Hey, so, I have a question. And this is what it is:

How come submissive men aren’t the best looking bunch of fucking men in the fucking universe?

And I don’t just mean how come this isn’t true for my pathetic cheap frills in my otherwise pretty pointless window of wakey-wakey-consciousness.

And look, what I am talking about here is not submissive men being pulled from an above-average gene pool – I am talking about them taking care of themselves for the hottery. What I mean is why don’t submissive men dedicate themselves to looking hot? Like, a lot. What could be more submissive than that?

(And, don’t tell, but if you are really into humiliating feminisation, the tyranny of looking sexiliciously buffgasmic 24/7 is far more like what the submissive state of womenhood actually is than walking around knock-kneed in shoes you got off the internet, you woman-hating fucking twatburger.)

Look, just look! How come Club Pedestal or even one of those god-frighteningly awful looking footnight things (hmm, is femdom built on a fear and hatred of women, well I wonder… click for answers) aren’t full of the buffest most worked-on men available anywhere. How come the men on Men in Pain aren’t all modelicious lickables?

How come women aren’t queueing up for dominatrixing lessons? (Well they kind of are, vaguely, in palaces to offensively narrow definitions of female sexuality like Coco de Mer, to get their gas bill paid or project some kind of exotic sexuality on to their weary clit-worn selves.) But how come women aren’t all over this sexuality because the men are so fucorsomely hot, because their actual fucking kink – the thing that makes them hard and makes them wet – is to pay attention to what women want and deliver it to the best of their sweaty head-shaven muscle-toned genetic ability?

Wouldn’t that make the most sense? Every submissive man a strawberries and creamy dreamboat? More sense than the current eye-bleed inducing situation, no?

Hey you guys, female pleasure is your supposed thing, right? You’re all about it. All you want, you tell me, is to be a plaything for a superior mistress, a creature of delight for a harsh hatchett-faced horridious harridan. To put all your own wants and needs aside and exist purely for her pleasure.

Alrighty then.

So then how come so often you will see words like this – expressed, here, on the internet but that is not the only spot – in a written profile consisting of one sentence to that effect (why write more, when all you exist for is her pleasure, what else matters, right? You’re just fodder for her lust-canon; she ain’t going to want to be weighed down by the specifics of boring old you – little details like height and favourite colour and perso-fucking-nality), but, yuh, in this passionate urge to express nothing at all one thing will be expressed All I want is to please and serve and suffer and what the fuck ever and then, if there is a pic (mostly there isn’t a pic, but…) the pic will be, like, oh god here is me in a cheap pointless wig and a cheap pointy rubber bra – what a dumb slut, I am?

Er, whut? In what universe to these two things match? I just want to do whatever you want. I have preempted your desires by doing something to myself that no fucker in the known universe would ever require done. Seriously, you imagined that the first conversation with the woman of your dreams would go like this.

You: So I just want to do what ever you want and be your slave
Princess Amazing: Oh great, so could you dress up in ill-fitting man-made-fibred lingerie and stick a carrot up your arse
You: Baby, I am already two steps ahead! (Shows photograph)
Princess Amazing: Actually I was joking. And I am now crying so hard I can’t actually see the photo – so at least there is some benevolence in this cruelty zoo that is my sexuality. (Possibly you did not imagine this last bit – but there is no other possible ending.)

I present for your consideration, femdom, my hapless traveling companions: How did it all go so wrong?

But, look, right, let’s workshop. And by workshop I mean I’ll keep hitting these keys until feel less-sectionablely-hysterical and then we can all get on with our lives. What the fuck is an out of shape submissive man all about? How does that even make sense? If you really truly are all and only about my pleasure, how come you’re not all working out round the clock and living on egg whites just to see me smile?

How come you’re not all (or an above national average proportion of you) totally buff and groomed and lust scented like gay men?

How come submissive men aren’t all about well cut jeans and tight t shirts over their lickable torsos and expensively cut knicker-dampening suits and butchy boots and dirty looks. Yeah, not all women like the same thing, but their are vague ideas, there are archetypes women find hot and until you can buy a Hot Sissy Maid 2010 calendar in my supermarket I’m betting the look most submissive men are going for isn’t one of them.

I mean, why? Why are you doing something that no women want or like? Isn’t that, like, the opposite of your entire thing?

I mean sure, *you* might like the feel of silky fabrics on your skin or the restrictiveness of high heels or, god, those hideous zentai things – but this isn’t about you. How you feel, well that’s for you. How you look is for me. Oh and you might like filling your skin with curry and beer but don’t you get off on denying yourself just to please some goddess or other?

Well look, I’m not a goddess, but I have a vagina and that’s the same difference with you lot, isn’t it? If you want to please me, please my eyeballs.

If you’re a female supremacist – well one, you’re a fucking arsehole because deifying a culturally disempowered group is just as damaging as demonising them – but, hey, I’m not going to change your mind, because you are an idiot. But look, if you really do think you are inferior to all women, if you really do think that it is your role to enhance the lives of all women everywhere, why not take a tip from me. Here’s a way you can do that without having to dial down the ultra creepiness ten thousand notches so a woman who isn’t charging fee for being in the same room as you can speak to you without vomiting her own human dignity out of her eyeballs. Look hot. Work out and eat right and get an expensive haircut.

It. Is. So. Obvious.

Course I suppose it might be that the reason submissive men are not all toned, honed wonderlust-objects is because their sexuality is not really about satisfying female desire – whatever rocky course it sets them on – but about fulfilling some arbitrary crass and oh-so-often offensive set of dumb desires of their own. But that can’t be true, can it?

Look, I know you’re going to accuse me of all sorts. Of being shallow. Of buying into lamecore body-fascistic ideas. And I’d answer those points myself but I pretty much agree with (and was, in all honesty, partly inspired by) this essay on 1585 dot com. It’s not about kink, but the point he’s making applies so strongly to submissive men. And the overall point about how men feel they can’t be hot because it doesn’t work with some other image they have going, applies to submissive men as much as anyone. I can’t be buff ‘cause I’m a gimpyboy and who’d ever heard of a buff gimpyboy? Hey, honey, start a trend – and I’ll start saving up for a dungeon.

(Sort of disclaimer or warning or endorsement: I’ve been a fan of 1585 for a couple of years. I think they are genuinely very sharp and clever and do good atheism, which makes me wet and happy, but I’ve held off properly linking to them before because they seem so hung up on those ideas about female sexuality being all about being desired and male sexuality being not that. And those ideas piss me off mightily. And they have a bit of lame feminism-panic going on, which is a worry. Also they seem to think pics of the hot female author are far more important than pics of the hot male author. Clue: not they are not. And, for serious, couldn’t you just write a gender studies essay on the pics on the home page he = sexy in a private space, she = sexy in a pubic space. Oh, yes and WTF? Fugly shoes? Fugly shoes as tessellated wallpaper? Serious? Are you trying to turn me Christian? Because if it’s believing in supernatural oppressive dipshittery or looking at that graphic I’m kind of torn…

But if I haven’t completely put you off…, yeah this essay swung it. It was close (because OMG those shoes) but when I saw the illustration explaining that men should just make themselves into a cross between Wolverine and Shakespeare (just do this, dumbass), forget it. My link was so linking. And really, if you have ever read this blog thinking, OMMFG, how can I get Bitchy Jones to have sex with me, there is your answer right there. I would sell my house and charter a plane, motherfucker.)

*I’m kind of vaguely unhappy about using the word ‘boy’ when talking about submissive men. Just mainly ’cause my pref is all butchy and shit. And, hell, I am much more unhappy about the use of the word ‘girl’ to mean an adult woman. But I’m not going into that now because, really, if you don’t get that you’re just an idiot.

Recently I received some plaintive emails from some hapless lover of sane argument and sane sanity, saying, Bitchy Jones, please come and be on Fetlife and be interesting and engaging on Fetlife.

I said no. I’m mean. But also, Fetlife is horrible.

I do sometimes type my name into the search on Informed Consent. IC is like Fetlife except it does not have white text on a black background and so is infinitely superior. (Seriously how long have we had computers with monitors for? Why is it still even possible to make websites with white text on a black background?)

