Hello, it’s after Valentine’s Day. Which is truly the best, because all of the candy and other goodies are now 75-90% off. Stock up!
A few weeks ago, a friend invited me to Paris. I absolutely could not afford to go on a last-minute trip, but he could. I remembered that this was the year of me “being bold,” so I jumped at the chance. I also thought about how sometimes when you set an intention, the outcome doesn’t always look like how you want it to be, and that’s fine! For instance, this year I’d love to go to Italy on a two-week writing retreat in September. I thought I could maybe tack on London and Paris afterward (because clearly, I’m swimming in money). But here I am, in February, in Paris! I was also invited to London in August. Life is good!
Paris was lovely. I’ve never gone to Europe before, and I haven’t been out of the country since high school. I went to Versailles, the Louvre, walked the street where James Baldwin lived when he first moved there, went to an English-speaking comedy show, and made some new friends. I kept running into the Eiffel Tower. I sadly did not partake in the cafe culture, but I hope the next time I go I can.
I was walking around the gardens of Versailles, and I found myself crying. Not necessarily because I was in Versailles, but because I was here. I’d been saying for years that I wanted to be here, and because of a chance text, I finally was.
Last year, I was on the phone with one of my best friends, who was still recovering from a concussion. He told me that there were still things that he couldn’t remember, but he did remember how frustrated I was in the previous year, and how I wanted to get a better job, travel more, and move out. And he was very proud of me of being able to do those things. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Sometimes when you’re in it, you don’t see the progress you’ve made. It feels reaffirming when someone else notices it.
It still feels very woo-woo, but I’m coming around to thinking this is an actual thing. Now if only I can get that brownstone.
As some of you know, I worked as a Dominatrix some years ago, which is the inspiration for Little Spoon the short story, and now the web series. I’ve had a few folks ask me how I got into this line of work. The obvious, surface answer is money. But there actually is a deeper answer.
A few years ago, I went through the worst breakup I’d ever experienced. I won’t go into too many details, and I know it’s rather tempting to reduce it to him being horrible, but it was so bad that my therapist at the time noticed my mental health was deteriorating and recommended I see a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, the guy she referred me to charged $300 an hour, and intake was 90 minutes minimum. I could barely afford my therapist (who now charges $350-500 an hour, but not when I was seeing her, thankfully), so I stuck with her. I did get better, but it took years to untangle the mess that was that relationship.
I wilted in that relationship. And when we broke up, I lost weight because I could barely eat without throwing up. I subsisted on ramen, pb&j sandwiches, and Entennmann’s chocolate cake. When I wasn’t working (and barely!) I was sleeping and feeling miserable.
This is an aside, but something I think is very interesting. I’m very much obsessed with the show Sex and The City. To the point where any situation I can find something relatable from the show, much to some of my friends’ annoyance. And up until the reboot premiered, it was a tradition to watch the entire show and movies at least two or three times a year. Last year was the exception because the reboot was that painful, so I managed to do it once. Around that time, I was watching the episodes where Carrie and Berger are struggling in their relationship, before Berger ultimately dumps Carrie over a Post-It. “I’m sorry, I can’t, don’t hate me” will forever live in infamy. There’s an article floating around that said what Berger did wasn’t bad because at least he didn’t ghost! Because the bar is in the trenches!
Carrie runs into Berger’s friends at a club, and she gives this rant about how there is a correct way to break up. I actually think Berger was better than my ex (because again, the bar) because at least he met up with Carrie, gave her carnations, spent the night, wrote a post-it, before sneaking out before she woke up. My ex disappeared for days, refused to respond to my texts or phone calls, only to respond to my message about meeting up during the week with a “Nope. I don’t want to see you anymore. Take care.”
That turned into me writing an eight-page letter on my quest for “closure.” I even wrote something along the lines of a breakup should have some degree of kindness and consideration for the relationship. What happened afterward could truly be its own post, but the abridged version was that should have been the end of it.
Shortly before the breakup, I had applied to be a manager at a dungeon, near Herald Square in Manhattan. Curiously they claimed the position had already been filled upon seeing my photos, but they were still looking for “mistresses.” A few months later, I opened that email again and asked if there were still positions available.
Why did I reach out again? Of course, I was looking for more money. But also, I thought beating up men, and yelling at them would be a great way to gain the voice back that I had lost in my relationship. I was constantly being gaslit, dismissed, ignored, criticized, and made to feel that every little action I did was my fault. Engaging in dominance can be cathartic, therapeutic. I called it “physical therapy.”
The first day of work, I shadowed another Domme. He is what they called a “pain pig.” I was told to hit the soles of his feet with a riding crop. The first time I did it felt…freeing? The Domme told me that I should hit harder, that he could take it. With each subsequent hit, I felt rage. I imagined I was doing this to my ex. I was good at this.
There were some politics surrounding that dungeon that I will discuss in a later post, but I, unfortunately, didn’t get too many sessions like that. But the few sessions I did have helped me get my voice back. It allowed me to embody a character, someone who is strong, clear, assertive, until I became that character, in a way.
You’ve reached the end! If you’ve made it this far, I truly appreciate you. I was very nervous about rebooting this Substack, but I’ve gotten quite a bit of positive feedback. I even had a friend I went to college with reach out to me and thank me for sharing. It’s affirming, and makes me want to keep at it.
Until next time,
J.
Wow....deep!