First published on Slutist.com March 12, 2017
The work day ended with a picnic: my lovely colleague and I in scandalously cheeky cut-off denim shorts with matching gingham crop tops sitting on a blanket spread over the stubby grey office carpet. A man-sized bear pops up from behind the pink vinyl ottoman, meekly growling. Luckily we just happened to be armed with a Nerf gun and a plastic bb gun, so we shot him in the crotch and kick-rolled him onto our blanket. We “skinned” the bear and then punished him by forcing him to take a white wine enema plugged up with a stump of peeled ginger, then celebrating by feeding him a nice long pull off the soy sauce bottle. To finish it all off, we smacked him around with the fish he caught swimming upstream in the nearby river. My colleague and I did not stop laughing the entire time.
I had been a professional Dominatrix for about 5 years already when the feeling of keeping this enormous part of my life a secret became a flaming albatross around my neck, especially in the company of my mother. I thought I was protecting her from the awful truth of being a sex worker. Granted, it was probably not what she hoped for her only daughter when she sent me off to university.
“Two tears in the bucket. Motherfuck it.”
My mother took me on a European river cruise tour shortly after the pervy picnic. Boat-bound on the Rhine/Seine/Danube for 10 days with a smattering of quaint village visits, we began in Vienna, hit up several small towns in Bavaria and Germany, and ended in Amsterdam. Since these leisurely river cruises usually attracted the likes of the senior set, I was the sole gleaming beacon of youth. My mother and I met every single silver haired passenger slowly, evening by evening, at the ritualized dinner event. We ate the porkchops and potatoes and endless miles of pasta and baked Alaska and I introduced myself over and over as a photographer for e-commerce, so none of these gentle geriatrics nor my sweet mother would be shocked into an untimely death. I lied so hard about taming model children and navigating the digital world of imagery that I started to disgust myself. One night after dinner, my mother left me alone and took her laptop to the wireless area. My thoughts wretched my guts in horror of her somehow discovering my alter ego on the internet; tits out, a face full of porno makeup, offering nefarious services of perviness from a boutique Chinatown dungeon. My head felt like it was being crushed in a vise and my insides were all twisted and quivering.
I believe that eventually, the body will physically manifest emotions and beliefs that go unchecked. The mind is so powerful that it will dig deep into your Pandora’s Box and just give you hives until you realize that you need to deal with the real source of your problems. Upon arriving back to my safe haven of anything-goes in NYC, a rather unusual skin condition immediately appeared. I would get hot and itchy near my belly and have the urgent need to scratch, a sensation that was undeniably painful and pleasurable at the same time. After a frenzied scratch session, the entire area of my skin would turn red and welt up as if a headmistress angrily walloped me with a ruler. The red, hot demon of lies that I was feeding porkchops and pasta to was trying to push itself out of my skin!
A visit to the acupuncturist determined that I had too much “heat” as he tried a few different methods of expelling it, one of which was called “bleeding”.
<cue dramatic violin music>
It was time to come out of the kink closet.
I had two homes: the Chinatown dungeon and my Bushwick apartment. In my cozy kitchen filled with knick knacks and amber light, I sat face-to-face with my mother only a couple of months after we returned from our adventure. I needed to make her feel safe, just as I felt safe, so I began with the fact that I was financially secure, very well taken care of and happy at my place of work. Then I briefly described a few of the more common things I did as a Dominatrix, such as facilitating foot worship and general sadism of the non-genital variety. I explained to her that some people liked a little pain because their bodies interpreted that sensation as pleasure. And that there is a need for some people to seek balance in their typically alpha-normative lifestyles by being submissive to somebody else. I did not go into the more penetrative activities because I knew that my mother was not the type to seek depth, so she was satisfied with what I’d told her.
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, “Nothing surprises me these days. I’m glad you are happy and financially stable.”
At the end of her visit with me, she gave me a little red envelope (as Asian mothers are wont to do) and said it contained the equivalent to “about one hour of your foot in someone’s mouth.”
Allow me to introduce myself.
My name is Dia Dynasty.
I am an Alpha Witch, a Female Supremacist, and a Shamanatrix.