First, I should be honest and say that I think labels in kink are sort of silly. I think labels in kink are the equivalent of chastity cages—toys. If you want to use them that’s fine. But I don’t take them very seriously.

Am I a “femdomme?” I don’t know. Who cares. I’m a lot of things. I’m a redhead. I’m a reader. I’m a person who gets really annoyed when people talk in movies. I only started using that word for myself when I got into the kink scene and wanted to identify in some way to other people.

It was fun for a time, figuring out what I “was,” like taking the Myers-Briggs (which is total bullshit by the way but I’m an INFJ who used to be an INFP). The reality is that my sexual interests and fantasies are varied.

What I have always been is a woman seeking control. Mostly control over my emotions, which have always been too strong. I am a woman who is often too much for people, even sometimes for myself.

The image of the Domme is someone steely and stoic, a marble Goddess of a woman who can look down at you completely in control of herself. But I am a body full of rage, joy, excitement, despair, and the last guinea pig eating a carrot clip I saw on Tiktok.

I remember being 12 and getting “slut shamed” by a friend because I told her I asked my boyfriend to kiss me. I was never one of those girls who boys naturally fell for. I was “different from the other girls,” and they said that in a good way but then chose the ones who weren’t different—who would laugh at their jokes even when they weren’t funny, sit on their laps, their bodies small and taking up little space, pretend—believe– the boys were smarter than they were just because they spoke loudly with confidence.

And it’s not even that I didn’t WANT to be one of those girls. I just COULDN’T be.

And I had a difficult relationship with my father, and boys my age scared me. They roved in packs. They could be cruel, although so could girls. Women are inherently meaner than men. They know how to shove the icepick right into the most vulnerable spot. I gravitated toward gay boys, usually unintentionally, since this was when being gay was even less acceptable. And a lot of those boys were in the closet.

From them, I learned about camp. And I learned about being strong and funny in the face of adversity. Humor was their weapon, and they could wield it fiercely.

I’ve written about this before, but I loved characters like Morticia Addams and Vampira and Elvira…Elvira especially…because they were everything I wanted to be. Yes. Tall and thin. But also composed, aware of the power of their own sexuality and able to use it to gain control over people—especially men. I think I liked Elvira the most because she was also funny. And I saw a little of myself in her sense of humor.

I think most of us have heard the term “the personal is political.” I partly entered the kink scene in 2016 as a response to Trump’s first presidency. I was looking for a way to rebel against probably my midlife crisis, but also his power and in response to my anger at what the people around me had wanted. I lived in an area where there were a good number of Republicans.

During the pandemic, I decided to start a gentle femdom blog. I thought it was possible I might make money from it, but it was also a place for me to talk about my sexuality and kink. I also was writing erotica, and in an attempt to write faster, I tried narrating a story out loud. It didn’t quite work, but I uploaded it to reddit where I discovered that it was unusual to be able to improvise smut so clearly and quickly.

That was actually how I ended up on Niteflirt (and eventually some other places) making femdom erotic content and taking calls and doing I guess what you would call online domination.

Although I don’t really know if I believe that any kind of paid domination is actual domination. Although I don’t really know if anything legal is actually domination, because at its heart it’s always an act.

If it isn’t an act, it’s abuse. And I know people will come at me for that and say that’s not true. It’s true and not true at the same time.

But I think especially paid domination is an act if your goal is to actually make money.  And most of the people who partake in it aren’t forced to conform to the liberal politically correct beliefs the in-person kink scene requires if you don’t want to be shunned. So, while I come into contact with many respectful men, I also know most of those men are in the closet and who they are on the phone with me reflects nothing about who they are “in real life.”

Is it an act for me? It is and it isn’t. Based on a lot of conversations I’ve had, I think more than a lot of providers, I am more myself. This has made it easier for me because I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. And I think it’s also made me more successful because I do think people can inherently sense sincerity, and I also do actually understand and enjoy “submissive” men. But it makes it more personal for me too, and right now that feels very painful.

I’m sure that everyone working in any kind of service industry feels that too at times—having to put on a brave face and be nice to people that you’d really like to kick in the balls. I suppose were I an in-person Dominatix I could do that. But I still think the issue for me is that I’d be doing what they wanted, so even by causing them pain, I would be making them happy.

In the end, what control have I gained? Am I not just a male fantasy? When I know that for at least some segment of my customer base, I have no respect for their values nor they for mine, and I can do nothing about it but cater to their desires if I want their money—is that power? Is that control? Am I just a whore—just one of those girls sitting on the boys’ knees giggling like a sycophant all for just a little attention?