But yeah, anyway, I do that and I am glad I do because then I find stuff like this

I click-stumbled over a thread about forced fem (quick, moar pink nylon on the men, I heard a woman somewhere in the world might be finding this hot), where some sanes were good enough to cite me as the only fucker who talks any sense on this subject ever. Now, I’m often coming across what I proclaim out loud (to no one but the whirring of my laptop’s fan) as the best defence of forced fem in the world ever. But surely, surely, this has to be the best defence of forced fem in the world ever. I take it all back. For serious, colour me told: a man dressing up as a woman for the purposes of degredation is not misogynistic because:

(Seriously, pause, make a drum roll sound or something, gird things, brace self)

It’s nothing to do with females being held in lower esteem than men. Really if that were the case they would not be approaching what they mistakenly believed to be a female dominant.

It sort of reminds me of a previous post about cuckolding because a guy found it a turn on for his wife to be fucked by a black guy. Many jumped the gun with the race card and how it was degrading for him to see his wife fucked by a black guy. When infact it’s actually the stereotype of a physically superior male the guy was getting off on.

Oh, well if it was *that* racial stereotype that’s, of course, fine. That’s the good kind of racism. I expect all those foolish gun jumpers who called this person as if they were exhibiting *bad* racism feel like idiots now.

Good racism. That’s what we need more of. I bet the people who try and defend forced fem as not misogynistic but being about ‘being less of a man and having my masculinity taken away and being a slut and being ridiculous and, and, and OH FUCKING SHUT UP BITCHY JONES, JUST SHUT UP, are delighted to have this argument to add to there arsenal of utterly thoroughly convincingly utterly throughly extremely good pro-forced fem good arguments.

(The best of these is probably ‘Women wear trousers!’ Because when you’re trying to deconstruct and evaluate what the position in femdom of forced feminisation as a way of diminishing men and what kind of ideas about men and women it reflects and endorses there really is nothing like an irrelevant non-sequitur to stop you in your misguided tracks.)

I have no idea what the person who posted this is really trying to say in the first paragraph before the weird stuff about race. But, whatever it is I’m sure I have it all wrong. So, it’s pure guesswork but I think he means that forced fem isn’t misogynistic because it is based on thinking women are inferior *but* *also* superior, which is just great. It would probably just be spoiling things if I said I’d like my kink to think of women as human beings rather than whatever fits the fantasy from a grab bag of stereotypes of goddesses and sluts, but hey.

Anyway, that’s the kind of slippery slope that might lead to me wanting control over my own reproductive system and the vote or some other krazy dreamtime.

And – cuh – chanow, any prejudices and horribles you see in kink are just fine and okay, no really, because they turn people on, which means there’s no possible political or sociological agenda to them. And if you’re offended by the casual denigration of black people or women by a bunch of straight white men, just shut the fuck right up, okay, because these straight white men are actually perverts and therefore horribly oppressed in ways you couldn’t possibly begin to imagine. And stereotyping black men as ‘physically superior’ fuck machines and animalistic, white-woman-raping mandingoes is, in fact, the opposite of racism. The opposite of bad racism that is.

If only there were more of this big black cock for my slut wife style cuckolding (like there’s any other style? Like that could be called a ‘style’?) going on I expect the world would finally be in peace and harmony; probably just like fucking piano keys do or something else black and white. Say, penguins. At the very least we’ll all be too busy to be hating each other what with the white women getting fucked by the black men and the white men looking on and wanking.

(Obviously, we can ignore black women. It’s fine, there’s a social precedent for just carrying on as if women of colour don’t exist anyway. They’ll be alright, having a great time getting physically superior fucking off of black men, I expect. Well, until those black men realise they could be doing it with white women! But that’s just the tough breaks, I guess. (Someone call Kanye West! I’ve figured out an ending for that song.))

Oh world of perverted sex, this is why you still need me. Even after all these years. And I am as sad for you as anyone that you need a whiny, ugly, woollily liberal, bad-hearted, profanity-ridden anti-capitalist dominatrix to save you.
But someone has to collect these things and half-arsedly post them on a free blogging platform and ridicule them in front of a handful of lazy, uninterested bored office workers who’ve mistyped something into google. And if not me, then who, baby? Then who?

Surrender Dorothy
Forced Feminisation in Black and White
The Last Cuckoo 

And obviously you know that when I say ‘wind me up’ I’m not talking clockwork – steampunky dominatroid, I ain’t. Sorry. Oh, stop crying. In another life maybe: the one where we all get it right.

But before utopia, let’s enjoy my latest prodom complaint in full

Bitchy,

Just a few thoughts I wanted to share.

There’s a lot I like about your writing and your blog, but I take argument with your statements about pro dommes.

I am a pro domme. I am also kinky and dominant in my personal life and was for many years before going pro. I agree with you that much of what happens in pro sessions is geared around client fantasies and that the commercial power dynamic trumps authentic D/s in the pro realm most of the time. I also agree that this is something that the industry doesn’t readily admit and both subs and pro dommes are often personally confused as to the difference.

Commercial sexual fantasy fulfillment services of every type are available for both vanilla and kinky tastes, and everywhere in between.

If pro dommes and “latexy” porn are ruining authentic, personal, non-commercial kink, is it also true that escorts, strippers, and mainstream porn are ruining vanilla sex for vanilla women? [1]

Certainly there are vanilla men whose sexualities are influenced by commercial sex, and who would prefer a woman who embodied those images and fantasies and also just happened to be the girl next door.

But do we blame the vanilla sex industry if a guy can’t deal with real women? Some do. Some feminists also think porn is responsible for rape. [2]

You yourself seem to identify more with sex-positive feminism generally, as do I. [3]

Why so anti sex-worker? Isn’t it just so typical to blame the whores for the downfall of all that is pure and holy about sex? To hold women responsible for the way men behave? How is this different if we are talking about pro dommes?

If men have difficulty distinguishing a commercial fantasy from reality, why not place responsibility with them? Or are they innocent, helpless, pure little angels who have been corrupted by the evil women of the night, with no ability to think for themselves?

Ah, the perfect little male which would stay happily at home with the wife if the homewrecking temptress had not lured him astray… it is all her fault! Do you see the comparison? 

So, yus. First of all thanks for patronising me. Maybe you should have taken off the catsuit an’ clown make up before you started typing so you could speak to me like a normal person. 

I love that this comment is on way-back-when post Professional Dominatrix Memoir Book Club. That one always gets the prodom’s latex knickers in a chafing twist because I dare to suggest that their thrilling ‘How I Done It: Prodom’ books are all stupid, empty, badly-written noise rather than *coff* literature. All prodoms have either written one of these books or plan to. Because they (very oso wrongly) think that professional dominatrixing is so fucking fascinating and they are all such great writers. 

Woah, yes, such excellent wordsmiths are they all (it’s actually in the job description along with being able to make the *bitch* version of SexyFace) that the average bit of dialogue on prodom porno gawp fest Men in Pain(where the men wear hoods and the women where stripper shoes – can you say empowermental?) has (presumedly improvised (god I hope!)) dialogue like this

 Something tells me you’re an unappreciative little bitch… That’s a nice little grunting you’ve got. I don’t know, all talk and not much going on down there are we? Uncircumcised, that means that it’s that much more sensitive. That much more sensitive, huh? Mmmm-ah. Ha ha ha ha. Ooh, nice noise you made, hmm?

I transcribed that. Are you proud? (Or just a little appalled?) 

And once the contents of the prodom brain have been typed and edited and, also, rewritten by, well one would assume a ghost writer but in some cases I would say they have interpreted the word ‘ghost’ rather loosely and just got someone who has been pronounced brain dead. That or a zombie with all its fingers rotted off.  Because, really, horrendous writing seems to be the main punishment factor with these books.

But back to the post and back in the room.

So, you seem to be saying that I am bad! feminist! because I complain about pros and let mansubs off the hook (but, you know, they like it on the hook). ‘Cause obviously feminism means blaming men for stuff. Exclusively. Well look, just because I spank at prodoms means I think mansubs are all innocent and great. Hello? Can I just get you to take a drag on this cigarette which has been dipped in proper logical thinking?

I am complaining about the entire dominatrix culture. The pros, the clients, the culture within BDSM that foregrounds this image of dominant womanness above anything normal and female-driven and the wider-world culture that tells kinky women who are not part of the BDSM world that being a woman who gets off on hurting men is a vocation not a sexual preference. 

It’s all fucked. 

Why don’t I laugh more at mansubs?What, like, take the piss out of their tiny cocks and gimpy ways? Well, obviously, as a prodom, that’s your job. Isn’t it? Isn’t that, like, what you do?

