The Elephant In The Room

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I’m often asked what I do for a living. I used to shrink away from that question. I’d use every deflection tactic known to man to change the subject and avoid talking about my work. I mean how was I to weave my stories of flogging men or having them clean the dust from my heels with their tongues into the casual girl talk of washing dishes and trying to fit the kid’s soccer games into an already tight schedule? How was I to thread my taboo occupation into my friends’ stories about their corporate jobs? Was I to follow Karen’s complaints about Nosey Nancy with ramblings about how Richard always asked for more pain than he could actually handle? Or would Steven’s penchant for taking pegging sessions go smoother with our red wine?

I just didn’t know. I would sit silently as my friends debated who had the worst boss or the office with the most absurd politics. I’m sure they noticed but they said nothing. Hell, at one point, I’d even told people I wasn’t employed in hopes of totally avoiding the hassle of having to deflect. It was an exhausting exercise of secrecy and one that got very old very fast. 

I sat, at brunch, in a rather family friendly establishment one Sunday afternoon and simply blurted it out when a friend of a friend decided to challenge my silence and ask, “What do you do, again?”. I took a long swig of my pomegranate mimosa and with a calm tone, I flatly replied, “I’m a professional dominantrix”. I sat at a table of 5 women and I watched each of them experience the emotions I’d expected - shock, disbelief, amusement, and judgement. Only one had a slight smirk on her face.

She didn’t even bother to swallow her eggs as she pressed me for more info. “Like 50 Shades?!”, she asked me in wide eyed excitement. It was now my turn to laugh. Of all the things she could’ve used to reference my world, she used 50 Shades of Grey! The single handed worst representation of the BDSM world on the planet! She looked confused and way less interested when I told her, “no”. Ignoring her lack of interest, I kept talking. I’d decided I’d come too far to just leave my cards on the table and not interpret what they meant. They leaned in closer with every word I said. Our eggs had grown cold and our waffles soggy but we were still parked at that table 3 hours later. 

I told them everything - the good, bad, and ugly. I answered questions, dispelled myths, and most importantly, I educated. I wanted them to know that all kink play was consensual. That it wasn’t a world filled with degenerates and low life’s stowed away in their parents’ basements. I made certain that they knew how healthy and open sub-domme relationships really were. I expressed the importance of open communication and how each party’s boundaries were always considered. Simply put, I made certain that they knew the degrees of separation between our worlds were very, very few. I made my “taboo” job as normal as passing the salt at dinner or pumping gas on the way home. 

When we finally uprooted, to the relief of our server I’m certain, my girls surrounded me with hugs and well wishes. Their support gave me the last little push I needed to start telling everybody what I do for a living. I quickly informed my parents. They had similar reactions but didn’t crucify me. All those years I’d thought that kink had given me the freedom I’d needed in life but I was wrong. It wasn’t until that one brunch where I’d grown tired of avoiding my elephant in the room that I’d fully realized my true freedom. 


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posted by: MistressMindFuc
United States · 1 week ago | 77 Views
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