Take two people: one, a young whip-wielding dominatrix clad in glistening black latex, so tight that it appears her second-skin; lips the colour of blood and eyes so thickly lined in black kohl so that you can’t help but notice them from miles away. She snarls, snapping the whip inches before you, her voice risen to gravelly tones, sharp, and booming. It commands your attention.

The other, a modest gentleman, mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, average height, to just a bit short, decent shape, but far from muscle-bound. He wears a simple suit, appearing like just another cog in the American corporate machine. His voice is steady, but not particularly noteworthy. He stands before you, asking you a simple question, or making an equally simple statement.

Now.

Of the two of them, who has the power? You may say this is an unfair comparison, and most unscientific — one is a man, the other a woman. Apples and oranges. Still, the whip-wielding dominatrix is more quickly linked to ‘power’ in most people’s minds than the older, average-appearing gentleman.

Is that what you think, too? If so, you’d be wrong.

(more…)

I guess due to Mister P’s outburst earlier this evening, that we’re evidently taking a break from our kink. I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised, since I have seen it coming for awhile now — just wasn’t sure how to interpret, process, or phrase it. I’m still not; but writing is a wonderful way for me to better understand my own thoughts, and reach some kind of understanding. So, let’s begin at the beginning — since it’s typically the place to start.

Somewhere around February, our kink took a dive. Why? Maybe it was related to my getting my audio drama back online, and preparing to launch that ten-years-in-development project. Maybe it was his taking more hours at work. Maybe it was our nigh constant traveling throughout the month. Or maybe … it was something unexpressed, that had been growing for awhile. Maybe it took watching a powerfully obviously femdom Japanese film called Moonlight Whispers; though it was released a decade ago, it’s shockingly current. And in the end, the real take-home message seemed to be ‘kink always wins’. (To better understand that phrase and its full meaning, pick up the film. You won’t be disappointed.)

What did I realise? Something I had already known, and said a few times before, but eventually somewhat dropped and allowed to fade into the background — because it’s too complicated, or otherwise painful(?) to confront head-on:

I don’t like fake control.

(more…)

Oh, my relationship with all-things-Wonderland runs deep, and stems from as far back as I can remember; traipsing about my grandparents’ mansion as a young girl, pretending that I was wandering a world far from this one.

It’s no wonder that my masterpiece would be a derivative works — for those unfamiliar, known as Hunting Alice, soon to be an audio drama series and broadcast on the Internet.

This, strangely enough, is not about that … exactly. This is about something else. Deeper. The roots of Roulette, in some sense. While I am always aware of myself, I do have momentary lapses of … treason? No. Season? Hmm, not quite. And ‘reason’ doesn’t cut it, since they’re not always unreasonable; but they do change me.

There are many people milling about in my head — many of which whom are my own creations, and present themselves in my fiction works. But sometimes, I get a bit too method. Certain characters, unfortunately, are so deeply ingrained within me that when something triggers them (or someone) it’s all I can do to keep firm hold of myself. It’s just so otherwise natural to slip into the masque of someone else.

(more…)

Two things: I’ve had a few people wonder where my blogging went, and, my fiance will post his responses to rather intriguing messages every now and again on his own journal. Regarding the first — I’ve been really busy; hope you’re enjoying the Podcast. And for the latter, I give you the following from a basic spam-message off CollarMe.com — the sender being a ‘TV/TS slave on female hormones’ looking to be ‘sincerely owned and irreversibly feminised for real’. (That last part is said about 4 other times throughout the entire message. Not kidding.)

So. The following was my response:

[name given],

Okay, hang on — I didn’t get it the first four times. You’re looking to be owned and irreversibly feminised? For real?

Just messing with you. But I do have to wonder if you didn’t simply C&P that sentence all over the place. Not that it doesn’t get your point across; it does. Of course, the whole email is C&P and impersonal. But as a psychosexual therapist, I have to wonder what’s brought you to the point of seeking ‘irreversible feminisation for real’ anyway. That’s the psychological equivalent of wanting to go into the kitchen, take a butcher knife, and chop your own dick off. (Ouch.) These things don’t happen suddenly; they’re fueled by a lifetime of situations and circumstances leading one to dislike and wish to disassociate with their own sex so much that they seek total obliteration.

So, before you go gung-ho on a website like CollarMe.com, seeking relocation and ‘real-time Mistresses’ who will ‘own’ and ‘irreversibly feminise’ you, you’ve got to ask yourself — what brought you here in the first place?

People in the TS community may not like this, but here’s a bit of scientific reality, brought to us via evolutionary biology. When the mind-blowing combination of sperm and ovum that brought you here created zygote then fetus, your male genetic destiny was irreversibly born into being. (This is why I chortle especially at your insistence of ‘irreversibility’. Since once it happens, it ISN’T reversible.)