Of course mansubs are full of shit. And I’ve only written about that fifty million times. But maybe I write more funny piss takes of prodoms, but, huh?, isn’t the reason for that obvious?

I don’t make this stuff about prodoms up. It’s like Tina Fey’s Sarah Palin skits. To make jokes about prodoms all I have to do is repeat stuff prodoms say. The articles I quote about not fucking sub men are all true. I didn’t invent the phrase MIND! BUZZ! I read it in fucking Forum. Prodoms are just way, way, WAY funnier than mansubs. Prodoms call themselves Bitchtress and Goddess and Baroness and Marquessa. Prodoms have websites where they make ridiculous self-aggrandising statements about their unique beauty and suggest that any man who encounters them is instantly turned submissive by their aura of magisterial doom. (And then make an amusing typo – ‘cause their powers are somewhat limited by reality. (Yeah I make tons of typos – but I’m not claiming any superiority powers)). It would be impossible to write about the hilarious and depressing inadequacies in femdom culture without mostly writing about prodoms. (The depressing inadequacies in mansubs are notable, but often much less frequent or frequently hilarious.)

To look at your other questions: Do vanilla porn and shit affect vanilla women. [1] Um, would it be crass to say duh, Sherlock? (And isn’t it handy when sunday supplement articles take up the slack). Yes, yes and yes. Read a book sometime. It’s different here of course. In the vanilla world a prostitute isn’t the default kind of woman. (Well, you know, not yet.) Sometimes I think femdom is like a horrible warning. This is what can happen if you replace actual women being turned on with women’s whose job it is to pretend to be turned on. Thing about that horrible warning though: not really being heeded. 

The real awful fucking trouble with the idea that the sex industry is identical to female sexuality, with prodom default (and – coming soon – the problem with all images of female sexaulity everywhere) is that the pay-for model is that it gives far too much weight to the things that women (caution: generalisations ahead) find less sexy and far less to things that women find more sexy.

The prevailing culture of prodom puts lots of focus on unsexy, woman-squicking shit like forced fem, strap on play, foot worship, CBT and the generalised inadequacy stuff that mansubs like but are not really anything to do with female pleasure from male submission. (Not to mention the love, love, love of never fucking). There is very little about the kind of masculine, brutish, chained-pirate suffering that most women who actually like this stuff actually like.

I know lots of you are now jumping up and down ready to tell me that I am just talking about my own preferences, but, okay, can I ask, why does dominatrix culture look nothing like my preferences? Am I so weird? And why does femdom look nothing like gay SM porn?

Because it has nothing to do with sexualising men, that’s why. And that’s because no one is paying for that. And that is eroding any real representation of female desire. In fact it has eroded it. It’s gone.

As for the feminist credentials stuff, oh dears, I believe you have fallen into a terrible dichotomy trap there. [2], [3] I know what your trying to say. That thing. The thing people say to try and break feminism. (and kind of works.) You’re trying to push me into either being a rad feminist lez-by-choice, anti-porn, anti-sex kissing-up-to-the-religious-right, hating big style on sex workers for being whores, cutting off men’s dicks for breakfast OR I can be a sex pos feminist and go hang out at the playboy mansion in a tissue paper bikini. And those are the only options. (Other than not being a feminist at all. Which sucks all round. If you answer the question ‘Are you a feminist?’ with anything other than a plain and immediate ‘yes’, fuck off. You are banned from my blog forever for being a cunt. Most dichotomies are false (like the rad-feminist/porno-feminist one), except the one where your either a feminist (who owns up to it) or you are entirely made of your own arse.) 

But as for the only ways to be feminist being either by believing that all sex is rape or empowering myself with lipstick and my tits out – this is the biggest trick the patriarchy-devil ever pulled. 

Hey, you know, sex and gender, it is just more complicated than that. And I believe there is a third way. Or, you know, just a way, that isn’t stupid and about discrediting sane ideas by bundling them with stupid ones. I’m just a blogger, sitting here with a macbook and a bit of googling luck and jarred, scarred Achilles heart (healing, but not healed), but I think I might be right on this one. Sex positive feminism doesn’t mean accepting everything to do with sex as yay-fucoresome, without question. 

Of course I’m sex positive. I write a sex blog. And it is hard to think of any group of women who say more negative things about sex and sex work than professional dominatrixes who regularly claim that intercourse is ‘undominant’ ‘upsets the power relationship’, get hissy to shit if anyone calls them sex workers and often claim that being a prodom is such a great job because you don’t have to have sex in it. (Confusingly, for me, as this is actually the case, with, you know, most jobs.)

*I’m* the one not being sex positive enough. What do you want? Masters and Johnson penis-cam shots? 

Prodoms are completely sex-negative. And they have extra flamey power of negation around authentic female desire. And they have the keys to this kingdom. They define the culture. The fact is culture – prevailing ideologies – effect everything. Foucalt says that sex – in an of itself – has no meaning. It’s just bodies flapping about in space. Just nerves and friction. The only way to give it meaning is to apply culture to it.  And you’re the culture not me. And you understand how the culture around things effects them, right? If you didn’t why complain about what I’m saying. If what you do doesn’t effect me (clue: it does) then what I say shouldn’t effect you. Either you think things in the world effect other things (you know, for example, the laws of physics: The Newtonian stuff) or you don’t. And nothing is connected to anything and nothing affects anything else. 

But it does. Experiences shape beliefs. It works like this. Prodoms and dominatrix latexy culture define what femdom gets to be. I don’t pretend this is true for the fucking LULZ. I see it every time I try and work with this mess I got given instead of a normal easy non-fucked up by a culture based on commoditising it sexuality. 

Don’t you get it? I’m honest like sunlight here. What haven’t I shown you, from the dirt in my heart to the exciting roller coaster ride of a relationship when I backed the wrong fucking horse and took you all along with me. (Yes, a horse, on a roller coaster.) Why the fuck would I do all that, write all that down and share it with the uncaring universe and then waste my fucking time sniping at prodoms if I didn’t think it was fucking important.

You know I’m right, because you know everything about this culture is wrong. There are no women here. Male submission is about men are fetishising the fact that what gets them off is not getting women off, my feet are more important than my cunt. It all sucks. I’ve had enough. 

Well, I’d had enough ages ago, really, but nothing really changes. And I don’t know why you’re complaining – because you know I’m never going to win.

So here’s interesting. It’s an article from Fox News site sent in by a kindly reader about how to become a prodom. 

This article isn’t going to be heading all snarkily for Fox News, even though I understand them to be read by the kind of people who like using the ‘gay’ as an insult. (Seriously, why is this getting more and more okay? It’s just not okay. And if you are pathetic enough to think it’s fucking edgy or some shit – like you’ve had some kind of imagationobotomy – why not use racist insults? – yeah, exactly. I don’t want this blog to become all gay rights all the time – but some things just piss me off.)

But anyway, Fox News, pshaw: I am British, I have the BBC, I don’t need to get involved. 

And I could snark it from my usual point of view – stop comoditising my sexuality you bastwards, etc. But really, that does seem everso slightly not on the point here as the article is purely about my sexuality as a way to make money. Not one single nod is given to the fact is might be something a woman would ever do for the sheer blissy hot of it. Nah, nah, nah, nah, NAH! In fact, in this context, that would probably be beyond horridious.

And isn’t that kind of weird. Dominatrixing something for money is far more okay (and even kind of family friendly) than dominatrixing for sexual kicks. And you’ve got to wonder why that might be (really – I have no idea here, nothing clever to offer as per) – it’s certainly not the case in vanilla sex, where doing it for fun is – while not morally okay – is usually morally better than doing it for money. Well, maybe things flip at the sluttier ends of the scale.

But I’m not talking about that today. (Or probably ever as it sounds too much like it might involve actual intellectual thought not just swearing and hyphenating words together.) 

Being a professional dominatrix might not be in most careers advisors manuals, ew, but it sometimes seems like there is no job on earth that it is more easy to find how-to guides about. 

Even I’ve written one. Although, obviously, I don’t actually know anything about how to get started as a prodom. I just guessed – but I’m a good guesser. 

