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Oh hey there, nervous kitten. Let’s sit down and have a chat.

Because I see that shame spiral you’re stuck in. And damn it looks nasty. You’re fucking tired, aren’t you? Fucking desperate. Because no matter how much you chase the thing your soul is craving, it never seems to work.

For some of you, that’s because you’ve hit a crossroads and you’re paralyzed with indecision about where to go.

One side leads to your authentic self. Which sounds like a pretty fucking easy choice. Yes, please and thank you.

Except the part where you aren’t sure you like that person. Where you haven’t reconciled with them. Where you see the ways that taking that path would make you subject to societal ridicule.

The other path is a path of abstinence. Cutting off that part of yourself that society isn’t thrilled out and pretending it never existed. Keeping it tied up tight and locked in a closet (and not in the fun way).

That sucks a lot too. And your soul knows you really don’t want that path. To have to pretend to be dominant forever and ever. To have to subscribe to a very specific (boring) version of masculinity that isn’t really you. To never know what it would feel like to really sink in, find the edges of that part of yourself, know entirely who you really are.

So here you are, at the crossroads, building yourself a little tent city.

I’m here to say that won’t work either. You’re in fucking quicksand there. Never able to really sink into a dynamic and find yourself. And never able to fit like you want to in Just Vanilla Land either. And so it’s yo-yo time. Back and forth. Shame over what you crave. Shame that you can’t pretend effectively enough to stop craving it.

Ultimately, you are the person who gets to decide if you:

Work (because damn it will be work) toward embracing your kinks as part of your authentic self and actually giving a shit about yourself as a whole person instead of just the parts society finds palatable

Or

Keep hiding parts of yourself, keep wearing a mask and performing a stupid form of masculinity that most women don’t like anyway (notice how in polite society more and more women are opting out of dating men). Choose this route and you get to keep feeling exhausted and shitty about it.

Make no mistake: the society path will keep you in that shitty place and so will camping out halfway. So will scrolling on Reddit and telling dommes you want to submit but then being unwilling to show up for yourself when something is asked of you and running away when the shame hits hard.

It doesn’t move you closer to being the person society is trying to force on you. And it doesn’t move you closer to confidently living as yourself, society be damned.

I’m not saying the first path means living loud and proud as an armpit fetishist with everyone you meet or putting “foot worshipper” on your resume. I’m saying that first path is about meeting your real self and deciding you’re cool with them. Deciding that you like yourself as a whole human being with messy parts and silly parts and exquisitely stupid parts (which we all have, including the vanillas).

Let me also be clear that I understand that shame is part of the kink for many. Shame is a desired feeling in some cases. But it’s also how a lot of subs describe the thing that keeps them from what they want—and it’s to those subs that I am speaking here.

If you want to take that journey, it’s one you’ll need to take with yourself, probably a kink-safe therapist, and a safe domme who can stand consistently with you in that space. But to do that, you have to stop planting that flag at the crossroads.

What you are chasing here is the relief of submission, of being who you are, of being safe to let go. And when you hold back, plant your heels to keep from going down that self-loving path, the person you are cheating out of that relief is yourself.

Throughout my life, I have often been the one people come to when tragedy strikes. When loss upon loss presses heavy on their souls.

And a common thread in those conversations is this:

The people around them cannot tolerate the discomfort of their sadness, their rage, their grief.

They want to solve it. They want to banish it. They want optimism and positivity and movement away from the sad, hard thing.

And what I can do in that moment is sit with those hard things. Defend those hard emotions. Welcome them because hard emotions aren’t evil things trying to destroy us. They are part of us. They are signals. They tell us this mattered.

You grieve because you love.

You hurt because you hoped.

You’re angry because something is wrong.

You are in pain because you are alive.

Discomfort is not my enemy. Pain is welcome in my space. And because of these truths, I can witness those things without trying to usher them away, sweep them under a rug, pretend they never happened.

This is a mirror into how I see the uncomfortable parts of BDSM—the intentional pain, humiliation, and degradation. The requests to make someone cry.

They are sometimes a request for permission to feel those taboo feelings.

Especially for men, who are raised to think of so many feelings as an indictment of their masculinity. As if being human wasn’t man enough. As if pretending not to feel pain was some kind of courage.

Part of my role as a domme is to hold space for the hard feelings. To let them exist and grow and excite and relieve.

This space lets you face the questions society is uncomfortable with. What happens if I am humiliated? What happens if I am crushed? Where are the limits between tolerating discomfort and finding a boundary?

And this is part of why the vanilla world cannot understand. Because as long as they are running from the so-called negative feelings, they cannot know the depth of those feelings. The way that they can be tangled up with pleasure and relief. The way that you hold them and find yourself more whole. The way that they shape not only your sexual desires but also—if you are going deep enough—the way you show up in the world overall.

When I was young, my parents tried to convince me to have plastic surgery.

