My favourite therapist has come out as a dominatrix

Yes, it’s true.  And her confession has rocked my world.  I mean, when I told her about what I felt like in service, how divinely fulfilling it is to please, I could tell she was savouring the words.

She has asked for my help.  Suddenly my life feels very spicy.  Talk about hitting the buttons on my deepest erotic fantasies!  I love being around dominant women.  Even so.  Now that I am no longer submissive, I still wouldn’t choose other company over that of a dominant woman.  There is something so “Thank God almighty, we are free at last” about them.  It’s quite intoxicating really.  And since I don’t think I can ever be one, it is the next best thing.

How might that go?  “If you can’t be beaten by them, join them.”

Why can’t I be one?

There are two reasons.  First, I don’t like boys.  Not even submissive boys.  I wouldn’t want to have to crawl inside male energy in a way that would be required for me to develop a rapport.  And I wouldn’t feel comfortable dominating a woman or a trans person.  It just wouldn’t feel right.  I’d want to be their friend instead, their therapist, agony aunt, whatever, but not Domme.

Second, I am not sure about my own sense of self in relation to a changing body.  I am not sure that I would want to be fetishized by anyone—and certainly transgender people get their whole own genre of porn—“chicks with d____s”—you know what I mean.  There is someone out there who loves everything.  I wouldn’t want that.

The unattainable aspiration

Perhaps someday I might look female enough to not give away signs (maybe when I’m 80 decades along the line).  Perhaps oestrogen’s magic powers will work that for me over the coming decades, perhaps with the help of surgery, perhaps with weight gain.  But will I ever feel like I am a woman?  Will I ever even be able to accept the compliment of someone, or even casual reference to me as female other than something as considerate or motivated out of politically correct-ness?

I have spending time recently with a beautiful transwoman who has lived all of this for so much longer than me (in terms of transition)—she is a decade ahead of me in terms of hormones even though she is considerably younger.  I have much to learn from her.

One thing I learned is that the way I kiss and touch someone is changing.  It was really sweet to kiss a trans woman.  She began her transition at a very young age, and so her body, her face, her hands, her everything, her whole demeanour is female in a way that mine is not.  And from this beautiful person emerged words that have really settled into me in a positive way.

“I don’t see myself as female,” she said.  “I never was really comfortable growing up and identifying male.  I am transgender.”  And I thought that is so beautiful and mature…and it was magic to hear that from someone who not only “passes” but is head-turningly gorgeous.  This is how I feel.

Being as female as I can be

I like to go out and have been out and about as much as possible.  Seeing friends, finding out who is really a friend, and generally having a good time, and finding patches of joy to build a future life on.  When I walk through a crowded and beautiful restaurant room, high ceilings, people everywhere, the joy of a hundred conversations, I see groups of men together and they disappear from my vision.  I see women, and look for something in their faces, curiosity, warmth, recognition, acceptance.  A man’s world no longer exists for me.

I was out with a woman friend the other evening and we were just two people walking along…and for a brief moment she was on the other side of the street looking at a shop front, and in the split instance, a man peeled away from a group of guys and started talking to her in a slightly aggressive way…she scurried back to my side, and he was following her until he saw me…and even if I was taller than him in heels, I surely don’t look like trouble…but he immediately turned aside and walked away with his friends.

I have yet to attract hostility of any kind, though I am sure it will happen eventually—as it seems Trans Twitter is filled with stories of male aggression.  I think that one of the reasons that I don’t seem to get that is that I am not trying to “pass” which seems to consume so much energy in the trans community.  But for whom?  Why?  Pass?  Yes, I too want to be the pretty fairy princess of my dreams, but I am not.  I am me.  I don’t know if I can do better than that.

I do know that women’s clothes look great on me.  Nothing like being skinny and flat chested.  This is changing, but I have no intention of ever getting implants.  Nature will take its course.  My babies are still sore all the time, but they are beautiful, and I am welcoming them onto my chest…though wearing a bra is a big step for me.

Where has my submission gone?

I seem to have lost all desire for the rituals of BDSM.  I can still really enjoy the aesthetics of rope work, and am probably still a rope bunny at heart.  After all, I’ve been encouraging people to tie me up since I was 5.  Girls. Women.  More recently a guy said he would like to tie me up.  No thanks.  Not willing to find out if he respects safe words or would accept a prohibition on touch.

Something deeper is happening.  Because even though I would still enjoy the aesthetics and ritual of BDSM, it is a mental thing, not a heart thing.  None of it turns me on anymore.