Essentially in femdom there are two kinds of self help articles every-the-fuck-a-where. For submissive men there are those lovely, mumsy, hand-holdy guides to meeting dominant women that tend to miss the only real bit of basic advice needed – don’t be so fucking creepy, Jesus! - and sort of casually ignores any other reason why it might be hard for submissive men to meet dominant women (like the fact that there aren’t really any that aren’t made of insanity – ‘cept me and that’s because I am unique in all the world: the dominatrix cursed with a soul, trying desperately to atone for all the asshattery done in my name. At least until Spike turns up and we fight in a cave; something I am looking forward too much less than you might think).

And then, for dominant women there are the other articles about how to become a prodom. 

Oh, are there ever. Go google-fish for it. Nothing prodoms and lazy sex journalists like better than explaining how to turn this camp circus vision of my sexuality into a source of free money. With added pointless neutered lasciviousness. 

And, you know, if anyone really still wonders what the fucking problem is with femdom, why everyone is so unhappy and dissatisfied and writing ass-grumping blogs about it rather than exploding in a frenzy of desire and whip-crack-away – well, isn’t thing just the pip? Men get told how to find women for sex, women get told how to charge men for sex. 

Sex? Men demand and women supply. That’s it.

My desires? Ha! obviously as a dominant woman I don’t want sex. I want money so I can buy shoes and chocolate. And, well, toys, but not for any kind of sexy fun for me – the toys are to expand my business so I can increase my earning of shoes and chocolate potential (whilst sort of maintaining that special prodom non-threatening version of dominant female desire: sensual sadist and giggling at cocks, mainly. Jesus Christ internet, will you stop being so full of women talking about doing the stuff I like to do because they find it funny. I do not do my sexuality because it is funny. When did you last hear that a mandom tied a femsub up and then had a jolly good laugh. No! He did it because it gave him a fucking erection. Watch some gay SM porn. See how much laughing goes on. 

Just, gah, for money or for funny, but never for proper guh!)

I have, I know MSTd particularly hilarious articles about how to be a prodom before, but this one is interesting because it is somewhat mainstream. And there, I assume, aimed at vanilla women. (Although actually, this article pretty much ignores the issue of women having any kind of sexual desires at all ever – no change there then.) Of course, the usual articles about how to do prodom aren’t necessarily aimed at not-vanilla women. (Although truly, and I may have said it before, the people best suited to being prodoms are submissive women with a real hardcore kink for discomfort, humiliation and sexual dissatisfaction – but that’s for another day.)

So, it begins (I almost can’t be bothered now – but without the article this would just be a stream of pathetic swear-enladen consciousness (What?)):

When it comes to career aspirations, most women don’t think whips, ropes and handcuffs.

Well not unless they have ever read on of these lazy articles before. Honestly I think if you asked anyone in the street to name four different jobs a woman might do they would probably include dominatrix. It’s like the author of this article thinks she is the first one to have discovered women tying men up for money. Betcha never thought of this! As if it, like, had a low profile or something.

Yeah, yeah, you are investigative journalist genius exposing this crackpotty profession literally no one ever knew existed before now. 

With “kink” more mainstream than ever, educated, professional women are putting on their leather. And they have many wondering: What’s the appeal of being a dominatrix?

Well, of course regular readers will know that the appeal is, of course, MIND BUZZ. (MIND BUZZ is what happens to dominant women instead of messy stuff like getting turned on. It’s hard to know whether MIND BUZZ is actually nice. Us civilians who don’t get paid to do dominatrixing probably can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like. It is beyond our puny mind. I expect.)

Strangely though this article doesn’t mention MIND BUZZ (lazy journo!) but it does offer some other reasons why prodomming might be a great career options for, oh, anyone.

(Oh and do you love those double quotes around the word kink – like she’s holding it at arms length in a pair of lead tongs.)

Becoming a dominatrix — a female who takes a dominant role in bondage, discipline, domination and submission — is an attractive option for these women because:

— It offers the convenience of early or nightshift work;

— It enables cute women with bodies bigger than the Barbie-esque figure desired of strippers to work in the sex industry;

— It provides a woman with the opportunity to flog some of the bankers responsible for the current financial mess.

(Woman in that sentence is a hyperlink to a moisturiser ad. Um, okay. What? Whut?)

I do like the first, um, reason (is that the right word? – it seems somehow wrong) because, as we all know, nightshift work is ‘convenient’ if you hate your friends and your life… and doesn’t it give you cancer or something?

The second “reason” is that lie that comes out of the same box as Beyonce and Kate Winslet are curvaceous plus-size mammas, in that, because the standard of beauty for women is so (and literally – wordplay fans) narrow a slightly wider one – that still excludes probably 98% of women – is celebrated as some kind of model of inclusion. (See crap like Suicide Girls for more pretence that replacing one set of physical ideals with another is in some way empowering and inclusioning and about anything other than perceived fuckability.) Also, you know, you can actually get work as a standard prostitute (shock tactics I know but the sex industry ain’t just about strippers) if you don’t look like Barbie. There’s more to prostitution that Julia Roberts and Bell de Jour. Some prozzies are even working class!

And the third “reason”, god, fuck’s sake. Apart from the crappy stuff about how my sexuality isn’t about hurting men for revenge (it’s about sex – god – do we ever get to call it that) – this makes no sense. How are the bankers responsible for the financial crisis going to afford prodoms? With the fucking bail out money?

First, they need to be trained in techniques like whipping and caning. They need to learn how to use the tools for sex acts involving bondage, paddling and sexual torture.

Okay, so, I know what paddling is (boring) but I do so want to make a joke about a dominatrix in a canoe. She’s already wearing the wetsuit. 

The mistress must be:

— Sensitive to others’ sexual fantasies, thoughts and emotions;

— Open-minded and self-confident;

— Empathetic to others’ wants and desires;

— Good in the art of seduction.

Just an aside. I tick the box marked no for all of these. Yay for me. Empathetic to others’ wants and desires is a good one. What like the presumably sexy one in Star Trek TNG? You can just ask, you know. I find that works better than the use of psychic powers I don’t have as a real life person. (Although quite an annoying proportion of male submissives like to keep what they like a secret. I know it’s a stigmatised sexuality – but I am not fucking Sherlock Holmes. (That’d be Watson.))

You can imagine that the intensity of focusing on another person — the individual’s feelings and body language — with behaviors labeled atypical by most, is exhausting. While offering the glorified, Hollywood-style dominatrix experience, these women handle what some call girls and prostitutes can’t or won’t. So is it any wonder that many mistresses and clients consider this a bonding experience?

Yeah, I do tend to find sex a bonding experience. You know, having sex with another person. The bonding. That. 

The industry stands to expand if the economic crisis doesn’t end soon. And with that, some women, although it may sound strange to others, are perfectly fine with going to a job where they’re actually called “ma’am.”

Being called Ma’am is so great. Not as great as being called goddess. It’s a sign of respect you know, being deified. Not dehumaising at all in any way.

And yeah, dominatrixing is immune to the kind of puny economic factors that affect the rest of us (what?).  Why should the cry-sis make the industry (‘industry’? Really? Really?) expand. Yeah, right, ‘cause kinky sex services are in much more demand in less affluent places. The less money people have the more they want to spend on specialised sexual services. Whut?

Why will a recession will ‘cause more prodomming. I kind of thought it might cause a rise in things that are fun and cost nothing and can be done at home. Like mutual fun for fun sex.

Sux!

A while ago I sent a few emails to websites and kinky organisations that had wound me up by only ever using pics of tied up women – just being a bit of a pissy bitch and saying ‘Hey, how come you think only women get tied up in your so-called inclusive kink world?‘. That kind of thing. One of the sites I moaned at was the bondage awards and I asked why all the cartoony pictures accompanying the nominations on their site were of tied women (men featured occasionally doing the tying). That page isn’t up anymore and the response to my email was something like ‘what pictures?’ – which confused me so much as a response I didn’t reply.

I think I will try that one though. (Clearly the bondage awards are run by genius mandoms to come up with that line)

Jack’s imaginary replacement: These nipple clamps hurt
La Beej: What nipple clamps? 

Anyway the bondage awards are back, back, BACK! And as I was dumb enough to email them for some casual confuso-domination, I guess I got slapped on the mailing list. They kindly asked me to display one of their banner which I can find a selection of here.

Hmm, that ’selection’ – somewhat selective, huh?

And hilariously, on the home page, there is some guff about requesting banners in any colour of size not available currently. Nice of them to be so obliging. Shame that doesn’t go as far as offering any kind of representation in their (presumably) inclusive award to people who tie up men or men who like to get tied up.

