AAkasha
Posts: 4429
Joined: 11/27/2004
Status: offline
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Happy Thanksgiving. I sure know what I am grateful for, and I think other femdoms may agree!
When I was asked to come speak at a BDSM seminar, I was genuinely flattered. It wasn't a big seminar -- not a huge group of people or a national event, simply a local gathering of an expected batch of about 45 or 50. But I suppose it was the gesture that flattered me. That a femdom writer from the internet would have something to say amongst the rope tying experts and spanking instructors.
It was going to be a close call getting there because I had a work function beforehand, so I didn't have time to change into jeans. I was wearing a business suit, probably a bit on the conservative side, with my hair pulled up into a black clip. The heels were high, though, as I like them.
Because I was late I didn't have time to do anything but find the leader of the seminar and introduce myself. He was a man in his forties, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He looked nervous and frazzled. He was sweating, but I didn't find the room particularly hot.
"Is everything ok?" I asked him as he shook my hand and looked all around. He muttered something about the disorganization of the group and how it stressed him out. I saw a few people peering over -- the group was in folding chairs all facing the front podium where a man was showing slides of bondage furniture.
"We're running behind so I need you to get up there," he said, "We get kicked out of this room at 6 for a State Farm national sales meeting." The rented room was a meeting room at a major hotel, so that didn't surprise me. I wondered though, for a minute, just what he told the meeting planners at the hotel the seminar was on.
I didn't have time to ponder it, because he was suddenly calling me to come forward and give my talk.
*****
I was nervous.
Even though I had given talks to much larger groups of people in much more intense and pressure-filled situations, those were for my job and on topics that I had prepared. I knew my topic in this case, of course, but didn't even have an outline in front of me. I had less than a day to prepare, and he had said I should just come and talk, that most of the people there knew very much about me from my webpage.
I introduced myself to the group and commented on the slide that was still up on the screen. It was a rack, a nice one at that, and I joked that I wished I could find a place to hide that thing in my apartment.
It got only a light chuckle from the group. A nervous one almost. Probably a courtesy laugh. I brushed it off.
"Anyway," I took a breath. "Thanks for letting me come do my thing. I'll be honest, I don't have anything prepared, I just thought I would give a little background on who I am and what I do, and address something that is pretty close to me. That is, dealing with balance in my life."
I made a gesture to my clothes. "Like this. Like having a high pressure job, and an otherwise totally normal life."
As I spoke, I looked around and tried to get a feel for the people. The age range was pretty broad, but mostly upwards of my age. In my late twenties, I still get carded a lot, so I probably looked like a little girl up there in a business suit.
I babbled a little about growing up with a dual life, coming of age, bondage when I was a teenager, and the balance of my current lifestyle. Some were sitting up straight and listening intently, others looked a little hot and bored. I realized there were very few women in the group.
Finally, after about fifteen minutes, there was a bit of a lull. I thought that would be a good chance to ask if anyone had any questions, and much to my delight, several hands popped up.
*****
I pointed to the first man I saw because he was up front. He had glasses on that looked a little too big, and he was holding a bunch of bondage magazines on his lap on top of a big yellow notepad. "Mistress Akasha," he started, "Are the stories on your webpage real? Did you do all of those things?" He was looking at me intently, rubbing his nose briefly then preparing to write. I wondered if he was writing an article or something.
"Well," I laughed. "A lot of them are pretty extreme. Some are things I have done, or combinations of things. The stories about bondage and light pain are generally pretty close to my normal realm of activities. Things about non consensual kidnappings and extreme torture are more about my darker fantasies," I trailed off. "And you don't have to call me Mistress," I added with a smile. "You can just call me Akasha, that's fine."
Another hand popped up. I felt like I was a press conference, it was pretty neat. I nodded to the man and he half stood up so I could see him. Even standing, he was hard to see, a little on the short side. His hair was greased and combed over to hide a bald spot.
"Hello Ma'am it's a pleasure to see you in the flesh," he gushed. I wouldn't use the word gush if I didn't mean it; the words seemed to ooze. It made me a little uneasy, I don't feel like a celebrity at all and it felt awkward to be in that situation. I think I blushed a nice shade of red.
"I was wanting to ask you about your story which is my favorite, 'The corporate slave' letters,"
"Corporate slut," I corrected, smiling, flattered.
"Oh corporate slut, ma'am, I'm sorry," he flushed. "I wanted to ask you the time where you locked his balls up for the whole day, did you make him wear that all weekend, or let him take it off that night, ma'am?"
"You don't have to call me ma'am," I smiled. "I guess I always associated that with older people, and I don't feel so old," I laughed, trying to find some place to put my hands. "Akasha is fine. Anyway..the corporate slut stories, Uhm, the one I think you are talking about is 'cages' --"
There were murmurs at once. Several people said, "The Deal".