As many popular celebrities, public figures, plastic surgeons, scientists — and even your own stylist –have shown us, the body is a very malleable thing, capable of great customisation. We can be born brunette but transformed into a blonde, 200 pounds overweight and magically made into a size zero — all with the skilled use of chemicals, a knife, and some diagramming.

Now, there IS no such thing as a ‘blonde brain’, despite all of the timeless blonde jokes throughout our society’s history — but a male brain? Female brain? You bet your cock, there is. And changing it? No.

Now, here’s where it gets even more dicey. (more…)

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Welcome to 2010.

Now that that‘s out of the way, onto more crucial matters.

For those as-of-yet somehow unaware, Mister P and I got engaged during our pre-Holidays Vegas trip. It truly was one of the happiest moments in my life to date — and still is. I even have a wonderful temporary engagement ring to prove it.

It do indeed sparkle, all the same.

Honestly, the engagement ring is a symbol of a lot more than being engaged. It’s something of a primer for a marriage.

Allow me to explain, oh, disbelievers.

Unless you’ve done it, you can’t fathom the feeling of wearing an engagement ring — or, well, being female. (Though there are cultures that allow men to wear them, and I’m inclined to have Mister P do the same, since our engagement will be a longish one, it’s not typical in Western society.) The attention it gets you, the reminder of what’s to come, and … the upkeep.

Oh, yes. The maintenance. The way it impacts your daily life — in fact, every minute of it. Now, sure you can say, to hell with all of it, and let it gets banged-up, tarnished, the stones chipped or lost, or the whole thing can just become dull and lose its lustre. You’ll still get attention — but of the negative kind. People will notice your once-lovely, or could-have-remained-beautiful ring and wonder what happened.

This is a perfect, and I mean perfect metaphor for a relationship transitioning into a marriage.

Once the glass slipper fits, and the white horse awaits, life is what happens — and don’t let Hollywood or the faerie-tales of old fool you. In order for a relationship to keep its shine as it becomes a marriage — and after — it takes lifestyle changes, and more attention and dedication on your behalf than you ever thought possible. Now, you’re paying attention to every little thing that you do throughout your day. And, if you’re (well, female) and anything like me, you’re constantly either washing your hands, cleaning something, applying lotion, makeup, cleansers, typing, straightening things, racing around and getting other things done, and knocking into things in your way (at times). Which are all habits that will destroy a ring worn daily and of great value.

Now, you could, as mentioned before, forgo the whole thing — and just take it off. Completely. And wear it only when it’s convenient for you. Instead, you’re supposed to care for it; keep it in a jewellery box at night, polish it during the day, and carefully clean it frequently. And it will sparkle and draw attention from the world to admire its beauty and brilliance. It doesn’t have to be a diamond, or even similar to. It can just be a $15 buck piece of Austrian crystal in an imported-from-Spain designer collection picked up in the unlikeliest of places, (Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament Park) to serve a purpose. It’ll still sparkle, still shine, and still show the world that you’re not only taken and happy about it, but that you’re proud of that fact.

Our subconscious minds process billions of information. Billions. That means everything that happened to you as a kid, and now, gets filed away in this endless library of bullshit that dominates your entire existence. Fact. (Well, theory, but you get the idea. Widely popular, widely held theory.) And if you don’t think that resentment for your relationship in general won’t come out in the care of something as tangible and concrete as the piece of jewellery that directly represents it — well, you’re kidding yourself.

My new temporary engagement ring is kind of a pain in the ass, to be honest, and I’ve thought multiple times of just not wearing it, since he graced my finger with it (and somehow was able to get it to fit perfectly — which I can’t do just by putting it on myself. As to why, I am dumbfounded. I’ve tried everything — in multiple temperatures, at different angles — nothing. Always just a bit slippery.) Now, my custom-designed real-deal engagement ring, which won’t be in existence for another few months or so, will fit me perfectly, so the fact that my temporary is a bit unwieldy gives me extra practise. But the concept remains the same. It takes time, attention, and care. And I can either choose to invest it, and reap the benefits, or neglect it, and suffer the consequences.

Just like the emergent marriage it represents.

Being a largely traditional, natural female dominant, it’s a big switch for me. I can’t do all of the things I want to do right when I want to. It teaches you discipline very quickly. And, I hate to say, but a lot of dommes are lacking in discipline. We like to think just because it’s all about us and we’re in charge, and blah, blah, blah that we’re amazing people who deserve praise and devotion.

We don’t.

(more…)

We’re not honest enough.

A lot of it has to do with our modern society; they way we hole ourselves up or pile into shiny metal boxes, contestants in a suicidal race. (Thank you, Sting.*) We all want love, companionship, to be understood, and affiliated with something. We seek to belong — even if we can’t admit it. Sometimes, and most often, to ourselves.