I haven’t been in touch. I am assuming their response would be along the lines of ‘what men?‘

First things as first things. I am nominated for an award. Go and vote for me to win an award. Come on, come on, because, you know, if I win an award I might be able to stop fucking crying. 

(Um, that is probably slightly melodramatic. But still vote for me.)

Then – caution and bewares: If you are one of those people who read this blog but have recently contacted me to tell me that you hate ‘rants’ you probably won’t enjoy the following. Although it is *not* a rant. This is because never write rants. (I also, just so as you know, never, *never* write ‘musings’: because I don’t know what they are, but they sound gross.) I just write considered opinion with added genius and swearing. Oh and if you are one of those people who don’t like me swearing (honestly if I wanted to please everyone this blog would just turn into cute overload) you are also going to be unhappy.

I am really not sure why all these people who hate (not actually)rants and swearing read me. Maybe they just enjoy it when I suffer. And, yes, you know, I will post soon about my continued and soul-bleaching suffering. But not today, because today my emotions are just underwater creatures swaying blindly in the current. Reaching for him, for the next thing or for emptiness, who knows? There is a space in the core of me. And it hurts. It shouldn’t be there all voided like that. But I don’t know what shape that space is. And I’m not even sure that the piece that used to fill it was the right shape exactly. I think perhaps that piece fits somewhere else. Some other special place. Or some other time. But I desperately want to fill that gap, find the right piece, but I know that space is all pulled out of shape right now. (None of this, you know, really, is about sex. But I miss the sex my body has – for the now – lost interest in. And maybe making my pain sound a little like sex helps. Or not.)

So, look, to business, humorous blogging prodom Mistress Matisse has pissed me off several times. First time was when I read her name, but, pshaw, that’s just blind prejudice. 

She really pissed me off when she wrote this

 Having sex with your submissives muddies the power dynamic between you, particularly with a female dominant.

From here

A sentiment that pisses me off no end. As I have both a dominant sexuality and a functioning vagina. AND I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO CHOOSE WHICH ONE I GET TO KEEP.

That statement used to be somewhere on her blog but I can’t find it there now. Maybe she’s taken it down. For reasons I am coming to. But she has certainly not retracted it anywhere I have seen.  

But despite the occasional snark I’ve been a bit wary about just MSTing her crap though because, honestly, I feel like people would think it was just me flinging my bitter, sour ugly-bitch grapes in her direction. She is a prodom and she also blogs and she’s my age and she is about a million times prettier than me.

It’s the prettiness really that makes me think people will think I am just jealous. Look at Bitchy Jones snipping at some other dominant woman on the internet who is way prettier and way more popular than her. And who dresses all properly dominatrixy. L@@K. Bitchy Jones – you ur teh loseriffic. Yeah, essentially, I’m worried about that. About having my fail revealed. My whole thing where I lose at being a dominant woman because the more tres belle you are the more pretty-pussy power you have and the more he will be weakened kitten worm putty in your perfectly manicured hands. In comparison to the groomed prodoms of this world I’m a wreck. A fate-knarled old piece of driftwood washed up on teh shore of kink. Made of mistakes and shabby attitude. A ball of ugliness and swearing. (Ah, yeah, sorry to you fuckers what hate the swearing.)

I once said of Mistress Matisse that if all the dominant women in the world were lined up in order of physical attractiveness I wouldn’t be able to attract her attention using semaphore. 

And it is really for that reason – my shame at my physical attractiveness fail – that I’ve only snarked about her in a marginal way.

But hey, now I’m jacked up to my red-rimmed eyeballs on heartbreak and something Pan likes to call coffee, things are about to change. 

So recently Mistress Matisse write an article for The Stranger listing ways in which you could get fucked without it turning you into a submissive. No really, ferreal with this shit. But before you run away going FFS, I should point out that this article is written in response to a number of people have been flocking to her asking this exact question. Viz: when I reveal my dirty needy vagina and the pleasure I get from having a cock repeatedly thrust in and out of it then it becomes noticeable that I am a woman underneath my strap on cock and my latex encased skin and my acting as if I never ever experience a messy estrogen driven emotional snafu and therefore everyone can tell I’m not really the dominant one and I fall out of top space (whatever that is.)

And Matisse responds not by repeating (or retracting) what she earlier about it upsetting the dynamic, or with basic gender politics (-if you put a thing inside another thing it doesn’t actually mean that thing is dominating the thing it is in. I used to shut X in a cage – him dominating the cage was never a worry -) nah. She responds with a list of ways you – a dominant woman – can do extra work for less enjoyable sex and therefore feel more dominant. Because obviously if you are sexually dominant you get your jollies off of things that make you feel dominant. Because now your happy is not only coming from the poking because that would be gross, and also submissive, or something. 

And let us not forget (as if the prodom authored prevailing ideology would ever let us) that being a dominant woman is not about being turned on. It is about, as was so eloquently put here MIND BUZZ! 

If you look at the sex tips presented in the article there is one thing about them all. One thing I like to call the dead fucking giveaway. Do any of them make him fuck me better? Harder? Deeper? Er, no. ‘Cause if you are being fucked as a dominant woman, don’t think for a second that it can be in any way about a whiteout of blisspleasure in and of itself. All you get to do is tease him with the prize of your cunt while you act indifferent. This article is all about how you can get fucked as a dominant woman so long as you remember that making him feel submissive is way more important that your pounding. Getting fucked? Nice? Don’t be stupid ma’am, what are you a submissive slut? Start saying it feels nice and you may as well roll over and welcome him into a bit of rape play. 

But anyway, go read the article if you want or I’ll precis. 

Tip number one is to tie him up and ride him like a dildo. No. I mean you can, but it isn’t *more* dominant if you’re doing the work rather than him. He fucks me. It’s what he does. And really, bouncing up and down on a mounted dildo is what you do when you don’t have a big burly old beast to fuck you (*sniffle*). 

I mean, oh god, what is this shit. I’m also worried about my cup of tea dominating me so instead of letting it come up off the table to my mouth I hold it down firmly on the table and drink it through a straw – that showed that cup of tea who was the boss. In a way that makes no fucking sense. Also, yeah, additional bonus tip here is to wrap him in cling film because the less you allow him to touch your skin the more dominant you are. And that is just a fact. 

Tip two is to tie him to a chair and bounce on his cock. Um, which is in no way the second tip again but with a chair. Actually no it isn’t because this time we add a butt plug. Because, remember being fucked doesn’t have to be submissive. Er, so long as he is being penetrated too just to make it, er, fair, or something.

Really. I never say this. But Sheesh. 

Next up: Use some CBT to tease him with your cunt. Oh, for the genius and win! Yes if you want to get fucked and be dominant turn it into a game where he wants to stick it in you and you aren’t really that bothered because only men actually like sex. Or, oh yes, tie bits of things to him and work him like a puppet, because that is what’s so nice about getting fucked, doing all the pumping and thrusting yourself. 

With string.

Seriously these are all like ways to use a man to wank with. 

Blindfold him and gag him. Yes, cover up his face because no woman alive likes seeing a man’s facial expressions while he fucks her. Oh, but don’t use a completely opaque blindfold ‘cause men don’t like that. Oh, so he needs to get to see – but I don’t see him? Er, hang on, did you just give away that these are all tips that are actually about making the man have more submissivey fun instead of just doing what you actually want him to. 

Now I’m all for men having submissivey fun, but if the only way to get a submissive man to fuck you is to suspend him from the ceiling so he doesn’t get bored and then go fuck yourself, it’s no wonder so many people mistake my sexually for some sort of service provision for freaky men who can’t get it up except with dynamite and sneering. 

I am a dominant women and I like men who let me hurt then and then fuck me how I want without me doing a whole bunch of extra work. Shit, and isn’t that just the rub for a lazy bitch like me, the whole deal of professionalising dominant womanhood made it something that required a lot of work. Here’s me doing my sex thing and then feeling like the guy ought to get their money’s worth. 

So you know, I break out the string.

Hey, how about he serves. How about fucking as service. How about some harder, faster, deeper?

Matisse pays some kind of lame, last minute lip service to this sentiment at the end of her tie him up and make your cunt something he is barely worthy of because if he fucks you he’s won SHIT, with this.

But it’s also a question of getting your own head into the proper space. You can just get your attitude on and say, “You’re going to fuck me exactly the way I say, because that’s what I want.” If you believe it, they’ll believe it, because you’re the Mistress. 