"Oh...ok, 'the deal,'" I continued. "That story was not based on something that I did word for word, it was a combination of a letter I sent to one of my partners along with something else I had done another time to someone else. A lot of the times they are a combination."
"So the corporate slut is a real person?". The question came from the back, unannounced, assertive.
"Yes," I nodded, peering over to see who it came from, but it was too late and I couldn't tell. "He is someone I started an e-mail exchange with and it led to a real life relationship. We used to e-mail from our jobs a lot."
There was some shifting around among the listeners, a few whispers. I was trying to make eye contact with everyone, as that generally gives me a better feel as a speaker, but many would look away at once. Some kept their heads down.
Another hand came up so I nodded to him and he stood. He was wearing leather pants and a chain harness over his naked chest. I wondered how he got into the hotel dressed like that without getting some looks. I also wondered if he should have chosen the next size up.
"Miss Akasha," he started. "I would like to know what your favorite form of CBT is."
He sat down. The whole group seemed to sit up straight, attentive, listening.
I thought for a second. This made me really uncomfortable. "It depends on the person I am with and my mood. Any other questions?"
Several more hands came up. I tried not to sigh, and my stomach was in knots. I felt like I was under a microscope. I felt like an outsider or a human spectacle. I felt staring, but when I turned to find the stare, eyes would move away. Even I started to sweat.
*****
"I have found that your stories really touch on the emotional side of S&M," the next question came. He was in his forties, wearing a pair of jeans and button down shirt. Very short hair, conservative. "Which is why I like them, they are different from the usual stuff you read on the net,"
"Thank you," I smiled, waiting for the question.
"Did you always have this emotional connection with it, or is it something that developed after you had played for awhile?"
I thought for a second as he sat down. It could have been ten or fifteen seconds, I was shaking my head, letting out my breath. "That's a great question. I think...I think when I was in my teens, I didn't exactly know what I was doing," I said to him. I could see him nodding.
"I had the drive to do it, to see a guy helpless, to put him there, to have that trust be there. To really connect on that level, to know that I was the one that put him in that state, and for him to know just who was in control."
I knew I was rambling a bit on this one, but it had only been a few seconds. Yet, I could tell most of the people were looking around and restless, except for the one that had asked me. He was nodding and listening.
"I don't think I was ever into it just out of boredom or trying to be different, I wanted to experience feelings that I associate with it -- feelings that are much more intense because they deal with things like fear, trust, helplessness and desire. So in answer to your question, I think the connection was always there, it always was more about the feelings it created in me when I was doing these things to my partner, even when we were just teens."
"What kinds of things would you do to them?" someone chimed in. I looked over and it was the CBT guy from before.
"Uhm...when I was 14 or 15, mostly light bondage and roleplaying games. We were still kids."
"Any CBT?" he followed up.
"No." I shook my head at him. He looked genuinely disappointed. I felt used. "Next question?"
A hand went up eagerly. I pointed to him. He stood, then went into the aisle, then kneeled down. I looked around awkwardly and tried not to laugh.
"Mistress Akasha," he said. Everyone looked at him but no one seemed the least bit shocked or uncomfortable. "It is an honor to meet you. I would just like to know if I could crawl to you and kiss your heel."
Everyone looked at me. I swallowed and looked around. The kneeling man looked sheepish. He looked like the guy in high school no one talked to.
"Look..." I shook my head. "I don't know you and this really isn't the appropriate place. I came here to talk about my writing."
"My humblest apologies Mistress Akasha. You are a true goddess." With that he walked -- err crawled -- back to his seat. I was about to shake it off and go to the next question when he put up his hand again.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Slave rick respectively asks to administer three nights of chastity for offending my Mistress."
"Uhm.." I hesitated. "First, I am not your Mistress. And I don't think you need to be punished, I don't even know how we got onto this subject."
Other audience members were looking at slave rick and me back and forth, like it was a novel unfolding.
"Maybe we should move on, are there any more questions?"
"Slave rick humbly requests permission to leave," came his voice again.
"Is this a joke?" I spat out, finally a little annoyed. "You can do what you want, I'm not in control of you."
"Yes Mistress."
I gritted my teeth. I desperately needed a distraction. A hand popped up, thank god.
"Miss, I would like to know, how does one become a slave to such an esteemed and honorable Mistress?"
"Are you asking me how to find a dominant partner, or are you asking me what I look for in a man?"
"Both, Ma'am."
"This could take awhile."
*****
There were chuckles from my "this could take awhile" comment, interrupted only by the few turning heads who looked to watch slave rick crawling out toward the door. I wondered if he intended to crawl all the way into the lobby, down the escalator and to the parking garage at the Hyatt.
