? Nothing.

(more…)

You all know the scene. (Literally.)

You and your significant other have just finished off a particularly heavy round for whatever it is in your chosen lifestyle, you’re both enjoying a bit of the usual aftercare afterglow, transitioning out of your respective head-spaces …

… and silently thinking: ‘Oh, fuck.’

Ah, now you get me. At first, you’re reflecting, ‘That’s a pretty typical scene, yeah,’ until it hits you. Oh. We’re talking about that kind of scene. The one where it got a little too intense, and you stumbled upon a little much truth, and now you’re quietly hoping your partner’s forgotten all about it — even though you haven’t.

Maybe, you said something that wasn’t true, and you’re regretting it. Or, perhaps, you said something that was true, and you really wish you hadn’t. Either way, the bag is definitely void of cats, and you’re driving yourself mad over whether or not you’re the only one aware of this fact.

First of all — relax. We’ve all reached a particular point, or been provoked to a certain level, where we went for defensive shock value, or, perhaps a bit worse, the equally unnerving truth. Since D/s is all about pushing envelopes, some are bound to be shoved around sometime. (Otherwise, you may not be doing it right.) Just be mindful that you and your lover are both in an extremely vulnerable spot during a particularly heavy scene — regardless of who’s topping and who’s bottoming. Some subs can be surprisingly provocative, leading their dom/me to play the truth game a little too seriously. In short, when — and if — the inevitable something slips, there’s a plan of action that should be undertaken to ensure that things don’t turn messy quickly.

(more…)

Take two people: one, a young whip-wielding dominatrix clad in glistening black latex, so tight that it appears her second-skin; lips the colour of blood and eyes so thickly lined in black kohl so that you can’t help but notice them from miles away. She snarls, snapping the whip inches before you, her voice risen to gravelly tones, sharp, and booming. It commands your attention.

The other, a modest gentleman, mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, average height, to just a bit short, decent shape, but far from muscle-bound. He wears a simple suit, appearing like just another cog in the American corporate machine. His voice is steady, but not particularly noteworthy. He stands before you, asking you a simple question, or making an equally simple statement.

Now.

Of the two of them, who has the power? You may say this is an unfair comparison, and most unscientific — one is a man, the other a woman. Apples and oranges. Still, the whip-wielding dominatrix is more quickly linked to ‘power’ in most people’s minds than the older, average-appearing gentleman.

Is that what you think, too? If so, you’d be wrong.

(more…)

First off, a word about ‘alpha females‘; before diving into a subject, you need to know the vernacular.

I see this one a lot: on various websites of professional dommes — as well as Animal Planet. It seems like a strong means of advertising. It’s when they claim that it’s actuality — a component of their everyday existence — that I find myself … less than accepting.

So, I ask myself: how many of these ‘alpha females’ are actually dominant women? Plenty — and I mean, plenty — of pro-dommes are submissive in their personal life. (Why? Because there’s money in femdom for those enterprising beautiful people who are savvy enough to play a role 24/7 and not lose themselves.) Knowing this simple fact, however, I find myself always just a bit suspicious of those websites which tout such a thing to be the way it actually is.

One reason I love to get to know pro-dommes; I get to see beneath the veneer, and meet the actual woman. Sometimes, it’s a match. But most of the time — they’re just regular gals with an atypical job. They laugh, cry, fret over whether a guy they’re into will ever call them back, wonder and worry if they said something stupid to a girl-friend, bitch about their periods, and spend hours on the phone.

Because we’re women. Not automatons. Not weapons of feminine destruction. (For the most part.) And if you are, well, you didn’t get there through being a pro-domme. That’s just smoke-and-mirrors. That is the wizardress, my friends. Go take a peek behind the curtain and then let me know what you find.

I’m not saying alpha females aren’t in existence — there are a number of them; some of which I know personally. There are plenty of queenly women, too — who believe the world should bow down to them; that they shouldn’t have to work, to earn her achievements. That everything should be offered on a silver platter. Yeah. I know a few of those, too. (Though, I tend not to associate with them).

And, yeah, they tend to be beautiful. They tend to be from lots of money, have men falling at their feet, being given everything without asking for it, and taught to believe this is really the way it’s supposed to be. I know, because that’s how my mother was brought up — by my narcissistic beauty-queen grandmother who had celebrity boyfriends through most of her youth.

That’s why I laugh at a lot of pro-domme sites, and, often-times until I get to know them, the pro-domme they represent. Really? Do they really believe that shit? It’s like having an actor arrive for an audition fully-in and not at all breaking character — for even a second. You get lost after awhile — wondering if this is just them — their actual persona, or if they’re putting it on for the purpose of the audition. And the very good ones can fool you quite well.

Most pro-dommes are that: actresses. They know it, I know it. What gets me is that the men who so desperately want to believe — with a conviction more passionate than that of Fox Mulder — somehow can’t. But, hey, we believe what we want to. And in their case — they want to believe that these bitches really are the fucking rulers of the known universe … in their own minds, at least.

Sigh.

Ah, but all is not lost.

(more…)