Oh finally. But if you think that – and it does actually contradict the last thing I heard you say on the matter – and, um, the point of this column?

Thing is, look, if you are a pervert (hi) there is nothing wrong with finding new ways to hurt a man while he fucks you (which is good, because I don’t want to go to, like, *hell* or anything) but this article just can’t let go of the shitty dom woman stereotypes. At it’s filthy heart is the idea that dominant women are not like normal women. They can’t be. Normal women couldn’t have power over men. The idea!

Dom women have to be special. And femdom usually picks the laziest kind of making a woman a jewel. An untouchable, unsullied, (and therefore disease free) cunt. That most special kind of special women get from being chaste, from saying no, from NOT LETTING MEN FUCK THEM. 

And failing that, if you really have to, minimise the impact on your specialness by restraining him and covering his skin and his face so that you are never compromised by that screaming bliss moment where he is over you, hot with effort, gleaming and glistening, fucking you hard because that’s what you want. Because it is actually pleasurably FFS! And he has to *know* how to do that that, because there are no orders coming out of me anymore, just animal noises. 

That’s real for me. Why do I never find my sexual reality anywhere outside my own head. Unicornism? Or something else? And you know, I’m bitter, I’m pissed off, I sick of who and what I am being appropriated, bastardised and spoiled by people who reach a wider audience than me. It just means I still have to fight constantly against the popular idea of what I am being authored by people who are not me. 

I am sick of being erased. I am sick of being talked over. I am sick of being ignored. And I am sick, sick, sick of kinky sex being based on the most ridiculous stupid sexist shitty ideas about what sex is and yet still thinking it is edgy and cool and some kind of more real version of sex just because, oh, we’re all marginalised and shit. 

Guess what, you are not sticking it to the heterosexist vanilla man by writing an article about how getting fucked in the cunt is submissive unless… with a quick notion of oh, unless you just want him too. Especially when you have previously gone in record as not thinking that at all. 

As I said once before in relation to her, way more people read Mistress Matisse than read me. This was when she had posted some thing about a delightful sounding footnight where being a dominant woman is yet again mistaken for being paid to be a man’s fetish object. And the point there was, and still is women looking for stuff about being dominant are way more likely to encounter her than me. Which is a problem. Especially if we revisit this time when she advised a woman struggling with sadistic feelings that wheee! you can make free money. Because feeling uncomfortable about the fact hurting men turns you on is silly and the best thing to do is get over it by seeing it as business opportunity. (A chance for mind buzz, I guess.) Or something. 

You know how I feel: if hurting other people turns you on and you never, ever feel anything troubling about that then you’re either way fucking scary or you don’t actually feel that way at all. Because you cannot be a sadist and a human and think nothing about it but wheee! Hurting men is fun! Where is your soul, asshat?

Prodoms are full of that whee!sadism because, like all sex workers – or essentially the entire sex industry -, they portray a simplified version of sex. It’s dumbed down sex. Sex with the troubling crunchy bits taken out. Men pay prostitutes to leave. Men pay prodoms not to worry about what it really means about them that what they just did to him made her brain throw a bucket of pleasure at her sugar walls. 

The real problem with prodoms is that they are more than happy to keep up the illusion that they are the identical same thing as actual dominant women. But they are not. I guess they thought they were safe as they had made dominant women extinct by making the world of femdom so repellant to any women who wanted to hang around recreationally. 

But then whoopsadaisy because here comes Bitchy Jones, kicking your strap on pricks, and knowing, actually knowing how this shit feels on the inside. And somehow staying here even though this world keeps me teetering on the exciting edge of a rage-based heart attack.

I mean have you ever noticed how the way prodoms dress and act is more like the way drag queens dress and act than anything to do with real women. Since when did being dominant = being more like a male authored idea of a woman than an actual woman. Well since male authored ideas of women took the place over. 

The essential problem with the prevailing ideas of dominant women is that dominant women do not control their representation. Submissive men do. Through prodoms. And don’t even start with that stuff about how what prodoms do is just what they would be doing anyway, they just happen to have some dear sweet special boys who pay them to do it. It’s just bullshit. 

Oh, I just do this because I love it! Oldest marketing strategy in the world

Unless econmonics actually works differently between prodoms and their clients than it does everywhere else on earth. (HINT: It actually doesn’t.) Kinky sex as desired by women is different to kinky sex as entertainment for men. It just is. Men and women want different thing from sex. Some subtle. Some huge. But there are differences. That is why most sex involves a bit of wiggling and give and take. But the idea put about by prodoms that the stuff they do for paying clients is identical to the stuff *I* do for private jollies (or should if I read all their articles and started getting it right) is ridiculous. I mean, why actually *would* this thing be the same? ‘Cause porn and actual sex are identical as we all know. 

If you are a prodom with a wishlist-heavy online presence that links back to a website where people can pay you to dominate them please stop giving advice to dominant women as a fellow dominant woman. Even if you also are dominant in your personal life. You can’t potray both because they are too different. They serve different ends. 

 You can either speak for prodoms or dominant women. Not both at once. There is an obvious conflict of interest. Male fantasies are not real female sexualities. Do people really not know this? Well, they do. Everywhere but here.

Give advice as a prodom sure. Go for it. Make bullet pointed lists. But leave off making like you are like me. Leave off controlling the representations of women like me. And, really, don’t you fucking dare try and tell me how to get fucked without feeling all submissive and that. Get right the fuck away from ideas about how domiant women like to be fucked. Especially when you are already on record as saying you *do* think it is all submissive and that to get fucked. Or it fucks with the dynamic or whatever form of prodom double speak you are choosing to cloak your asshattery in.

If I were rich…

Though that’s a strange thing to even think about because I don’t now how I could live with being rich in a world like this one. I grew up with some amount of rich and found it mostly not interesting. So another box I don’t tick is the one where the dominant woman is some kind of fabulous creature surround by exquisite objects (and probably called something like Countess Domibitchinanarama). These dominant women with their obsessions with how much designer clothing they can get men to buy them (true fact: that does directly equal your worth as a person) it’s all a bit vulgar isn’t it? Especially with the collapse of capitalism.

Having said all that – I do have some fantasies where I buy things. For him. In short where I buy him everything. Only stopping short of his soul. And then, only in the literal sense.

And when I talk of him – please note: He is such a beautiful man. Sometimes he is my age or a shade older, sometimes he is young and pretty and with all the perceived cache that brings. He’s big and strong and well educated. But he’s maybe a little louche. A little weak in the face of temptation. A little too fond of drink or drugs maybe. (But in a way that is only even wan and romantic and fanciful, never real and gritty and seedy.) And he’s a little too fond of easy softness to get away from me. Me, who pays for everything.

He has expensive tastes he can’t afford. But it doesn’t matter because all the bills come to me. He is the male equivalent of exactly that woman I was complaining about earlier. (And I don’t know whether that is oh-the-irony or the whole point.) Part of him believes that the more expensive the suits I buy him the more I must adore him. Oh, and I do.

His place is only small, but I pay the rent. It’s not lux but it’s decent in a city and a district where he couldn’t afford decent. I never see it. When I come to town I book hotel rooms. I don’t come and see the life I payroll for him. I don’t meet his friends – friends he has to cancel appointments with the moment I arrive. For that’s the deal of course. He has the most wonderful life – but I own him. He is enslaved by the fact that he could never have what I give him any other way. My visits are so rare that in some ways the price he pays is tiny. But in other ways – not.

He comes to see me in his best clothes. Expensive suits and shoes I paid for. All bespoke and handmade. I tell him to take off his clothes and throw them in the bath and burn them. He doesn’t want to. I tell him the clothes belong to me anyway. He says that the suit is special. His favourite. Made by a tailor who doesn’t work anymore. He is such a whore for things that make him look good. And not just for me. He is loose and wanton and I do not care about what he does when I’m not there. I tell him that if he doesn’t burn the suit I will – and I might not be so careful about taking it off his body first. The suit is destroyed some time after that.

Then he is naked. And he is hurt. Staff from the hotel come into the room and I don’t hide what he is. They see him naked and marked. They see him tied up. I slap him in front of them and they know what he is. They know him and I like that.