"Seriously though, it was a joke of sorts but in a way it isn't," I said. "Finding a suitable partner for BDSM is like finding any kind of relationship partner. That is like saying 'how can I find the woman I will marry?' -- but add in another even more dynamic element to it. Compatibility and communication are so important. It can take years to click with someone, and you just have to keep looking."
"What do you look for in a slave?" I was asked right after that.
"I look for a partner first, a slave second. I look for a person I can trust, someone with common interests that I am attracted to. I look for a man who I can respect and adore, and with that comes the desire to see his submissive side, the side that he shows only to me."
The questions came even quicker and in faster succession as the group became less nervous.
"How do you train a novice?" "What would you have done to me if I were your slave in Billy in Panties?" "Why don't you write more stories about forced enemas?" "When are you going to write something about brown showers?" "Do you do golden showers?" "Do you really have all those latex clothes? "Do you have sex with your slaves?" "Do you allow your slaves to cum?" "When was the last time you used CBT?" (guess who)
And the one that did me in was another kneeling stranger, this time asking simply, "Mistress Akasha, I have read everything you ever wrote. I would like to be your slave, if you would have me." He was older than I was, wearing a stained t-shirt (and the stain wasn't new) and his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a week. "I am a worthless slave, but perhaps a goddess like yourself could find use for me in your stable."
"I won't bother to answer that," I sighed. Then, I cracked. And I don't even know how it happened, the next thing I knew, I was laying into them.
*****
"I came here thinking I was going to be asked about my mind. About why I write the things I do, what it means to be a dominant woman. About how I balance my life and maintain a relationship. How power struggles are both wonderful and dangerous. About the passion in domination."
They were silent, just staring at me.
"And most of the questions have been self indulgent, fodder for fantasies. Don't any of you care what I am like as a *human being*?"
Again, nothing.
"Do you relate at all to women on a normal level? Can you see that I DON'T like to be worshipped, called Mistress, called Ma'am by total strangers? Does it bother you that it makes me uncomfortable, or is all that matters that you get to let the words spill out of your lips so you can feel your dick get hard?"
"I am a person. I am a woman, a sensitive, emotional and passionate woman. I am not just a dominant bitch that does everything that happens in your fantasies. Bondage and discipline are about connecting on an intimate level, in the mind, not just in your pants."
"If you wanted me to just come up here and describe how I lock a ball stretcher on, how much lubricant I use on my strap on, how I would fuck each and every one of you with a vibrator or how I like forced cunnilingus, I think you are doing me and YOU a disservice."
Total silence. But I think I noticed a few erections thanks to my increasing graphic language.
"You can read magazines for that. I am about the whole picture, not just the fantasy. To be honest, I can't see someone like me ever getting close enough to one of you to dominate them, because you are all so busy wanking off to magazines that you don't look in the mirror."
They didn't even look the least bit shamed. If anything, they were watching now, shocked but intrigued.
"Think about attracting a woman, ANY woman first. Think about how you dress, how often you wash your hair. Stay in shape. Have some pride in your appearance and your ability to communicate. If you are into kink, fine, but don't walk around in public dressed like a freak, you only embarrass yourself and give us normal scene players a bad name."
To say I was on a roll is an understatement. If was as if five years of frustration over the clueless wannabes harassing me had finally come to the surface and I could vent about it. "Get a life!" I scolded. "Have something interesting to talk to a woman about so you can have some substance. Have any of you even had a vanilla relationship or are you just waiting for a fantasy woman to feed you from a dog bowl and spank you every night, force you to eat her out then lock you in a cage?"
"I have news for you. Relationships are about communication and trust. And balance. I don't think many relationships would last 45 years with not a single argument, a single hesitation, or a time when even the likes of you would not want a BREAK from being bossed around. And what woman on this planet could dictate the life of another human being for 45 years? Is she going to be dressing up in latex and 5 inch heels at 52 to use her strap on?"
At this point I noticed the seminar leader rushing up to me. He was nervous again, shaking his hands at me, sputtering. He came up to me and whispered, "What the hell are you doing!?"
"I'm teaching them something real for a change!" I hissed back.
The group could not hear us, and we were busy whispering and hissing back at each other. He was furious and told me I was rude and arrogant and had a god complex. I told him that the problem was that I DIDNT have a god complex and this group wanted nothing more than for me to have one. He then called me a bitch. I told him if I were a bitch, they would be having a much better time and getting what they obviously came for.
At that point he told me I should leave, and I agreed.
And as I collected my briefcase and purse, I glanced up and caught a guy in the front row gazing longingly at my five inch heels. Which wasn't unusual, but somehow, this time, it infuriated. I felt like I was being violated.
But what was the most ludicrous of all was what I heard the man saying to the group as I made my way out.
