Fear & Danger

At yoga practice last week the teacher partnered us up to work on hand stands. I was paired with a very timid girl who was too scared to flail herself upside down against the wall into the hand stand position. Although I’m not good enough to do it without wall support yet, I have no hesitation doing a hand stand against the wall. I know that no matter how badly I fuck up, I’m not going to hurt myself. My feet will hit the wall, but I couldn’t possibly do it hard enough to cause any damage.

I demonstrated this several times for the timid girl and explained that she couldn’t hurt herself if she tried, she just had to assertively throw herself against the wall. Easy!

She couldn’t do it. Too scared.

It got me thinking about fear and perception of danger.

It reminded me of a conversation I recently had with a girlfriend. When I told her I was being flown to New York for a date of sorts her first response was: “oh, be careful!” This really rubbed me the wrong way…I suppose it’s my knee-jerk reaction to authority or Mothering. I launched into a bit of a rant asking her what exactly she thought I needed to be careful of? Rape? Murder? White slavery? Getting my heart broken? It was my safety she was worried about which frankly was pretty much the last thing I was concerned about. The idea that a man would fly me across the country to hurt me? Especially after proving his own identity (so he’s not even anonymous). And ME? Ha! I’m not exactly an easy target if you’re looking for a victim. I may be petite but I would not go quietly into that good night, I assure you.

I’m asked once in awhile if I worry about my safety seeing clients for private sessions….new film slaves, etc. The answer is that I’m no more concerned than I am of any random act of violence, a random car accident, an earth quake, etc. Shit happens in life. We do the best we can. I screen clients, I keep my wits about me when I’m walking alone at night, I wear a seat belt…beyond that, I live my life. More people in this world would rather hug you than hurt you. Love more, fear less. (Those last two lines come from the brilliant Halcyon who I know personally from Burning Man: http://hugnation.com/ )

I have seen literally hundreds of clients over the years. Of all those strangers and opportunities for something to go wrong I’ve only had one incident. It was with a client I had seen twice before without any problems. On the third visit I was training a new Domme, so I wasn’t even alone. In the middle of the session, without warning, he jumped up and grabbed me. He pushed me against the wall aggressively and the other Domme shouted at him. He immediately let go and ran down the hall and hid in the bathroom. I told him to leave which he did quietly.

I was shaken…mostly because I didn’t see it coming. It was simply random and at the end of the day I understood that. Shit happens. A nutter could have randomly attacked me in a grocery store.

Fearlessness doesn’t come from an absence of danger. It comes from surviving. After surviving all the crazy stuff that has happened so far in my life I have faith that I can handle myself in most situations. If shit does happen, I’ll be able to deal with it.

Fearlessness is also about a calculated risk. Ask yourself what’s the worst that can happen? Then ask yourself what’s the BEST thing that can happen?

My biggest fear is NOT¬† ‘living’ my life. I don’t want to regret NOT doing something. The Mae West quote I live by: “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”

So, I’ll boldly flail myself against a wall and I’ll happily go to NY for a date with a stranger. *smile*
Mistress T

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Hand stand! (Pic taken by a friend, way easier than trying to take my own pic!)

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to take a picture of yourself doing a hand stand?

Hand stand...face standing...why not?

Random trampling pic...

Another random trampling pic to demonstrate my superior balancing skills...

Balancing on one foot in fetish boots? Somewhat impressive...

From office to strip club…

The summer I sold tequila on the nude beach I met two young women who were pretty but did not look like what I thought strippers should look like. They encouraged me to visit them at the strip club where they worked as non-contact private dancers (that means that they danced in front of a man but there was no physical contact between them). I found the whole thing intriguing but felt I was ‘above’ being a stripper. I had been using my big beautiful brain and purposefully not using my looks most of my adult life.

I reluctantly took an office job which I hated. I felt it was time for me to go back to being a responsible adult after my six months of travel and summer on the nude beach. Months past and I was bored so I looked for a bigger challenge. I found a better office job in outside sales and I worked my tail off for three months. I wasn’t given a sales quota as they expected new sales people to sell basically nothing the first quarter as they learned. I was aggressive and sold more than most of the seasoned sales staff, people who had been there for years. At the end of the probation period, they fired me. I was so shocked I laughed. I thought it was a joke. They explained that they wanted to build a company that was like a family, they wanted staff that would stay for the long term. I was so ambitious they figured I would just use them as a stepping stone and be onto something bigger in less than a year. I suppose they were right.

It was May 18 and I knew beach season would be starting up again soon. I was relieved to be free of the office world. I also decided to do something impulsive. I bought a wig and some slutty cloths. I went into the strip club and applied for a job as a private dancer and was hired immediately. I didn’t know anything about this world, this culture and I made some serious mistakes…but I knew how to sell and that’s what I did. I worked the room and I sold private dances. I was unstoppable. The customers loved me. Everyone else hated me. They thought I was cheating, charging less, ‘undercutting’ the other girls. It was untrue. I was charging more. I made more money than I had ever made but feared for my safety every night. It was a rush. I was someone else, disguised, a sexual vixen, desired by men, hated by women. I had all the power. The men weren’t allowed to touch me, they weren’t allowed to jerk off. I didn’t touch them. They could just look at what they could not have. I knew they would think about me later, when they were with their wives or girlfriends or when they were alone. I knew some of them probably jerked off in the bathroom or in their car after. I got off on their lust. I had a lover that I went home and fucked every night and every morning. All that sexual energy, I was like a cyclone.

This lasted for only four short months but it was enough time to save up for a down payment for a condo. I could have kept going but a violent, dangerous situation finally made me fear for my safety enough to leave that place. It was only a matter of time before something bad happened. I was not safe there.

I realize there are those who may be quick to judge and compartmentalize…saying that I’m less of a Domme for having experimented with submission (previous blog entries) or that I’m not worthy of respect because I was a stripper. I know too well the stigma that is attached to that profession. I encourage you to look at the individual and the unique set of circumstances before passing judgement and painting everyone with the same brush. This is the story of how I became who I am today and no one can deny that I am a very successful Female Dominant. In the words of the great Shrek, “I’m like an onion, I’ve got layers.”

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