Rock Stars, Porn Stars & Greater Illusions
I sat with my mouth agape while my girlfriend relayed the following conversation to me. It was with a young woman who was thinking about making a transition from stripping to pro-domination. A pretty blonde with a nice figure who had less experience with BDSM than she had cumulative brain cells. Unfortunately, there is nothing unique about her profile. Much like many of the WASPs from the 'main line', she is nothing more than a cookie cutter paper doll with an expensive to-do list. The only difference between the two being simply a matter of breeding and formality. While I would like to say that women like this should stick with what they know, which in this case, I am afraid may be limited to blowjobs and pregnancy... I would only be offering advice based on an elitist sense of seperatism. After all, who said you had to be a rocket scientist to perform MY avocation? For any man with a fantasy, sometimes just having the right look is all that is really required to make it work.
"I know I can do this because, you know, I think men are assholes anyway!", the blonde offered in a form of idiotic cheeriness that was intended to show a sense of solidarity among "the girls".
"Wow", my girlfriend replied and then continued the conversation for reasons that are far beyond the limits of my own patience,
"So, you realize that men will come to you and ask you to do things that they can't ask someone else to do?", she asked the blonde.
"Oh yes, I know", quickly replied Miss All-American Domme, "and I am totally okay with that because I think these guys are sick for wanting this stuff anyway. "
(I winced. Her comment pierced me because, after all, I am no less "sick" than my boys for actually enjoying these games.) She continued, "Humiliating them would be sooooooo easy for me."
... and so the conversation went for a few more minutes while my girlfriend tried to be helpful and offer some relatively necessary and pertinent insights as she understood them based on her experience with me in an effort to deter this moronic monster from entering this arena and hurting someone in all the wrong ways. Unfortunately, what she didn't know is that this kind of abusive hostility toward clients is not uncommon nor a disqualifying factor. In this profession, unlike any other profession on the planet that involves handling, manipulating or experimenting with the known limits of the human body; knowing what one is doing really is optional. "Looking the part" is the only fundamental requirement and because of this, the girls are gettting younger, dumber and more transient in their travels through this corner of the sex industry.
The fact is that it IS the sex industry and quite possibly the darkest, most misunderstood corner of it. We are all creatures who live in the secrecy of shadows. Should we need to get a certificate in erotic genitorture? What kind of board would we have to sit for to be approved to perform sensually invasive medical techniques safely? Is there a credentialing body for bondage and roleplay 101? Would we be required to take CEU courses in Client Rights and Privacy every 2 yrs? ... and in the end, why? If I had a dime for every male that has made a decision about who to entrust his body to based on appearances with absolutely no further inspection into the psyche or abilities of the Domme he was choosing, I would be a billionaire as well as smug beyond tolerance. It's hard to feel too much pity for the shallow and superficial. Sorry boys, testosterone poisoning is not my idea of a good excuse.
It is hard to know girls like this and not make absolute judgements about their relative worth and merit to anything. They offend me with their ignorance and uninvited existence in my tiny corner of the world. And yet, who am I to judge? It is not as if I love and adore every pervert and kinkster that crosses my path. There are many of them that I have no respect for and little affection towards insomuch that they are no more than human garbage in my eyes. Do I like the boys I play with? Not always and not all of them. In reality, sometimes I don't like myself for becoming more "sexually dysfunctional" with every encounter. It is a mutual disgust on some days. Other days, I am genuinely hungry for the aberrant activities that only a client seeking a professional dominatrix can offer. It is a carnival mirror we look at ourselves in, never knowing what reflection will stare back at us this time.
And now, I am older and I can see myself at the entry of a questionable pathway into the future. It was many years ago that I worked in a dungeon in NYC. One woman stands out remarkably in my memory. We were all young, attractive, wild eyed and confident that this was only a lucrative and deviant stop on the journey of our lives except for one woman. I remember her sitting in a dungeon room alone while the rest of us gossiped and cavorted in the common areas. She was easily in her 50's and the aura of beauty that her youth must have blessed her with hung over her like a soft light. It was obvious that her looks had made her money and brought her luxuries throughout her life as she was far from homely, even now so far past her prime. She was much older than the rest of us and an anomaly in the sleek dungeon world where sex and specialized fantasy were sold at a premium. Some of the girls thought she looked ghoulish and discomfiting with her presence and often mocked her with the insensitivity that only the young and attractive can have. We never asked her about her life. We never really invited her into conversation. We all politely skirted around her as if she were some sort of malevolent talisman that would harm our financial luck for the day if we got too close. It was better to pretend she wasn't there than to confront our fears.