I hope you’re enjoying our Podcast. I’ve noticed a theme among the episodes: the dispelling of many myths in BDSM or the alternative lifestyles in general, and we’ll continue to do that. Especially femdom. There’s a tonne of myths surrounding the practise of a female-led relationship. Female supremacy is a big one. I know it gets a lot of subby boys hard, but I can’t be down with something that’s obviously false just because it has arousing capabilities. I wouldn’t be me.

That’s actually what I’m here to share with you today. Some stuff you may not know about me. While Mister P breathes into my ear how powerful I am while my strap-on is plunged deep into him, the truth is, power is relative and circumstantial. I may carry myself with an air of self-sufficiency and the knowledge that I have just as much right to be here that anyone else does, but I worry. I get scared. I can be driven to tears — though, rarely ever in the company of someone else. I do have my pride — whatever the hell that means. There are days I want nothing more than to throw my arms around Mister P when he gets home and curl up next to him on our sofa while he surveys his stock portfolio. It can feel like one of the most peaceful places on earth to me. If I can’t get to sleep, just the steady and rhythmic beating of his heart can lull me to dreamland — arriving with warm, fuzzy thoughts. I jest that my body has come to interpret his arm across my torso as we sleep as a ‘nightmare guard’, as I’ve woken short of breath to find that he’s turned over on his side at some point during the night — which, strangely enough, doesn’t happen if I wake to find I’m still nuzzled against his forearm. I may be a dominant woman, but I’m also a human being.

I realise this isn’t something you want to hear, since it continues to shatter those myths you hold so dear. (Hey, I rhymed.)

Dommes need subs. (more…)

If you’ve ever heard the (semi-popular) hit by the Pet Shop Boys, ‘Rent’, you may know what its true origins are. And, you may not. But if you’re a male slave, you’d be able to relate to them. For ease, here’s a few:

You dress me up, I’m your puppet.
You buy me things, I love it.
You bring me food, I need it.
You give me love, I feed it.

Are you feeling it yet? Curiously, though, the song is about rentboys — a derogatory term for a male which prostitutes himself. Typically, for money, and, in the case of the rentboys, to have a place to live. (Don’t tell me you aren’t seeing the similarities.) Not bad if all is gravy, as the song seems to indicate. Everyone’s happy, and fulfilled.

Or are they? (more…)

Now, I’m typically not one to sling mud. There are better things to do with my time, and it’s not exactly the most lady-like. (But then again, there are times that I’m hardly that, too.) But it’s been increasingly obvious to me that those who would qualify for a Mistress Akasha Support Group could easily keep me in business for years. It’s one thing to write a lot of erotica and run online training programmes. It’s another to lead individuals from those programmes to believe they are somehow separate from the others; ‘special’. Furthermore, when she has no intentions on following through on any of her promises. Ever. (Which can be a very frustrating thing. I know.) For some, it’s sheer obliviousness, or the result of oppression, being commitment-phobic, and so on. But for others, it’s a whole other ball-game.

For one, Akasha is a narcissist. Pure and simple, she lives in a fantasy world of her own creation to escape the fact that she has never had the capacity for true intimacy or to find real happiness. And God knows why; her life is fine. It has been for ages. And yet, she continues to use, abuse, and discard men. And men continue to let her because it’s ‘hot’. Sure, the concept may be veritably on fire, but the reality will leave you cold. Because that’s all it is and should be: fantasy. Subs are attracted to her because she’s a ‘true femdom’. Fine. Great. And no doubt, many submissive man’s idea of a female dominant is cold, hard, calculating, cruel, and selfish, but the even colder, harder truth is that such a person makes a shitty girlfriend. And probably an even worse wife.

Think about it. You’re a submissive man, and you’re in love. Finally, you’ve found everything your heart has ever desired: strong, independent, successful, beautiful, popular, and an uber-domme with dozens — maybe hundreds — of men at her feet, or dying to be there. Clearly, you’re more into her than she’s into you, but that’s okay, because she’s at least giving you her time and attention, which means you have more than a snowball’s chance in hell of winning her affection. Perhaps, one day, after your trials and tribulations, she’ll be so proud of your selfless suffering, service, and devotion that she’ll love you as deeply and entirely as you do her, since you were the one man who proved to her that you were everything she wants and needs, and now she’ll be forever yours, and you’ll both live happily ever after in femdom bliss.

Ahhhhhh.