If you’re surprised by that, you’re in good company. I didn’t have the surgery. This is what I look like. The teasing photos, the videos—nothing on my body has been altered by the medical establishment.

Only by time, maturity, fashion sense, and an ever-more-confident sense of self.

But the hard truth is this: my parents made it clear to me that my body was not good enough.

They wanted to police my eating. They wanted to consult a plastic surgeon. They definitely wanted to dictate my clothing and piercing and style choices.

Raised in religion, this meant I wore them two sizes too big. No collarbones or underarms or cleavage showing. No shape, unless “tent” counts as a shape. I was supposed to hide. I was supposed to keep men from their “sinful” thoughts. I was supposed to be less—in mind and in body.

But I left religion. And I left them. And every year, I leave more of that baggage behind me, tossed into dumpsters where it belongs.

I replaced the baggage with a carefully curated suitcase of admiration.

For my lean muscular dancer legs, the high arches of my feet, the softness of my belly, the plunging cleavage that appears in nearly everything I wear.

I love my eyes, dark and deep.

I love my curls (when they behave, let’s be honest).

I love the soft curve where neck meets shoulder, the hollow of my collarbones, my eyebrows, my lips, my well-tended smile.

Every time I see myself and feel a deep sense of pleasure at the sight, this is my revolution. It is my power. It my hard-won gorgeous joy.

Every time I post a photo and the simps beg to kiss my feet, it is my revolution.

Every time you tell me I am perfect head to toe.

Every time you worship.

You are worshipping a phoenix birthed from the ashes that were supposed to ruin her, to make her small, to trap her so deep in shame that she was willing to go under a knife for it.

She is a revolution. A goddess. A warrior.

And she deserves every drop of that adoration.

I love a certain type of horror film.

Ready or Not with its goofy humor, feminist power, and intense trapped terror. The Invisible Man with its deep, scary resonance to women’s real, lived experiences (despite being also speculative fiction).

I eat them up. I re-watch them. I let my heart rate spike and spike again for them.

And then there’s horror I simply cannot handle. Cannibalism and body dissections. Hospitals and torture sequences.

My brain and body revolt. I cannot watch them. They are too much.

On the other side of the coin, I have friends who cannot watch anything that teeters too close to reality (which all of my favorites do). They would rather watch an alien burst from someone’s chest than spend two hours suffering alongside a woman being stalked.

Intellectually, I get it—even though I’m the opposite.

So, why am I talking about this in a kink essay? Because I’ve been thinking about how words like cruel, harsh, or mean in D/s spaces are a bit like the word scary in horror films.

What scares me, doesn’t scare you. And vice versa.

And I want subs to understand that when you start exploring a dynamic with a new domme, this is the reality you’re going to have to explore.

Someone can call themselves a mean domme; subs can refer to them as mean; they can say they love being mean. And you can still end up not finding it mean enough.

On the flip side, there times when I don’t think I’m being mean—and men IRL use words like aggressive, mean, scary, or they simply spin out.

When I explore with a new person who wants humiliation, cruelty, mean teasing, etc., I start out playing with a lot of different ideas to see what really hits. Sometimes, things don’t, and I get “you can be meaner.” Sometimes, things hit too hard, and I get a safe word in the first few minutes.

Because cruel is in the eye of the beholder. As is kind.

One of my subs told me I was nice to him—when I frequently make him humiliate himself for me. Another hit his safe word when I tried to do something the first wouldn’t blink at.

Most of y’all seem to love a “good boy,” but for a certain type of person, that’s mean and degrading in a bad way.

Some of y’all want to be treated as machines. Others still want human connection even as we ask you to oink like a piggy or kiss the floor.

Some think they have no limits—when really what they didn’t have was imagination.

There’s often an expectation in this space that the moment you enter into a dynamic, the domme will be exactly perfectly attuned to you and your needs—the exact type of mean you are looking for! But the truth is there are a thousand types of horror films and a thousand types of mean. And it’s ok to need time for you and your domme to sync up. It’s also okay to explore with someone a bit and realize their version of mean isn’t the version you were looking for.

Much like dating, this space requires some trial and error—and an understanding that terms like “mean,” “scary,” or even “soft” don’t mean the same things to everyone.

Now, take a deep breath and recognize that this is a journey. If you are lucky enough to find your dream domme on your first attempt and all the first things she tests on you work perfectly, congrats! But if you were looking for Ready or Not and you got Alien instead? It’s alright to step away and keep looking. It doesn’t mean she is or isn’t mean or cruel or harsh or soft. It simply means you didn’t sync or that your versions of those words weren’t aligned.

And that’s ok.

I understand why some of you don’t want to. Perhaps you’re afraid it will rule you out of playing. Perhaps it feels too risky, like she’ll push too far if she knows it, will see it as a jumping off point instead of a Stop Sign. Perhaps it’s complicated. You have hard limits and soft ones, a variable budget each month, etc.

