There’s a general trope about the Domme: we are tall women who walk around in latex or leather, we’re leggy and slender with strong eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, and we’re bratty. Often, bratty bordering on bitchy.
My mentor adheres to this general stereotype. She’s not leggy nor slender, but with her clients, she seems to be pretty bratty. I can’t judge; that’s her style. And over the past few months, I’ve worked really hard to take on that persona. Why not, right? Behind closed doors, the Dommes I know are unique, interesting, beautiful people, but when with their clients, they’re demanding and sometimes, to my mind, rude. Again, though, that’s a style. And clearly, it works.
But, I fail. I know I fail. If I’m late or overbook, I apologise. “Don’t apologise! They LOVE when you cancel on them last minute!”
Really? Because… that almost seems rude, to me. Maybe if you have that dynamic worked out…? But I’m no good at that.
“I was raped,” said a potential client yesterday, as we met for a quick cup of tea. I always meet people in a vanilla, public setting before I ever play. It gives me a chance to get a gut reaction to them, before progressing the situation.
“Ok,” I said, “tell me what happened.” He talked about it. He had been seeing another Domme in the UK for some time. One night, as she was strapping him down for a scene, another man walked in. It turned out, this Domme had wanted to do a “rape play” scene.
“Not entirely play if it’s not consensual, is it?” I said. We talked a bit more about any other triggers he had, his experiences, his like and dislikes. I thanked him for his time and left, reminding him to think over carefully whether he wanted to play with me. I don’t accept “yea”s or “nay”s on the spot; I ask my potential clients to go home, take some time, and think it over. Later that evening, I got an email:
“You make me feel very calm and relaxed. I don’t normally get that on the first meeting,” he said.
“Ah, don’t you know? Dommes are supposed to be intimidating, scary, and bratty!” I replied, tongue firmly in cheek.
“Well, sorry Miss, but you failed the brat test.”
I suppose there are worse things than to know people want to play with you because you make them feel good. I don’t know how this will translate to going Pro, but it’s something for now.