But, wait — come to think of it, I hope you really like waiting, because that’s what you’ll be doing a lot of, and for an indefinite amount of time. That’s right, indefinite. As in potentially — make that, likely — never-ending. Waiting, waiting, waiting for her to call or email you back. To want to see you again. To pay attention to you at all. But this is what you’ve wanted — right? The chance to prove to your one true love, that woman you’ve always been waiting for since you were a young boy with raging hormones, that you’re all that, the bag of chips, and the super-sized beverage? Because it’s in your sweet nature to want to be of service. To give of yourself so completely. You’re sure if you just put in (though, after awhile, it feels more like ‘do’) the time, that you’ll be rewarded with all of your dreams and desires coming true.

Sigh. You poor boy. I don’t know how to break this to you — well, okay, I do, but you’re going to have to really brace yourself — but … she’s just not that into you. Don’t take it personally; she’s just not that into anyone. She can’t be. The only one Mistress Akasha loves is herself. Period. And if it stands in the way of her being able to satisfy the one who means most, then she will do it. Unfortunately, that person is often you.

Now, you’re probably wondering who the fuck am I to be targeting a ‘legendary’ woman who has contributed to BDSM and femdom erotica for over a decade. What could I possibly know, and why would I have such a decidedly nasty approach? Well, the truth is, I don’t know her. We’ve never once met, and have only passed each other on various boards and forums. But once upon a time, my boyfriend was one of those madly in love and carelessly discarded after a year or so after an intense relationship he hoped would last his lifetime. We’re not talking about faceless subs in a chatroom or enrolled in her online training programme. We’re talking flesh and blood, visage a visage, real deal. So, forgive my overly catty tone. I’m sure you can understand. (Although why she let him go is something I never will; nor will I ever do. Of course, in that regard, I can always be grateful to her.) (more…)

As the great femdom validity experiment continues, (more like meanders underneath everything else, but hey,) more still becomes apparent; in part, a byproduct of our environment. While female-led relationships aren’t quite what one would call common, they are moreso in the kinky subculture. But even still, not 24/7. That was something I specifically wanted to explore as part of the greater experiment as a whole. While it’s ongoing, I have a few findings — which likely won’t be encouraging for some.

In short, total-power-exchange relationships don’t work.

Now anyone who grew up in a female-led household (such as myself) is going to balk at that and remain sceptical. I was, too. But remember, this isn’t just about what’s possible — it’s also about what’s healthy. Regardless of sex or gender, a total power exchange relationship quickly becomes fertile ground for abuse. That understanding lies in the very foundation of what makes one mature versus immature. Most traits and behaviours can be classified according to whether they are synonymous with adult accountability or juvenile dependency. Paradoxically, the stereotypical female dominant expresses more juvenile-dependent traits and behaviours — rivalling those of most children! Self-entitlement, required assistance, no accountability, emotional manipulation to have own way, irresponsibility, recklessness, enablement, ignoring social etiquette, self-centredness, arrogance, refusal to share or compromise, use of others’ resources, and dependent upon another for most things.

It really baffled me. Conceptually, the female dominant is in charge, which allows the male submissive to be youthful, child-like and at her mercy. But in reality, practical application seems to fly in the face of theory and the abstract representation of what femdom should be. Over time, it becomes perplexing — and misleading — as to just what real femdom is — or even should be. If the male subs are the ones doing all of the work, providing a framework in which the domme can even function, then the members of that dynamic are seriously fooling themselves as to which direction the power is flowing.

To further my point, a bit of developmental psychology. And a lot of metaphor. Of course, to avoid it being too dry, there will be pirates. (You like pirates, right? Who doesn’t like pirates?) (more…)

Like anything, BDSM has its own terminology, and as such, there are many terms for what it is I am: female dominant, domme, and domina seem to top the list. And, while we aren’t the majority, I have met some wonderful fellow dommes, dominas, and fem-dommes. I’ve also seen plenty similarly identifying for which I find the moniker indeed questionable. So, in a concise manner, I’m going to share my thoughts on this marketing phenomenon; perhaps, even concluding with my assumptions for it being the way it is.

While phone sex lines are perennial, phone domination, or ‘phone dommes’ are very much en vogue at current. Does this mean that there’s increased ease of finding a genuine female dominant or professional dominatrix at the end of the line? I remain sceptical. While there’s a good number of us pro-dommes hanging out on such third party services in our off-hours, (I have an account with NiteFlirt), the bulk of the listings are barely legal bottle-blonde with IQs to match their body weight. Hordes of ‘bratty princesses’ with stereotypical head cheerleader dispositions wear slutty clothes in demeaning poses, with market-ready femdom phrases, but deplorable grammar and not a spell-checker in sight. (It’s ‘dominant’, honey, not ‘dominate’. But don’t worry — you aren’t.) It almost seems a joke with how much these photographs have nothing to do with the femdom-centric phrasing.

And a word on age. I’m a young domme, and I’ve got a decade on these girls. (more…)