In therapy session with my favourite therapist, the baby domme (I will have to find the right words), we talked about this and what was going on.

“I spent two years in intensive psychoanalysis right after college, and the only thing I wanted was to be ‘normal’.  I didn’t want to be a fetishist.  I didn’t want to get off on wearing diapers.  I just wanted to be with a woman and have that be enough.  To be able to smell her hair, or touch her, or feel her next to me, and that would be enough.”

“And did it work?”

“No.  It was a total waste of time.  I remember confronting my therapist one day after 18 months of this and I said, ‘how come you’re not fixing me?”  We were talking specifically about infantilism.  And her words stayed with me to this day.

“What if we do ‘fix’ you, and that you no longer want those things.  But what if nothing comes in to take its place.  Then what?”

“She was teaching you to accept yourself.”

“Well, it didn’t work.”

“So, she didn’t help you at all?”

“Okay, I did stop being suicidal.  That helped.”

“That helped.”

“And I did stop being so self-destructive and was finally able to get a job.  And then I had a real career.”

“And what about now?”

“I’m not a fetishist anymore.”

“You are growing.  You are stepping into yourself.  You don’t need these things anymore.”

“I still enjoy them, but you are right, I don’t need them.”

“That’s huge progress.”

“It already started when I was looking for a dominatrix…and even then, I didn’t want to go to a dominatrix that specialises in adult babies.  I was looking for something else.  I was looking for guidance, for a spiritual connection.”

“Did you find it?”

“I learned a lot, but no.  I am closer to that now, but the idea of going to a dominatrix when I don’t feel like female me wants to be dominated makes any sense.”

“Fetishes happen when people get stuck.  Letting go of them,  no longer needing them, means you can move on.”

“But now I get to the hard part…its being replaced by a thirst for human connection.  For cuddling.  For emotional and physical intimacy.  I don’t seem to want anything anymore.  I want sisterhood, friendships, touch.”

“That’s amazing.  That is what you wanted.”

“How did I know?  And I guess I didn’t.  This seems a lot harder though.  I have to learn how to be with someone all over again, as if I’ve never done it.”

Therapy and D/s

If my therapist goes through with her intention to become a dominatrix, she will be good at it.  She is very bright and articulate.  She is intensely emotionally perceptive.  Besides, the parallels between therapy and D/s abound.  Such was certainly my experience.

A few months ago, the merest thought that my therapist might dominate me would have sent me into spirals of joy.  Now, I just want to be her secretary and help her to dominate other people.  And yet, there is a certain submissiveness in that.  But I don’t want to be dominated by her in the way that I might have used to.  

One of my early posts touched on the fear that is in play here.  Leopold von Sacher-Masoch’s masterpiece Venus in Furs, that gave rise to a whole genre, sparks a fear that once the woman flowers into her domination, the former foil or object of her desire is cast aside.  That struck fear into my submissive male heart for so long it took me decades to finally explore BDSM in real life.  I don’t want to be excluded.

I want to help her.  I want to see her blossom.  But I don’t want to lose her once she has.  She has offered friendship to me outside of the bounds of therapy.  I want that.  I like her.  And while I find her gorgeous, she is married, and anyway, I don’t know if I would feel safe with her if she wasn’t.  It is a very useful guard rail—you don’t even contemplate hope.

What replaces D/s for Love?

I realise that D/s was the way in which I expressed love.  And as a service sub, that means service, and in its strongest manifestations, being a slave.  But as oestrogen rewires all of my neural circuitry, I find that I seek intimacy. Probably just like everyone.  To touch, to share, to be held, to cuddle, to connect…these are the things that are taking over.

And I do still see a Dominatrix, and she is a really amazing person, and a delight to be around, and so good for me in the ways I am changing.  Does she BDSM me in the ‘traditional’ ways?  No.  But I can’t help but respect her, feel reverent and moved when I am in her presence, and feel really privileged to get to be with her.  And that is enough.  And I can begin to feel a sense of community with the people that are coming into my life.

Patchwork

As I discover which friends and family, which new people I meet, are in this for the future journey with me, I begin to find lots of little patches of solid ground…and in time, they will surely knit together.  To me, community is everything.

Little by little, I think I can see how it might come together.  That fills me with hope.  Joy in my body for the first time is the first step, and one which will play for a long time.  Finding acceptance in the world is next.  Being able to make a living.  From solid foundations, who knows what can be done?