BUT

Whatever your concerns are, you still need a budget—and you still need to tell your domme. Because…

1. You don’t want to be snapped out of sub space.

You say you will control your own budget limits. You give me no idea of what those area. We get into a scene. I ask for a first send—it’s fine. We get to the second—it’s fine. And then another send—and suddenly, immediately you anxiously shut down. Because we’ve hit your tolerance and I didn’t know it. Or we started getting close and now you’re panicking. Now you feel bad because you can’t send that or you can send that but not the next one and you can tell the game isn’t over.

Suddenly, you’ve been ripped from the fantasy by your own lack of communication. And even with guidance, understanding, and safe words, sometimes you just can’t go back in. The shame punched your boner in the gut and it’s going to take awhile to get its wind back.

While it’s certainly ok to have moments where scenes end suddenly because of someone’s comfort or triggers—in this case it’s easy to avoid if you just set a budget (or a hard and soft budget) ahead of time. If nothing else, it gives the psychological safety to know that I’m not going to go for that fourth send if the third took you to the edge of the budget.

If you are saying “I haven’t thought about my budget,” well, go think about it. Now while you still have bloodflow to your brain.

2. It helps your domme design sessions.

I love to tease, so when I do a drain, I like to draw it out. If I don’t have your budget ahead of time, I may hit it within 5 minutes or 10 or 15 when I was hoping to toy with you for 30. Now you’re forced (again) out of sub space to tell me it’s too much and I have to scramble for a different plan.

This isn’t just relevant to drains themselves, but also how often you can do sessions, what those sessions are. You don’t want to go crazy for a week and then suddenly be broke for the rest of the month. If your domme knows your limits, she can draw things out, slow things down—even when you’re too horny to do it yourself.

3. Y’all aren’t great at stopping when you are truly in subspace.

Ethical dommes know this and will push the pause button, tell you not to go over budget, check in, etc. I want you around long-term and thriving—not just drained and anxious a week in.

So please, take a minute: make a budget. And make one that won’t ruin your life. This kink is fun as hell, but it won’t stay fun if you make yourself homeless. And your domme can’t help you if you don’t tell her your budget.

Convince me to submit, some subs challenge. Make me. Manipulate me. Force me.

I understand that angle on the fantasy—the full abdication of responsibility, of control. Permission to step beyond your boundaries because it’s no longer you doing the stepping. It’s a way to cockblock shame when the dust settles.

Because you didn’t wear those panties because you wanted to. You didn’t send because you wanted to. You aren’t the person who wants to. You were forced, hypnotized, bamboozled, outside your own power.

I get the appeal. And there are many dommes who want to take that journey with you.

But I am not one of them.

I am not here so you can pretend you don’t want to wear the panties, to send, to bow, to submit. I am here to hold space for the part of you that does want those things. I am here to witness your authenticity. All the things society doesn’t make space for, shames you for, makes you question about yourself.

In my life, BDSM has been healing. And I demand nothing less for my subs.

Here, you are allowed to want.

You are allowed to be.

You are allowed to rest.

To stop performing dominance, to stop operating on vanilla scripts, to stop pretending you don’t want things some part of you craves.

The death of shame isn’t pretending you didn’t mean to. The death of shame is finding a way to stand in your truth. To be able to say to yourself: I did mean to. And to find that that truth doesn’t actually make you less. Doesn’t harm your masculinity, your power in other areas of your life, your other truths.

That you contain multitudes. And one of those multitudes wants to be on your knees before me. Collared. Petted. Teased. Humiliated. Controlled.

In this space, I do not want you to abdicate responsibility; I want you to embrace it.

I do not want you to cycle through pleasure and shame and back again; I want you to burn that shame even in times when you choose to focus on the vanilla.

You are not here because I make you. You are not here because I put a spell on you (though I am spellbinding, I know).

You are here because you choose to be here.

You choose to explore.

You choose to expose.

You choose to peel back the masks society makes you wear, fast or slow as you need to, and find the authenticity beneath.

I am here to hold space for you. To hold truths for you. To nudge you. Push you. Tease you. Prompt you. But not because I’m forcing anything. I’m simply holding open doors you’ve been longing to walk through.

When I started as a pro domme, I started with low expectations.

Perhaps the market would be too saturated with more experienced dommes. Perhaps the things I love about femdom would become too much when I started taking on more. Perhaps the time I wanted to put in simply wouldn’t be sustainable.

I gave myself permission to simply play. Simply try. Simply have fun with it.

And I am thriving. More and faster than I ever expected.

What an incredible gift it is for so many people to put themselves into my hands, to trust my power, to gift me submission, to show me their deepest truths.

What an incredible rush to tease and deny, to play and surprise, to make you beg and want and wish and worship.

I am exactly where I want to be. I am exactly who I want to be.

And what a powerful, perfect place that is.