Is learning how to receive my Waterloo?

I’m struck by the spiritual teachings which speak of reincarnation not as a repeat but as a linear narrative.  We come back as we have something to resolve.  Unfinished business.

One of my shamans tells me that people born with handicaps are nearing the end of their cycle and are learning to handle the greatest challenges.  I never get away with saying I’m a baby to shamans.  Not ever.  How can they see it?  How can anyone see such a thing?  

They tell me I am very old.  I don’t feel it.  And I am referring to the spiritual sense.  Playful.  Young.  Mischievous.  But mischief with kindness.

In Indian culture I learned recently that there is a view that people with ADD are at the end of their cycles.  There is something about the mix of distractedness, which is a form of searching, and hyperfocus, which is about resolving…and that is the challenge our souls give our physical bodies.

So many unusual things are taking place in my life.  Most of them are beautiful.  A few are dreadful and quite profound.  But most are beautiful.  This post is not about being transgender, but I have to say that the level of hate in society towards people like me, while depressing and inexcusable, only reinforces why it was so important for to do it.  I learn from the adversity.

I don’t know if it is the things we overcome on our respective journeys, but rather what we learn.  Or even why we need to learn it.

The ‘Waterloo’ part is a challenge.  Of course, this was the stroke of ambition-gone-too-far that finished Napoleon’s military expansion.  An end to mastery.  That is not what I am seeking, what anyone is seeking.  Speculating that something could be my personal Waterloo is to court disaster.  But since I have only just settled into this, courting disaster is just another form of welcome chaos.

I don’t receive well.  I never have.  I prefer to give.  It lies at the heart of my submission.  A service bottom.  A people pleaser.  And now, a service top.  A people pleaser.  Only I am not so sure how the labels fit.  I came to regard myself in BDSM circles as more of a slave, but in truth, I am not.

Slave energy is present like a mighty river inside of me, but it is not a general feeling.  It is something which surfaces around certain people, a very small number of whom trigger this.  Maybe I trigger it, but it is still in relation to them.

But this sense of submission, slavery, service, whatever it is, is one that gives me pleasure through the experienced pleasure of the person I play with.  That creates an odd dynamic in the world of professional BDSM, and it takes a very mature and grounded pro-domme to play in this way, to allow this level of intimacy.  For a lifestyle person, it’s obvious.  But for me, playing with a lifestyle person would be terrifying.  I never do it.  Why?  Because I might never crawl back out again.

Fact is, I am just not very submissive.  I like the ‘good girl’ part, and my submission is intended to elicit those reactions.  Otherwise, why bother?

Submission simply encapsulates love.  It is a form of love expression.  Giving is the same.  We give to those we love.  It feels good, especially when it is done as a simple act without expectation or even desire for return.  When I think of slavery, this is what I mean.  I don’t mean a mindless ‘yes mistress’, I mean obedience rooted in love, regardless of its source or nature.

But giving is also an avoidance mechanism.  At least for me.  We give so we need not show so much of ourselves.  Being a Sex Worker, even more, a dominatrix, requires an anonymous shell where we can bring to life a theatre performance, can call on our alter ego, but can also pack it back down again.

This is the most important boundary in the profession.  Being able to compartmentalise.  Important for us, important for our clients.

If you have been reading this blog for a long time, this will not be the first outing of this topic—though it is the first time it gets its own post.  Some of you will also be aware of two things that have been happening to me.  I am less and less submissive.  I mean this in a general sense.  I still see the same domme I have been seeing for five years.  Our dynamic is not at all what even I think of when I think of a BDSM power exchange dynamic.  And yet, there it is.

The other topic is Sex Work.  In a certain sense I have been a Sex Worker for decades.  But you have to count writing porn/erotica (for commercial gain) in the mix of Sex Work activities.  I did appear in my first porn film when I was 19, but I don’t count that as it is only now that I shoot porn regularly.  No, just about a year ago I become a professional dominatrix, and about 3 months ago I became an escort.  I guess a kinky escort.

