or is that “dominatrices”? Yes, technically it probably is, but the things we do when we’re dumbing down our blog for the sex trollers, eh?
So I was at a party some but not too many years back and I got into conversation, as one does. Now, this party was held by my friend Hermione, who is stylish, sharp, artistic, not a half bad writer, and, most importantly for party purposes, possessed of a wide and colourful variety of friends attained through the exploits conducted during her wide and colourful past. Not that her present is colourless, but relative to the bad old days it’s at least somewhat beiged-out in acceptable Canadian fashion.
One of her friends is a pretty well-known fetish designer, and it was this woman with whom I was chatting. She was much more interesting than the two Gaysian pretty boys who were friends of friends or said they were and who dosed my drink with roofies and sat around watching and giggling all night. Apparently I’m lots of fun when I’m wasted on the stuff, but how would I know if I hadn’t asked the person I woke up next to the afternoon after? Eh? How I located those long-lost earrings in the state I was in I will never know, nor why the furry scarf seemed like the thing to wear to bed. Nor do I wish to know, quite frankly, but I do wish I’d had some of the stuff around to dose myself with when I lost my lovely winter hat, as the superhuman accessory-location ability it apparently confers on me would draw me to the sadly-missed article like Greek playboys to LA celebutwats.
But enough of me: you want to hear what happened when Felicia hooked up with the fellow she met online. What happened was this:
She was in need of a little company, and being busy growing her own company single-handed, she didn’t exactly have the time to make the scene at Sin City every goddam night, even presuming Sin City was on every night, which it is, but only if you exclude 29 days out of every 30 or so, and that would be a very peculiar way to count indeed.
So she looked for love online.
Now, if you’re a fetishist of any experience you already know there’s quite the online community for just about any particular peculiarity, including but not limited to the look-but-don’t-touch underage Gothic Lolitas and the touch-but-don’t-look blackout scene. My own particular favorite example was one Yavanna told me about: a site on EZboard dedicated to restrictive Victorian clothing. This couple had set a webcam up in their dining room and living room and they’d come home from work, change into restrictive collars, ties, bustles, hobble skirts, etc, and then cook and eat dinner and watch tv and do all the other dull, everyday things that people do in their mufti, only they were doing it in these Petticoat Junction outfits, for money.
Seriously, I gotta get me a scam like that. Wonder if there’s a *looks down* overall and thermal undershirt and sneakers fetish market? Mebbe not.
So, Felicia went online, looking for love. Lust, actually. Felicia is a smart girl and she knows that asking Bill Gates to supply your soulmate when his own mother had to tell him to pop the question from her deathbed is somewhat unrealistic. But boy, can he connect you with the vast, horny multitudes for cheap, meaningless hookups, as countless VPs of various Microsoft customers can probably attest. Oh wait: those ones got the expensive LA hookers. My mistake.
And what did Felicia find there? She found a man who wanted to be abused. Oh, not branded, not the whole bloodplay thing. He just wanted a woman who’d make him feel like a complete doormat for a few hours now and again. And if there is one thing Felicia is good at (my friends and I, we have so much in common) it’s making a man feel like a doormat, particularly when he is asking for it.
So she emailed him. When you’re the dom, there’s no sense waiting for him to make the first move, right? Right. And he emailed back eagerly. And this went back and forth for awhile until she and he came to an agreement that he would show up at her apartment at a certain date and time and that she would do whatever she liked with him.
And he showed up, quivering with eagerness, and she led him to the hall closet, handcuffed him to the rail, closed the door, and then she turned around, took off the leather, put on jeans, a t-shirt and an apron, and cleaned her apartment.
She let him out the next morning and he could not wait to see her again!
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Don't keep it to yourself!
T. Paul is a legend in Vancouver
raincoaster 