How becoming a dominatrix is everything that I have ever dreamed of

I am a slave.  I am submissive.  These are facts I cannot escape.

I am also strong.  Talented.  And ever-so exotic.  I can’t help it. Who said being a sub should be easy?

Being a slave is the opposite of abdicating responsibility. It is the opposite of weakness. On the shoulders of slaves the world is built.

More importantly, I am free.  And that simple state, due to an even simpler act, to just be, to be me, has had more impact on the people around me than anything I actually did.

I believe very deeply that a good slave is an accomplished slave.  Submission on its own is like looking in the mirror.  If you submit as a commitment to be your best, no matter who you are, or what you do, it is very different.  Having a top, an owner, makes the journey less lonely, and lends it extra purpose.

But as time passes and also as oestrogen changes me, refines me, helps me to throw out that which I no longer want, I realise that I am not generally submissive.  I seek to submit to one only.  

The Snow Queen wants me to learn to have sex with God.  At this rate, it might be the best way for me to get some.  Hah.  But she is quite serious, and she is right. Sexual desire is as close a language to God-speak as we have.  And somehow I think that she will guide me in that direction.  And anyway, that fits with my desire to become a nun.

I’m serious about the nun thing.  Only “nun” probably means Catholic to everyone, and that isn’t what I mean.  I am a pagan believer.  I am a witch.  And I will be the sexiest nun ever.

I met a very butch lesbian woman recently.  Her dominance was so palpable it could tear the paint off a car.  She commanded me effortlessly without knowing that I would respond, but she picked up on the queues immediately. Or she just sensed that I had gravitated to her like a moth to her flame, and would dance to her tune.

“I don’t follow anyone,” she said, “and I sense you trying to lead.  We won’t get anywhere that way.”  Not that we were trying to get anywhere. I had just said, ‘hi.”  But she was so blunt and since I am non-confrontational and naturally submissive, I responded.  I tended to her and we settled into quiet together even though there were many others present.  She saw me as a female druid. How right she is.

I realise that I could not dominate a woman.  It isn’t in me.  And when I have, I lose respect.  I’m sorry.  That is how it works over here.  I can’t help it.  I can make rational and political arguments in support of why this is okay to feel this way, but they really don’t matter.  I just can’t do it.

Men, on the other hand, are fit for being dominated.  The thought of being more alpha than ever as I grow boobs, take on feminine curves (and I am not kidding, skirts I bought a few months ago don’t fit over my ass anymore.  I put on a men’s suit the other day and I looked like a woman.  My curves were visible.  I could see me.  I can’t tell you what joy that gives.  I can’t tell you what joy it gives that facial recognition AI now genders me female.  It makes me glow from every cell.

I revere the dominant woman.  I also believe that social change will not come without revolution.  Women must speak up, must find common cause.  And more and more it is happening.  I would call myself a feminist.  I would have always called myself that, and frankly any TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminist) out there is just a traitor to her own cause.  Our cause.

I love the dominant woman as an icon.  That she stands tall and proud and outspoken, and that little girls growing up can look up to her, and that little boys can learn to be respectful and to know that they do not get the keys to the patriarchy anymore.

I love the dominatrix.  That much is clear.  I love that she stands in the face of social criticism.  I love that she not only owns herself, but she inverts the male gaze, and takes iconic imagery and makes it hers, not his.  I love that she gives a voice to herself, and expects others to give her full respect.

I love the sex worker.  I love that this is the ultimate FU to the patriarchy…that a woman should use her charms, use the very thing that has been used to shame her over centuries, to keep her in line, her sexuality.  It shakes the system to the very core, that a woman would take control of her body and make men pay to feel weak before her.  Yes, that is God’s work.

I’ve written about the lesbian feeling of not being sure whether you lusted after someone or whether you just wanted to be them.  Sometimes both.  I am at least a transbian.  I don’t know how I feel about having the word “lesbian” applied to me.  Sapphic, absolutely.  Gynophilic, absolutely.

I realise that I want to be just like the women who have dominated me.  I had and have this feeling of loving how cool they are, of loving them as people, of admiring them, and having all the feelings rolled out in the paragraphs above.  It’s like if I could imagine a life where I had been born female, the career I would have wanted to have is that of a professional dominatrix.

I tried to express this with one of my closest friends and she got all judgemental on me.  Perhaps it’s a lost cause.  I don’t know what to do about people like that.  Either they are friends or not.  I am sick of being judged.  And I get judged every time I go outside now.  And this also is driving this storyline…resistance to the judgement.

I realise that I want to be a dominatrix.

I guess this has been coming for a while.  What other context might there be?  

I can’t escape the feeling that I am embarking on an entirely new life.  I lived a full life as a man.  He is almost dead now.  A distant memory.  My photos of me as a man stir some very unusual emotions.  I see a sadness in my own face that is gone now.  I see a person who is unrecognisable, not to me, but to himself.  I also see the little boy in every shot.  The flame inside him, the person I started out being.

As I begin to live ever more fully female, the life experience that I have is so alien to that which I had, that it increases the disconnect of my old life, making it seem blurry and gone.  Instead, I am newly born, a baby, discovering womanhood, discovering what it is like to be vulnerable, discovering my need to feel safe (something which I never considered).  And if you are male, can you just imagine for a second that all of a sudden you can no longer just walk alone without thinking about whether you are safe?  You cannot pass certain people and not wonder if you are safe?

