Mommy Domme, May I?
It took me a long time to come around to the idea of being a Mommy Domme. I confess, it was an abundance of ignorance that made me reticent. The reticence transmuted into insecurity which morphed into denial which then became revulsion. I didn’t understand what the kink was about, made too many assumptions and declared that water cold without so much as putting a finely painted toenail in it. With a metric fuckton of emotional labor and some exploration with a few amazing submissives came the realization that a Mommy Domme is what I have been all along.
In the early days of my training at Hellfire Club in NYC in 1997, it was clear I was a little different. I have often called myself the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer of domination, because I have always been so different from my sex worker peers. Or so I thought. Isn’t that funny how that works with some kinks? We would swear we are so different, the consummate misfit, only to one day discover that we had a peer group all along. At least, that is how it goes for the lucky ones. I wasn’t different from everyone, just everyone I had met up until that point. The internet was still a baby then, and my sample size of fetishists was limited to a few clubs I went to in lower Manhattan.
The Big Lie
The most effective piece of propaganda sold to us is that Big Dick is King. I can’t shout this from enough mountain tops. People who rant and rage against body shaming will still often have no problem making a small dick joke. Where did this even come from and why do we believe it? I had thought before writing this to do a deep dive on the history of how Size Queendom and the vaunted Big Dick Energy entered the chat, but really, at this point, I do not care. I love me some history of human fuckery, but right now I want to undo the damage more than anything else.