Dating a dominatrix

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We stand at the bar ordering cocktails while we wait for our table, chattering up the crackling storm that rolls in when two first dates discover that they really, really like each other. Normally before dates I disclose my interests in BDSM and femdom, and that I am seeking a date who might value that as part of a romantic relationship with me.

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As our introductory conversations stretched on, my neglect to mention my preferences went from an oversight to an outright lie by omission. I wonder if he ever could have guessed what was in those three blinking dots. Now the day had come, and my crush on him was swelling by the minute as he was making the grievous mistake of living up to all of my expectations. I suspect in that moment we looked like a pair of hipster flamingos. Does he know what I am, can he tell?

Whatever it is, he thinks better of it and hands over my drink.

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He tucks in closer to me as we wait, his hand sliding up the bar behind me and wrapping around my waist. Pressed to his side, I can feel his heart pounding in his chest. It is a dinner filled with steak, wine, and butter, my favorite trifecta of indulgences.

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He speaks genuinely of his family, his love of his job, his love of our shared hobbies, of the ways of this wild and wooly world of internet dating. Now would be the time you should tell him. The warm light fills in his face with the glow of the strings of cafe lamps overhead, and I think to myself that I am truly having a wonderful time. He gives me his undivided attention, no checking his phone, pouring more wine in to my glass, offering me the best bit of the steak. By the end of dinner the air is thick with that sweet throat catch of something new and wonderful, the smooth rapport of two practiced dates out together knowing exactly what to say.

When you are someone who gives Good Date, you have the practice to be able to tell all of your highest rated stories, ask all of your most well-received First Date Questions. Dates are in their own way a kind of mini-scene, a place where I am happy when I am in control. I laugh at his jokes and subconsciously place my hand on his to make him more comfortable. When dinner is finished we slip out the door and back around the front to a corner store. Selecting another bottle of wine, we check out and he le me next door to what is of course it is the front door to his apartment.

I see that I am not the only one to fall prey to certain dating habits. Even the most experienced of us must often resort to routine to survive, choosing date spots next to our homes, staying within our comfort zones and doing what we know will yield the highest rate of success. It is at its worst a kind of raw laziness and at best a kind of display of self-confidence. In this case I choose to be generous in my assessment and pick the latter as we scale the stairs. Next is the moment that every woman of my sexual proclivities most fears.

Do I tell him? Should I pretend just this once to be a normal girl? Or do I like him too much to lie? The bottle is like an hourglass, marking the time slipping away until I have to tell him. I am that kind of girl, and so much more. I pound the rest of my wine, here we go…. A good dating a dominatrix I like to be the person in control.

Do I look as panicked as I feel? I straddle him and wind my hands through his curls, gently pulling them back as Dating a dominatrix bite and lick his neck. His erection pops so fast and so forcefully it nearly unlatches his belt for me. I push him flat on to the couch, lock his wrists under my legs and silence his wondering face with my ass. I look out the window as he busies himself between my legs, the city lights glittering across the river. He likes this, clearly, but could he like me? If this was us all the time? We fuck for what feels like days, nearly every surface of his apartment covered in our sweat and the heartfelt over-promises of a man close to orgasm.

Why do they say these things? I sit on his face to silence the lies, but they keep coming back. Finding myself as a domme on great dates with vanilla men is my masochism, my douleur exquise. I let dating a dominatrix taste the adventure on my tongue. I indulge their eagerness to please me, their voraciousness for the newness of a sexual interaction that asks them for once to be the passive half. I share my joy and pleasure with them, but still carry the shame for both of us when they are unwilling or unable to return.

In the hot midnight of his poorly ventilated industrial conversion apartment, I lay across his chest and slide my fingers through his chest hair, wind through and tug it gently. His chest cracks like a secret compartment in a long lost tomb.

He told me he could love me, why did he have to say that out loud. I reach in and wrap my fingers around his heart and pull it out. It thumps contentedly in my hands like a sleeping animal. For the night it is mine, but I have no collateral to offer in return. I have given it away too many times, and spent more than I have. All I have is the weight of knowing I will most often be the only self-identified dominatrix a man ever dates. I have to tell you something, I could have loved you back.

I never see him again. Tales and lessons from a life as a dominatrix brought to…. Tales and lessons from a life as a dominatrix brought to the modern Silicon Valley workplace.

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Dating a dominatrix

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Dating a dominatrix: The secret relationship behind the profession