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epitome of incomprehensibility
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You're not a word yet here? Oh yes you are. You've been a naughty, naughty lacuna. Your nonexistence can lick my high-heeled boots. Slavishly.
Last week, this was one of my fake dream careers. I hadn't posted it on Things Learned because I'd another, more concise "lesson" - and this one I'm still trying to puzzle out. It seems weird, even for me.
(Origins of dream idea aren't complicated: I'd joked before, to a friend, that I couldn't follow in my father's librarian footsteps because female librarians also had to be dominatrixes (-matrices?) until they got old enough to be your stereotypically grumpy old-lady shushing sorts. And then months later I found a fictional, non-porn, example of a librarian/dominatrix in the comic Girls with Slingshots, which made me happy.)
So so so so. It's more a daydreaming-about-careers-dream. I'm wondering if someone short can be a dominatrix, and I have a vision: anyone can order a dominatrix kit off the Internet. They don't have to be a particular gender, they just have to wear the clothes. There's lots of black leather, including a mask that looks something like Catwoman's, and the handhold of a whip with short tails ending in knots - soft cords, not designed for real torture, but which presumably could draw blood if applied hard and repeatedly.
The whip poses a problem. A metro car flashes before my eyes, with serious-looking businesspeople and nosy high school students inside. How would I store it, coming back from work? In what suitcase would a whip look less like a whip?
Next, there's an image of me standing behind a man and whipping him. He looks young, what with his unshaven face and blond hair falling over it. He wears glasses. I'm trying to feel angry about something, so that this makes sense, but he simply wants to be whipped. Very well. I whip him. Then there's some demand, a voice from above, that I have to finish off by sticking a dildo in his ass.
Annoyed now, I refuse, because that would be too much like "real sex" and that isn't what I want to do. Why? Lack of experience, but not just that... Because (my thoughts say, more confidently now, as if they've stumbled on a solution) it's degrading to pay for sex. Not to sell sex, no, but to pay for it, and I don't want to degrade this man who's a complete stranger. The vision dissolves.
My thoughts say: The problem is, I like violence and not sex.
My waking thoughts say: No, no, that shouldn't be right. I meant to think that for me personally it doesn't make sense to combine the two.
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