The Sixty-Four Thousand Dollar Question
Someone sent me another one of those "How come you won't see female clients?" emails the other day. I'm averaging about one of those a week, and to tell you the truth, I'm getting rather touchy about the whole subject. So I think I better address the issue, before I absolutely go off on some poor girl just because she's the ten thousand, four hundred and thirty-third person to ask me that.
Now, people who know me personally can correct me if I'm wrong...but I think I try to be patient with people who honestly don't realize they're getting on my nerves. However, I have my weaknesses, and one of them is that I have a pretty short fuse when I think someone is questioning my limits. That's because, in my experience, it's usually not just intellectual curiosity - if someone's questioning me, it's because they think I should change my boundary to suit them, and that's not something I do. So the temptation to snap "Because I don't fucking want to," at the questioners is quite strong. And while I don't really wish to bite anyone's head off, I'm clear on the fact that,"I don't want to," is a perfectly valid reason, and I think those of you who questioned me should ask yourselves why you felt entitled to do that.
Still, in a spirit of good communication, I'll flesh out my reasoning a little for you.
My experiences with female clients have been almost uniformly bad - in some cases, really bad. I wrote a Control Tower column about it, and frankly, I'm being extremely diplomatic in that column. Out of about twenty, I have had exactly one female client who was cool. The rest of 'em? Psychos. Absolute psychos. The female client that was the subject of that CT article? I saw her only because she was a referral from a friend, and I found out later that after the session, she'd gone back to her social circle and announced that I wasn't a "real domme" because I didn't do X, Y, and Z, and she couldn't understand why anyone thought I was anything special, et cetera, et cetera. She also said she'd only come to see me to make her ex-bf jealous.
Nice. Real nice. It's not like I lost any sleep over it, but that's negative energy I don't need in my life.
So there were the stalkers and the bad-mouther. The others? Well, they didn't do anything terrible. They were just torturously difficult to play with – and I'm past the point in my career where I have to do sessions that are completely not-fun for me. I recall one woman in particular – a nice enough woman, but she got totally non-verbal and non-communicative when we played. I mean, she wouldn't talk, she kept her eyes closed tightly the entire time, she never had a facial expression or a body response that I could interpret as either pleasure or pain. It was like playing with a wind-up doll. Or an ambulatory dead person, and that's just not a fetish of mine. Call me demanding, but I like a teensy bit more feedback than that.
When I tried to talk to her about her desires for the session, what was working for her and what wasn't, she would just say, "Everything's fine. It's all really fine."
Oh, that's sexy. No: "Yes, I liked the spanking," or, "The nipple clamps were a little too strong". Instead: "Everything's fine," What a cop-out!
I suppose you'd have to understand how my male clients adore me for this to really make sense. I have fabulous clients. I think I'm the world's luckiest sex worker, to have the guys I have. It's amazing, and I frequently thank the goddess of sex work for sending me such great boys.
And my experiences with female clients do not in any way tab with my experiences playing with women non-professionally. I suppose it's because I pick the women I play with, rather than them coming to me. Thus, it's easier to sort for little things like erotomania, or a pathological inability to communicate.
So that's my rant about my experiences with female clients. I'm fully expecting some of the women who've written to me protesting this boundary of mine to write me again in the wake of this post and say, "But I wouldn't be like that!" Yes, it is a bit unfair that other people have poisoned the well for you. But there it is, so please don't force me to be ungracious to you by trying to insist that you're different and that an exception should be made for you. I wish you well, but my mind is made up. If you're truly yearning for an experience with a pro domme, my friend Lady Lydia sees women, and she's a great top. She's beautiful, too. I'm going to stick with what's working for me – boys.