I have written a lot about how I came to this.  Mostly on other platforms.  About how, even if I didn’t see it coming, it was an obvious choice if I only knew how to look ahead.  I am congenitally unable to do so.  Part of this is philosophical and spiritual.  We find what we are looking for.  Meant in the wrong way, but true as well in the right way.  And I do not wish to live that way.  To seek.  To shape.  But rather to discover.  To be surprised.  Forever surprised.

One of my girlfriends has noted that about my character, and one which she has found most seductive.  That I have a ceaseless curiosity about me.  Its true.  I don’t judge.  I allow for everything.  And this is not a conversation about boundaries.

As a white witch, I do not gaze into the future.  I am aware that I have that power.  But to use it is to harm the power of now.  My witchiness lives in now, in presence.  Where I tempted to the dark side, to seek to divine, I would be plundering source, putting on airs that somehow I have a right to hold and taste of the divine fruit.  My witchiness exists as a medium, a substrate.  I am a healer.  And healing happens in the now.

I became a woman because I already was one, and I just didn’t allow for it.  I was afraid of it.  Until I wasn’t.  I realised that I would die if I tried to stay a man for even one minute longer.  I was running out of air, and I broke free just in time.

Womanhood is a process of discovery.  I shall know what it means to be a woman, and yet, I know already, for I am one, and I live as one, and experience the world as one.  But this need to discover, this need to experience without knowing, is a perennial life of unfolding.  And womanhood itself is a perennial unfolding.  Layer upon layer, and infinite series of reflections, refractions, tastes, flavours, experiences, feelings.

I choose women in my life because they are fellow travellers.  Not all women.  Women with sister energy.  Big sister energy.  Women I can cry with.  Women I can play with, flirt with, be raw with.

As I consider my clients and the nature of the work I do in the intimate world, I realise that in many ways it is more of the same.  It is a form of regulated giving.  It is a way of hiding.  Of postponing the inevitable.

When I made the decision to become an escort, I initially thought that it was a function of the kind of dominatrix I am. The first domme I saw in real life, and regularly, would not let her clients touch her.  This held for me too for six months until she began to teach me how to touch her.  It was a fabulous training.  But I also realise that I don’t want to session with a client who I wouldn’t want to touch me.  My style of domming is way too intimate for that.  I want them to have their hands on me, to show their reverence.

But that was nothing.  How I got to intercourse was different.  I just felt that I needed to do that.  Recognising that even though I had never consensually slept with a man, that I was willing to do it for money.  I think the acceptance of this idea did not come all at once, but gradually.  It came from my time on a tantric retreat, where there was sex of all kinds going on all around me.

And I thought to myself “some day” even while I announced to the room that I was a dyke and resolutely so.  This is still the case.  But I realise that even if I don’t like men, am not attracted to them, sometimes I like their bodies, and I do want to feel the animal inside me, to be rendered wide-legged and weak from fucking…and no matter how much strap-on sex I take, there is this nagging feeling that the real thing will feel so much different.

And so we come to my Waterloo.  There is a cliché that says women receive.  I don’t know if that is really true, and I don’t like the politics of it, but the receptive feminine is why I am here.  This is what I came to learn.  I have never allowed myself to surrender, never allowed myself to receive.  I am Daddy.  I am a hostess.  I am Mommy.  I am the giver.  The caretaker.  The responsible way.  The sweep.  The one who clears the room and checks that everything is in order.

And I realise that I need to have someone fuck my brains out, to render me speechless to make me cry, to make melt into myself and into their bodies, to become an extension of that thrusting male energy which is cock, and to feel myself be consumed by it.

It is true not just of sex, but in all spheres.  All of my life.  It is time to surrender and let go, and to let myself be cared for. It is a strange thing to know that this thing, surrender, is both my Waterloo and my dharma, only my dharma is about overcoming.