To me, she looked pathetic. It disturbed me endlessly that a woman of her age could end up needing to do this for a living and of course she NEEDED to do this for a living or why else would she do it... do this... at her age... it was as hard to accept as a grandmother porn star/prostitute. It never occurred to me that she might be doing it because she enjoyed it. I couldn't allow myself to think that intimately of her choices because it just seemed wrong and repulsive to entertain visions of her being sexually aroused with clients who were closer to my own dating age. She repulsed me and frightened me alternately. When I looked at her, I saw the potential of myself becoming her if I wasn't careful.
Careful.
We enter this world without caution or reserve because after all.... "I know I can do this because, you know, I think men are assholes anyway!". With cavalier confidence, we choose to pick up a whip and become something we never hope to be at 50. After all, we would have found a rich, kinky man to make our real dreams come true and allow us to bury this life behind us. But it never works out that way. The closest are the ones who find the hardcore perverts who are so twisted that finding anyone with the stamina and the mental fortitude to deal with their fetish demands on a daily basis while subjugating their more mundane intimacy needs becomes more challenging than finding the Holy Grail. And once found, she/he/it becomes a prisoner like Beauty to the Beast but not with such a happy ending. One woman found her Beast and was kept in lavish comforts like Beauty but eventually, the constant demand for strict fetish from her and the inability to meet her human needs brought the relationship to an end and unlike the story, Beast did not transform into a Prince. He remained a selfish, dysfunctional, obsessive narcissist. When she left, she was destitute and psychologically bankrupt. This is a common story that is rarely told because it is humiliating. The once high and mighty Dominatrix commanding vulgar amounts of money and claiming the prize bull in the competition of the fairest and cruelest in BDSM land to ride her into retirement.... getting thrown to the ground unceremoniously by her prize bull and leaving her in a pile of excrement and humility for her hubris. Why would anyone admit that they were once that man or woman?
And so the young and clueless all clamor to board the kink train in their race to fame and riches. They hear the legends and the fables of Dominatrices before them who live in mansions and subjugate CEO's of multi-million dollar companies as their personal slaves. Dominatrices who retire with horse farms and real estate to rival Donald Trumps. But women are cunning and more cruel to the young and beautiful, and they don't tell them the whispered stories of ruin and humiliation that have fallen rivals and entertained foes. It is not as if the beautiful, little girls would believe us anyway. Sometimes I am not sure I would believe myself.
Everyone wants to be a rock star when they are young but they quickly learn that it requires talent, determination and an understanding that even an abundance of both garauntees nothing for your efforts. So, some of them choose to be porn stars as it requires no talent, no determination and simply the good fortune of being young, attractive and willing to sell your dignity for a dollar on the pound. I want to feel sorry for them and I just can't find it within myself to feel pity.
The great illusion is that all of this leads to some worthwhile place in your life. It is a lie. A great lie. You are a prop in someone else's fantasy and as soon as they get bored with this fantasy, you will lose your value too. I often wonder if I would have been more successful if I had been able to remain more focused on material gain instead of internal gains. Could I have been one of those fabled dominatrices that retired early with a horse farm, a CEO slave and a home in Monte Carlo? It could have been me if only.... what? I could have been a rock star too. I could have been a contender.... if only. "If only" is a silly game. No one ever wins them and no one ever feels better afterwards.
Sometimes I think professional domination is an "if only" game. We spend alot of time looking at the other women in the business and thinking that they are happier, wealthier, more successful, more esteemed, blah, blah, blah than we are and we think that we could achieve that too.. if only... what? We were taller, shorter, bigger, smaller, more Barbie-ish, more Amazonian, stronger, daintier, etc, etc, etc. There is no formula for success here because in the end, none of the women are necessarily living up to the image they are projecting. It is all an illusion, even the appearance of success.