"Mistress Akasha just told me she is having a bit of a bad time with one of her slaves. She hasn't been able to play in awhile so apologized for getting into domspace like that. She didn't mean to nonconsensually humiliate all of you."
Nonconsensual humiliation. They liked that. The crowd approved; I could hear them chuckling and letting out their breath. Mistress Akasha still prevails. The goddess is alive. All hail the queen.
Somehow I knew that night there would be a lot of masturbation going on, and the words I had used in all honesty would turn into just another jerk off fantasy. I could have just as easily said, "You are all pathetic little worms,"; at least that would have fit better into the script I'm sure they were used to.
And they all wanted to find love, and a Mistress. Yeah, right.
*****
I sat in a coffee shop a few blocks away and cried.
It's not often that I cry in public, but I was just furious, and felt like I had been raped. How awful to use such a comparison, as if to trivialize those that had been raped in the flesh.
But I felt like my person, my essence, my true passion and what meant so much to be was used, violated and trivialized to sate the fantasies of countless men that could give a damn about what was inside of me.
I wonder what these men would have thought about. Mistress Akasha in tears. Oh, god forbid! A woman show weakness or vulnerability? Heavens know. They would crawl away quickly into the next room, afraid to shatter their delicate fantasy. They'd crawl into their cage and lock it tight waiting for Mistress to return to her normal state. You can forget a strong man's arms around you, a protector. Of course not, because dominant women are strong and rule everything.
No more webpage, I vowed. No more sharing my passion, my contradictions and challenges, the aching inside of me that I thought the thousands of readers understood and didn't simply skim over to get to "the sex stuff."
Three years on the internet. All a lie. Raped for three years.
I couldn't find a tissue in my purse.
"Shit," I muttered. And I rarely swear.
I looked up, and someone was standing there looking at me.
*****
I quickly rubbed my eyes. I was sure my mascara was running. Who was this guy, I wondered.
"Akasha," he said. Oh, no I thought. He looked clean at least. Short. Really short hair, a simple black t-shirt. "Are you ok? I just heard your talk and saw you in here when I was going by."
"I'm ok. Thanks." I was hiding my face, looking into my purse.
He took the liberty of sitting down and then said, "I'm sorry about what happened. I've been to a few of those seminars, and there are always a bunch of guys like that. They don't have any idea, they just make fools out of themselves. We aren't all like that. It's just unfortunate that the normal guys keep quiet and those types make the impression for all of us."
I sniffled and nodded. Waiting for him to ask me if I made my men wear panties on the first date.
"Do you want some coffee or something?" he asked.
"No, thanks."
"How about ice cream. I know that always cheers up a woman, any woman. Just add ice cream."
I laughed, I couldn't help it. I wondered how long it would be before he asked if a foot massage would make me feel better. My blood began to boil again. Resentment. So cynical.
He ordered ice cream even though I didn't ask for it. Without my prompting he told me what he did for a living and how he wound up there. He seemed to just start talking, since I wasn't, as if to entertain me. Then he asked the strangest question.
"Do you prefer plays or movies?"
I thought for a moment, then answered, and we ended up talking about both for a bit. The topic moved to my webpage, and I started to get tense, but his questions were all different. Sincere. About the stories that had to do with my emotions. And he told me about the conflicts he felt about submitting, about how scary but exciting it was. About how he was caught by his sister when he was 12 and had tied himself up. We compared bondage horror stories from our teens and started cracking up.
When his ice cream came I watched him eat, but declined having any myself. My appetite had not returned. I watched the way he turned his spoon in his mouth when he ate, and I found it cute. He asked what I was looking at and I told him.
He turned read and sat back, shaking his head. "Oh great, now I'm going to be totally self conscious."
I laughed. "You asked."
We both chuckled as he ate the last few bites, being careful how he held his spoon. When the waiter took the bowl away he sat back again, placed the napkin on the table and shook his head at me. "You are one complex woman, Akasha."
It was weird. A compliment but a mere statement. Or maybe not even a compliment. But he said it as if he was intrigued by it, or liked it, so I guess that would be a compliment.
"I was going to head over to the bookstore. Do you want to come along?" he asked as he slid his chair back.
I nodded, and I went.
And about half way through our trip there, as he told me about his possessed cat and how he never quite learned how to swim (they were related somehow, but don't ask me now), I realized how truly interesting he was. And intelligent. And self confident, and witty.
And he treated me like a person, not a fantasy.
Somehow it made everything ok again. And while I flipped through a book on Ireland he made faces at me over the shelf, making me hide my eyes so I didn't start giggling like a maniac.
I realized again, once more, that the few make the masses worthwhile.
But only barely.
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i just thought he could have used a good kick in the grapes on the way out, premised on getting in the way with more inappropriate questions or something. What can i say, i don't think it's fair that protagonists get all the happy endings 
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