I embrace these feelings, I embrace all the things that are happening to me, to my body, to my mind, both good and bad.  I am physically much weaker.  My muscles are getting smaller and smaller.  I cannot run nearly as fast as before.  My body has to work much harder to burn calories.  In fact, everything is harder.  Everything in life.  And that is something that as a trans woman I absolutely share with every woman alive.  But as a trans woman, I can also appreciate it, accept it as a part of the price I pay to get to be a woman.

But along with this feeling, the joy of having a new life, the reality of going through a second puberty and feeling aroused and stimulated by my body and mind under the influence of oestrogen—this is different too. And when I just want to feel these things, let them run free, I encounter social judgement, resistance, and my own fear.  And these are not welcome feelings.

Is it surprising that I am reacting.  Reacting with “anger”?  Unlike a woman who wants to sleep with a man, and so can temper her anger with her lust, I just have the anger.  And the lust I feel is with women, for women, in protection of women, of protection of myself.  My feelings need to find an outlet.

Another, perhaps more potent reason.  As a man, I was in the slipstream of male privilege.  And while it was an uneasy relationship, especially when I was gendered male in a conscious way, I also didn’t have to think about some things.  I could be as considerate as possible, as understanding as possible, but would still never know what it was like to be female.

This is not in any way to denigrate my own version of the torture of being a man but feeling and needing and aching to be a woman.  That’s just another flavour of the same kaleidoscope.

But as I walk away from male privilege, or so I tell myself, things are changing.  I walked only as far as coming out.  Afterwards, I have been kicked out.  Men absolutely no longer welcome me in the male circle.  Whether that is the resentful looks of my presence in the male bathrooms, or whether that is with work, I am now an outsider.  There is no walking away in that.

There are consequences to this.  What was a slipstream has become turbulent.  And I feel the friction in daily life at every turn.  I cannot exist outside with others and not be confronted with what I am becoming, with being trans.  With having to scan a room to see if I am safe, to see who I should attach myself to, whose energy will be protective and good, and with whom will I likely have a positive reaction.

And while I love to educate and answer questions, I also feel drained by it.  My transness should be irrelevant.  But it never is.  It isn’t even irrelevant with the most understanding people of all, those in the kink scene.  I am still very “other”.  

And that makes me want to fight.  Fight men.  Women can band together, and that is vital.  But men must also be separated from their privilege.  And they won’t see it unless they are forced to.

These threads make a beautiful and complex tapestry.  And on that tapestry is written:

Though Shalt Become a Dominatrix.

Night visions

There is no irony in these statements or contradiction in my own desire to become a dominatrix.  On one level, there is something about having arrived as a woman that I might hold the kind of power, sexual power, that a dominatrix holds with a man.  And yes, it is as a dominatrix to men, to a man, that I mean.

In fact, what better way to prove to myself that I have arrived, that I am worthy, than to feel the kind of erotic power that every woman possesses whether she uses it or not…In other words, finding my own erotic power, and wielding it, and wielding as a dominatrix wields hers.

I want to become a dominatrix because it is what I love.  And there is a bit of this which is what I have described as the lesbian law of attraction, how the question of wanting to be someone or sleep with someone can be the same thing.  But there is also a lot of self-love in there.  Or rather, the path towards self-love.  There is also a very explicit need for what is a path of personal growth.  Becoming a dominatrix is this path.  It is the most self-affirming choice I feel I can make. It is also terrifying. 

In other words, becoming a dominatrix is my path to finding myself, of finding my own female sexual power.  And that is an aspect of being trans that I have never before considered.  What was my real motivation for being female?  Why did I ache with desire to be a girl?  Because I wanted to be perceived by the universe as female, to be desired by the universe as female, and to feel that universal hunger for me come into the corporal form of someone I can love back.  I want to be loved as a woman, not in a sense of identity kind of way, but in a way that speaks to the female power which I refer to.

And as a trans woman, that doesn’t just come automatically.  Especially a trans woman who is transitioning post male puberty, when the ravages of testosterone on an otherwise delightful body serve to ensure that being seen as an embodiment of female power is hard to come by, but also there is the life as a man which fades behind.

In other words, the slings and arrows, the turbulence, is also a part of forgetting.  Forgetting what it meant to be a man.  I can’t look back.  I need to throw myself into female sexuality, my own, with everything I have.  

And for me, this path is a path towards being a dominatrix.  I will still be a slave, I will still be submissive to a woman, perhaps several.  I will also be an ally and a friend to any.  But with men?  I will own you.  I will beat you.  I will demand your submission.

And d’you know what?  My version of female sexuality for me, requires that I learn to seduce a man in this way.  I need to find the power of femininity, and to wield it like a pro.  I am not saying I want to hurt men, ruin them.  I am saying I want them to change.  And I will find a way to seduce them into that position, for me, because they can feel the female power emanating from me.  I have to learn this.  I can’t learn it any other way.

I don’t have super many role models in this world of kink to really base myself on.  I will say that the three pro-Dommes I have played with in life have taught me a lot.  Two in particular that I have been or was loyal to for a long period.  They were and are inspirations.  Not for what they did to me, but for how they made/make me feel.  This desire to change, this desire to grow. Tough love is the tastiest love.  But also how they have so much power, and how they use it.  And for one, the Queen of them all, who she is as a human in society.  Respect.

A clutch of lifestyle dommes have inspired me as well, mainly for how they embody their own power without sacrificing any sense of their femininity, who they are, what they stand for.  They are impressive people.

Watch this space.