In your life, ask yourself: At the end of the day, what will you have to show for your efforts ... good things or good relationships? Is it better to be a loved pauper protected by goodwill and neighbors or a hated billionaire protected by high walls and isolation?
"I know I can do this because, you know, I think men are assholes anyway!", the blonde offered in a form of idiotic cheeriness that was intended to show a sense of solidarity among "the girls".
"Wow", my girlfriend replied and then continued the conversation for reasons that are far beyond the limits of my own patience,
"So, you realize that men will come to you and ask you to do things that they can't ask someone else to do?", she asked the blonde.
"Oh yes, I know", quickly replied Miss All-American Domme, "and I am totally okay with that because I think these guys are sick for wanting this stuff anyway. "
(I winced. Her comment pierced me because, after all, I am no less "sick" than my boys for actually enjoying these games.) She continued, "Humiliating them would be sooooooo easy for me."
... and so the conversation went for a few more minutes while my girlfriend tried to be helpful and offer some relatively necessary and pertinent insights as she understood them based on her experience with me in an effort to deter this moronic monster from entering this arena and hurting someone in all the wrong ways. Unfortunately, what she didn't know is that this kind of abusive hostility toward clients is not uncommon nor a disqualifying factor. In this profession, unlike any other profession on the planet that involves handling, manipulating or experimenting with the known limits of the human body; knowing what one is doing really is optional. "Looking the part" is the only fundamental requirement and because of this, the girls are gettting younger, dumber and more transient in their travels through this corner of the sex industry.
The fact is that it IS the sex industry and quite possibly the darkest, most misunderstood corner of it. We are all creatures who live in the secrecy of shadows. Should we need to get a certificate in erotic genitorture? What kind of board would we have to sit for to be approved to perform sensually invasive medical techniques safely? Is there a credentialing body for bondage and roleplay 101? Would we be required to take CEU courses in Client Rights and Privacy every 2 yrs? ... and in the end, why? If I had a dime for every male that has made a decision about who to entrust his body to based on appearances with absolutely no further inspection into the psyche or abilities of the Domme he was choosing, I would be a billionaire as well as smug beyond tolerance. It's hard to feel too much pity for the shallow and superficial. Sorry boys, testosterone poisoning is not my idea of a good excuse.
It is hard to know girls like this and not make absolute judgements about their relative worth and merit to anything. They offend me with their ignorance and uninvited existence in my tiny corner of the world. And yet, who am I to judge? It is not as if I love and adore every pervert and kinkster that crosses my path. There are many of them that I have no respect for and little affection towards insomuch that they are no more than human garbage in my eyes. Do I like the boys I play with? Not always and not all of them. In reality, sometimes I don't like myself for becoming more "sexually dysfunctional" with every encounter. It is a mutual disgust on some days. Other days, I am genuinely hungry for the aberrant activities that only a client seeking a professional dominatrix can offer. It is a carnival mirror we look at ourselves in, never knowing what reflection will stare back at us this time.
And now, I am older and I can see myself at the entry of a questionable pathway into the future. It was many years ago that I worked in a dungeon in NYC. One woman stands out remarkably in my memory. We were all young, attractive, wild eyed and confident that this was only a lucrative and deviant stop on the journey of our lives except for one woman. I remember her sitting in a dungeon room alone while the rest of us gossiped and cavorted in the common areas. She was easily in her 50's and the aura of beauty that her youth must have blessed her with hung over her like a soft light. It was obvious that her looks had made her money and brought her luxuries throughout her life as she was far from homely, even now so far past her prime. She was much older than the rest of us and an anomaly in the sleek dungeon world where sex and specialized fantasy were sold at a premium. Some of the girls thought she looked ghoulish and discomfiting with her presence and often mocked her with the insensitivity that only the young and attractive can have. We never asked her about her life. We never really invited her into conversation. We all politely skirted around her as if she were some sort of malevolent talisman that would harm our financial luck for the day if we got too close. It was better to pretend she wasn't there than to confront our fears.