Public *anything* squicks me down in my heart.  But in my fantasies I love it like a dark ache. Like a slow-healing wound that I can’t stop probing. How bad does this feel now? Feeling like I’ll feel sorry when it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He fucks me so hard and for so long that he cannot stand afterwards. I tell him I don’t care. That his pain and shame mean nothing to me. That my desires are the only ones that count. I kiss him and he looks so beautiful. I’m a little bit in love with him. Or maybe just in love with the romance of the situation. But I’d never tell him that. And I love the way it hurts that he only wants me for my money. And I love all the power I have over him when I think about how much that pisses me off. I hate him for being so shallow. I love it this messed up.

When it’s time to leave I have a new suit brought up to the room. He dresses and complains it is not as beautiful as the one I burnt. I tell him he should be glad to be free now. I am leaving and he can get back to his real life. He says I am his real life.

*

Links of note

In vicarious type making-porn-out-of-coconuts news I really liked this post that explains why the introduction of Wolverine in the film X Men hits several dominant woman buttons at once: Cruel experiments, cage fighting and the fact that it hurts ‘every time’. Guh. Nice.

If you’d prefer to surf to something not so nice: try this link. Ugh. Remember how once I explained how hard it is do make femdom imagery because BDSM pics tends to focus on the sub (because they are the one things are happening to)  but erotic imagery tends to focus on the woman? Cue a huge dilemma for femdom porn producers followed instantly by the raging popularity of girl on girl imagery in BDSM porno stuff. Even prodom websites usually feature girl on girl pics even though the bulk of their business (well – realistically – all their business) is dominatrixing men. (This is because prodoms hate me and hate the fact I might get some secret jollies looking at their websites.) Anyway this a great (that is the sarcastic form of great, btw) solution to that problem.

This is also why there are so few women in femdom 101 – it’s this stuff. This kind of female desire excluding/female body commoditising asscrap being so much more prevalent that how it really feels. This has nothing to with actual female dominant desire and everything to do with a very specific male fetish (that pretty much dehumanises women and is nothing to with being submissive – you like feet, big deal, but it’s not diff to liking tits in terms of submissitude – or cock, it’s not like it’s wrong: it’s just that he fact it is feet doesn’t make it about submission) and the sooner those two things get untangled from each other the sooner you will find actual dominant women (as opposed to women with pedicures and no sense of dignity) exploring this world. Remember this post? Save the world. You know what to do.

By the way, that site has a women click here box. I clicked and it takes you here. Note the pictures of submisive men we get. Ha! Nah – we don’t want to be given any sweeties – we want to be given a chance to be ‘models’.

Note: I am not digging up super-obscure stuff here. I found the link to that on newspaper columnist prodom Mistress Matisse’s blog.

(Just as a point of interest: does she have girl/girl pictures on her website? Why yes and according to her FAQ he doesn’t even offer sessions with women. Um, pourquoi? (French, I know, is more Belle de Jour than Mistress Matisse but I tend to find all successful, pompous, blogging sex workers somewhat interchangeable. Honestly if I based my entire opinion of sex workers on their well known blogging faction – which I pretty much do because where else do I encounter sex workers other than in film adaptations of Frank Miller comic books? – I would mainly think that they were pompous and pretentious. That could just be true of all people who are self important enough to write blogs, though))

But look, tangent over. Way more people read Mistress Matisse than read me. (And we covered that a bit here – esp in comments.) Dominant women exploring this stuff are way more likely to encounter her than me. And then it’s just a small step to follow that link (she’s posted it about 27 times) and change their minds about being dominant forever. Trust me. I clicked that link and nearly decided to try and become a furry instead. At least that’s slightly more dignified.

(I know you won’t believe this but I solemnly swear that I didn’t write that whole fume just for the last two lines. I *swear*. I’m just that good.)

I have never seen a James Bond film. I don’t go a whole big bunch on films anyway. I mostly find them a bit depressing and alienating. But it kind of feels like the latest James Bond film has decided to pitch itself very firmly at my demographic of one. I have said before that male suffering and sacrifice and the things I package up as the way submissive masculinity works, are very often big staples of mainstream entertainment. But this seems very blatant.

First of all they cast Daniel Craig who – although I probably hadn’t devoted more than a single braincell to the contemplation of him before (or really since) – pretty much has that I-just-got-beaten-up look about his face that I really do like in a man. (I used to really like watching boxing. That’s kind of gone away now, but it’s one of the things that, when I look back at the puzzle my life set me for a sexuality, it’s yet another big forehead-smacker of a clue.) In Craig’s first Bond film, it was like they nudged me a bit with some CBT type stuff that almost made me watch the film. Almost. I don’t really like CBT type stuff much.

But for the latest one, A Quantum of Solice. Whut? – my ‘Whut?‘ isn’t actually part of the title by the way. Would that it were. Well, now, they are releasing it the day before my birthday (i.e. tomorrow) as if to trick me into thinking it is some kind of special treat.

Oh yeah, is my birthday on November 1st – no star-charting please, I know it makes my sexual make up practically inevitable but I don’t believe in that stuff, *so* *there* – and don’t despair about impending birthday, I will not be posting squealy look-what-he-bought-me! shit about my o-so generous special man-friends.

It’s not that I don’t get that there is some hot in having him buy things. You have to spin it right but I won’t deny it’s there. It’s here. I understand how the money lever can be used to make him suffer in a way that satisfies that suffering-itch. Phrases like wallet-rape are hot for me and the notion of taking things away from him in a way that is devastating.

Findom is often a bit ridiculous but it certainly makes me laugh a lot, lot less than hypnodom which I can’t even bring myself to write about. It is too cruel. Too ’shooting fish’ even for me. However once a spiralling gif with the word ‘OBEY’ printed on it in a wibbly font made Jack and I laugh so hard we ruptured everything possible to rupture.

But I skip that that findom stuff – despite the potential hot – because there is too much other unsexy baggage around what I do and money. It makes me feel inauthentic. I don’t want to stand to close to the spoiled princesses. Sorry. It’s too tricky to try and find that place in moneysex to slice between taking things from him being pure hot and taking things from him being about gaining the actual things. Which I dislike as I think anything where male sexual desire is upfront and female sexual desire is not present is mainly unhelpful. So I stay away from findom. But I get that it is hot.

And, you know, if the default setting for my kind of sexuality wasn’t for-money I (and possibly other dominant women) might be able to enjoy being cruel in a financial way.

Note for people who still find me hard to understand: saying I don’t like ‘for-money’ being the default setting for my sexuality isn’t the same as saying prodoms shouldn’t exist or that they are ruining my sex life (trust me I’m doing fine – although there have been times when the prevailing stories of femdom have made it hard for me to settle) it just means I wish they weren’t the default setting for my sexuality.

Although, also, if you call yourself something like Princess Lady Evil, I do think it very, very legitimate for me to mock you. Practically compulsory in fact. Your only hope, if you really must call yourself something preposterous to get business (- is that how it works? I’m starting to think it must be -), is to become even more ridiculous and then maybe I would leave you alone like I do hypnodom.

Swirly-swirly-swirly. OBEY. Swirly-swirly-swirly.

Sorry. Leave it, BJ.

Actually there is another reason I don’t get much out of being bought things even though I can see how it is kind of sexy. It would only be sexy for me if I was attracted to the guy and I am pretty much never attracted to rich guys. I almost unrelentingly go for artistic types, visionary, ethical, political idealists/dreamer/defaulters and they never have any money. Rich men don’t really do it for me. Richness is not a very desirable quality in men for me. It’s usually far too closely connected to outright evilness. And I don’t like that – I like noble heroes, remember. Fat, smug, rich, ugh.

Have I ever told you how romantic I found this, for example.

Rich doesn’t fit my submissive dreamboat map at all. And actually that is why – just like it is so wrong that the most desirable dominant-woman quality is ultra-feminine corseted high-heeled beauty – it is so wrong that the most desirable submissive-man quality is willingness and ability to *buy* women stuff. You know, the old ’such a good boy – brings me tributes’ typey crap. Bleh.

I always, always fall down hard for men who pursue some kind of pure artistic truth. A beauty way beyond the tawdry earth-bound day-to-day-ness of a mistress’s smile as she slips into some over-priced patent booties (and for mistress there read not-pretty-enough-to-be-a-proper model, ‘art’ model)

I’m such a romantic. And I like men with passion and stamina and a streak of dark and messy. And those men, probably not going to give me a charge card.

Well, unless they are this new, Bitchy-seducitising version of James Bond, I guess.

And now, this year, they keep running this on TV. And I keep losing the thread of what I’m…

Recently I read this post by Belle de Jour. I don’t usually read her but this was linked to on Informed Consent and I went clickying though.

