Violence, routine and life
Reflection on Professional Domination
In sessions I abuse, I hit, I insult, I despise, I humiliate - not only, but often.
I look for loopholes and jump in.
I bind, I gag, I slap, I strangle, I bite, I penetrate, I command, I make crawl, I cover with fluids.
I create scenarios of questioning, kidnapping and sequestration.
Day after day, at Le Boudoir, I stage violence and abuse. What's unacceptable, punishable by the courts or even heavy sentences, is my daily routine: outside the session, I plan my appointments, reply to e-mails, write and read about BDSM, work on my websites, think about a workshop, exchange ideas with colleagues, and so on.
When I'm introduced to someone who asks about my work, I answer. This is bound to lead to a discussion of perversions and violence. Sometimes judgment.
The work is demanding, invasive. I find it hard, very hard, to "switch off" - that's often the case for the self-employed, especially when professionalism meets passion.
The heart of my life, what I spend most of my time on, is (consensual) abuse in all its forms, from the most subdued to the harshest.
I tell myself it's not neutral. That it can't be. That orchestrating the day-to-day taking of power must inevitably alter my balance, my appreciation of situations, my scales of strong-not-strong, my relationship with others, even if I don't realize it.
One thing's for sure: the endorphin peaks generated by the sessions are addictive and become a necessity. Without them, everything seems quiet (a little goes a long way, too much, I get bored) and grey (a little goes a long way, too much, I mope).
What's also clear is that I can only confide in the rarest of people. My vanilla friendships are exceptions, my vanilla loves impossible.
When I first started out, I often felt at the end of my rope, and in my head an old Téléphone hit would croak out: "What's at the end, at the very end of the rope? Y a encore du rouleau!"
Was it the sum total of all this violence, real or symbolic?
Fear of an attack or an accident at the Boudoir?
Constantly striving to do things right?
Requests that result in nothing but a huge waste of time?
The friction with customers, the feeling of being used as an object?
But not only that. The mental load was overwhelming. I congratulated myself on having started this activity late, when I felt solid and anchored, as if Professional Domination was a tidal wave threatening to engulf me and that I, small but mighty, perched on my high heels, had to resist.
Today it's different. I'm managing better. Not perfectly, but better.
Would I have gotten used to it? No doubt. But I still wonder: how does all this violence, however consensual, however playful, affect me as a person behind the Madame's persona? How does it change me as an individual?
Professional Domination is not a neutral profession. It cannot be.