To me, she looked pathetic. It disturbed me endlessly that a woman of her age could end up needing to do this for a living and of course she NEEDED to do this for a living or why else would she do it... do this... at her age... it was as hard to accept as a grandmother porn star/prostitute. It never occurred to me that she might be doing it because she enjoyed it. I couldn't allow myself to think that intimately of her choices because it just seemed wrong and repulsive to entertain visions of her being sexually aroused with clients who were closer to my own dating age. She repulsed me and frightened me alternately. When I looked at her, I saw the potential of myself becoming her if I wasn't careful.
Careful.
We enter this world without caution or reserve because after all.... "I know I can do this because, you know, I think men are assholes anyway!". With cavalier confidence, we choose to pick up a whip and become something we never hope to be at 50. After all, we would have found a rich, kinky man to make our real dreams come true and allow us to bury this life behind us. But it never works out that way. The closest are the ones who find the hardcore perverts who are so twisted that finding anyone with the stamina and the mental fortitude to deal with their fetish demands on a daily basis while subjugating their more mundane intimacy needs becomes more challenging than finding the Holy Grail. And once found, she/he/it becomes a prisoner like Beauty to the Beast but not with such a happy ending. One woman found her Beast and was kept in lavish comforts like Beauty but eventually, the constant demand for strict fetish from her and the inability to meet her human needs brought the relationship to an end and unlike the story, Beast did not transform into a Prince. He remained a selfish, dysfunctional, obsessive narcissist. When she left, she was destitute and psychologically bankrupt. This is a common story that is rarely told because it is humiliating. The once high and mighty Dominatrix commanding vulgar amounts of money and claiming the prize bull in the competition of the fairest and cruelest in BDSM land to ride her into retirement.... getting thrown to the ground unceremoniously by her prize bull and leaving her in a pile of excrement and humility for her hubris. Why would anyone admit that they were once that man or woman?
And so the young and clueless all clamor to board the kink train in their race to fame and riches. They hear the legends and the fables of Dominatrices before them who live in mansions and subjugate CEO's of multi-million dollar companies as their personal slaves. Dominatrices who retire with horse farms and real estate to rival Donald Trumps. But women are cunning and more cruel to the young and beautiful, and they don't tell them the whispered stories of ruin and humiliation that have fallen rivals and entertained foes. It is not as if the beautiful, little girls would believe us anyway. Sometimes I am not sure I would believe myself.
Everyone wants to be a rock star when they are young but they quickly learn that it requires talent, determination and an understanding that even an abundance of both garauntees nothing for your efforts. So, some of them choose to be porn stars as it requires no talent, no determination and simply the good fortune of being young, attractive and willing to sell your dignity for a dollar on the pound. I want to feel sorry for them and I just can't find it within myself to feel pity.
The great illusion is that all of this leads to some worthwhile place in your life. It is a lie. A great lie. You are a prop in someone else's fantasy and as soon as they get bored with this fantasy, you will lose your value too. I often wonder if I would have been more successful if I had been able to remain more focused on material gain instead of internal gains. Could I have been one of those fabled dominatrices that retired early with a horse farm, a CEO slave and a home in Monte Carlo? It could have been me if only.... what? I could have been a rock star too. I could have been a contender.... if only. "If only" is a silly game. No one ever wins them and no one ever feels better afterwards.
Sometimes I think professional domination is an "if only" game. We spend alot of time looking at the other women in the business and thinking that they are happier, wealthier, more successful, more esteemed, blah, blah, blah than we are and we think that we could achieve that too.. if only... what? We were taller, shorter, bigger, smaller, more Barbie-ish, more Amazonian, stronger, daintier, etc, etc, etc. There is no formula for success here because in the end, none of the women are necessarily living up to the image they are projecting. It is all an illusion, even the appearance of success.
In your life, ask yourself: At the end of the day, what will you have to show for your efforts ... good things or good relationships? Is it better to be a loved pauper protected by goodwill and neighbors or a hated billionaire protected by high walls and isolation?
posted by Samois at 10:45 PM