I do kind of wish I hadn’t. She is quite annoying. First there is a dig about people who write pretentiously: in blogworld, demonstrable ownership of a thesaurus is shorthand for ‘good writing style’

Does anyone else think this is crit of pretension is funny from someone who has her dates on her blog in French? Or Latin? Or whatever language that is? I am not sure – I did not have  a very good education.  As I am too [ugly/stupid] (delete as appropriate) to use my cunt as a cash machine no one has ever taken the time to teach me the klassy skills of the courtesan. Or Geisha, or prodom, or companion, or any other kind of woman who exist for male pleasure but it-is-not-just-about-the-sex-goddamnit (it’s actually not – it’s also about here’s how rich and affluent our society is: we can afford to keep some privileged women back out of the fields and use them just for pleasure.)

Oh god, you know, it has always bugged me – the things people say about courtesans. That is wasn’t only about sex. That these women enjoyed status and power and talked to men about politics. So it was all cool, ‘chaknow? But the thing that always gets me about that is that no matter how fabbo and liberated these women were, their existence still relied on the fact that most women in that society were horribly sexually (and otherwisedly) oppressed.

But that is really just a vague and random thought – now back to Belle’s post, and I’m not certain but I think her point is that she *has* supafreaky kinked up sex but that she does not write about it all supafreaky and that because her mass market books-by-the-bucketload demographic just wouldn’t get it. It just make me wonder – being as how I am thinking of writing a book of my blog – how that would translate to me?

Belle says Write about kink in a strictly kink-approved fashion, and you just bought yourself a ticket to Kinky Ghetto. Fact.

Okay I don’t want (or, strictly, don’t *expect*) to sell a bazillion Belle de Jour number of units, but I do all right on here blog readershipwise (somewhere between 1,000 and 2,000 page loads a day most days – since you didn’t ask) so I do wonder how well I am crossing over into the world of the unweird. Look, I don’t know who you are or why you are reading this. It may be that you are a full-time large-scale pervert. It may be you found this blog and thought ooh, she’s talking about perversion, ie. the thing that = my favourite hobby and so, obviously, you read on. Or you maybe a completely non-perverted person who happened on what I had written here and thought I might be later going write lots of stupid jokes and comical sexual misadventure type happenings. And you’d both be right. If both of you are reading.

Now I don’t need a ticket to the kinky ghetto – I don’t want to over play this ’cause I’m middle class as hell – but I was born here. And I was kind of hoping that by being *cough* funny and also by doing that good writing I can get even the most creamy vanillas to step into the ghetto and take a look around. I think what goes on in here is relevant to everyone. All kinds of screwy ideas about gender and sex get screwed just that little bit further in femdom that they snap into focus. Plus, male sacrifice is hot. It’s so hot it’s practically mainstream if you just know where to look.

And also, let’s face it, it’s not like the world of Bitchy Jones is the usual kinky person’s world anyway, being as I am whiny unicorn what does not wear high heels/latex/equestrian gear.

But it kind of bothers me because Belle de Jour – no matter what whomever the you might think of her – is a supa success at this turning a blog about sex into a book about sex and if she says kink doesn’t translate should I be worried?

Because I can hardly consider a Bitchy Jones the book without having kinky in it, now can I?

(btw I assume the reference in the post to a critic of Belle called ‘Bitchy Mc Slutress’ is just and unfortunate coincidence. I am not that famous – but if anyone wants to call me Bitchy McSlutress, please go right ahead.)

On Saturday night that TV show I did last year was repeated. And even though I did know it was happening I didn’t expected anything because that had already happened with the whole me being mortified about what my voice sounds like and ten bazillion people googling Bitchy Jones and then either being thrilled at my awesome or sorely disappointed at the lack of bend over big boy action on this blog.

I didn’t even put up a reasonably welcoming post. A slow loader full of pictures. I suck at being an internet celebrity.

(Except actually I don’t because I just discovered – live, as I was writing – that I have made this list. I am amazed and delighted and just emailed everyone I know.)

One day in my recent past, I was in a sex shop with Jack. The kind of place where you have to buzz the door to get in. Probably this is because they sell hardcore porn. But I have no interest in hardcore porn’s blizzard of buggery and lipgloss so I didn’t go in there. Okay, I did look very briefly at ‘Spanked Twinks‘ but so very briefly I didn’t even work out what the title actually meant until I had walked away.

We looked at some vibrating clamps and a bit gag shaped like a dog bone. I was only looking. I showed Jack some of those door bondage things that you put over the top of the door and then close it to make attachment points for a restraining a standing person. I tell him I know people who have them and that they are good. ‘They don’t shift.’

Jack asks me if I wouldn’t be worried he would pull the door off its hinges.

That’s the trouble. I live in a small, papery ordinary house. I have radiators, I have chairs and tables, but these things are all built practicality not practical evil. I do not have access to one of those fortresses built out of rusty steel columns where they make the kinky porno. I do not have a room with red walls. The only thing I can really tie Jack to and not have him killcrushdestroy (killcrushdestroy my soft nest of an IKEA catalogue interior that is) is other parts of himself.

‘Cause the trouble is, with him, resistance is fertile.

For all I try and say that submission and masculinity work with each other not against each other: that the whole world has got it wrong with it’s stupid prevailing ideology about which way round bondage goes. But, no one listens to Cassandra Jones, the world of people-tied-up is built for tying up women. Every guide book, every instructional video is about tying up women, pretty much. Bondage for sex means bondage for being penetrated. So what of me? I like it tough and scary. I like the great big man brought down, down, down. Works brilliantly in my head. In real life: hard work.

Because I like to feel a huge rush of power over a conquered kingdom of a man. But because I reach so high it’s so much harder to bring the thing down low.

Sometimes he feels unscaleable and more often *unbreakable*. And broken is a wonderful state. But so much harder to achieve when starting with an unbreakable thing.

There is that little moment when I hurt him. Right at the start. He makes it very obvious: He assesses what I’m doing and works out if he can deal with it. And he always can – always finds a place to put it – but right before that you see the tiny panic before he *knows* that he can. I’m happiest right there. The moment before either of us remember that he is unbreakable.

Not that I am not in love with that brave thing. That self sacrifice. Once I said to him, ‘I want to him you on the backs of your thighs with a metal ruler.’

And he said, ‘Fine.’ He said ‘fine’ like I’d said ‘I want to go make a cup of tea.’

So I said – more fierce, but more fierce for me just means my jaw sets a little hard – ‘And I want you to hate it.’

He’s rolled over ready for me by now, so he’s looking back over his shoulder. ‘Well I don’t expect I’m going to like it very much.’

And I swoon, there, at the stoic and the brave and the acceptance of me and the things that I need. But I still pine for something more fragile. For more doubt and fear.

I make him fake it. Make him ask for it to stop. Make him ask me not to hurt him. But that’s a level up on the unreality game. And I know that if I wanted it the other way he’d ask me *to* do it too. He doesn’t like pain. He likes being brave. I honestly don’t know where his desire to feel brave would end. Where rationality would take over. I’d like to find out – let the bravery drive us, let it set the pace, decide when we stop – but it’s a frightening place I might end up.

On Sunday morning there were bruises on his back like purple lightening. Made by the tip of his belt – the fastest moving part. Out at the edge of the arc. Those marks seem to me to be terrible things. Like they mark me more than they mark him. But they are only small, just tips and scrapes at his Eastern edge. They dip over his back’s horizon like the endless waterfall. His desire for bravery – if I let that be in charge – how many marks would that desire require? And what kind of selfish mess would that make of the outside of him and the inside of me?

But don’t think from that my relationship is not goodhappy. For all my morose here dwelling on parts of me that are not my favourite ones. After we left the sex shop we went to the supermarket. Earlier that day Jack had been craving eggs. And I had said I might not let him have any.

Really, I only said this as a joke. I never really actually don’t let him have things in day to day life – it would be bizarre. Okay, except orgasms sometimes – but orgasms are not day-to-day life to me. Even if they occur daily. But I told him I might get into egg denial and thought that I was funny.

But, truly, that conversation had given me a little buzz. And we had talked a bit about how much I like the idea of not letting him have things he wants.

In the supermarket he went to get them and as he picked up the box of eggs, I said, ‘I still might not let you have them you know.’

And he said, ‘If you want me to put them back, I’ll put them back.‘