Update Tuesday 10 AM:
This has nothing to do with the rest of this blog post, but I wanted to write it down and it’s not enough for an independent entry, so here it is:
I just got an email from a client–a dominant–who described me thusly: an “adorable sexual pinata.”
I’m pretty creative, but I could not have come up with that one in a million years.
It manages to be belittling, objectifying, and absurd all at the same time. The objectification doesn’t bother me much–it’s part of the job, and I don’t expect or even want most of my clients to appreciate me on a personal level. “Adorable” is sort of annoying, but lots of old guys are casually sexist and don’t even realize it. What can you do?
But “sexual pinata”? REALLY? I realize that both pinatas and myself get beaten with sticks, but REALLY? Who associates a pinata with eroticism? If there is a less sexy way to describe a masochist, I’d like to hear it.
What, does candy fall out of me if you hit me really hard? And isn’t a pinata a children’s toy–which makes the description even more bizarre and stupid?
I need to think of a passive-aggressive way I can insult this guy in my response…like a backhanded compliment. “Your emails are so funny! They read as if they were composed by Monty Python!” or “That’s MISS pinata to you, Sir!”
A sexual pinata. WTF?
* * *
This one was weird (in a good way). I feel it merits sharing.
Several posts ago, I discussed the many characters I have been asked to play in clients’ fantasies (and by the way, since I published “The Execution,” this blog has received at least two hits a day from people googleing “female executioner fetish” or some variation thereof. Isn’t that incredible?).
I have a new one to add to the list: kidnapped bride.
A young Indian man came into the Studio and hired me for a roleplay session. In the consultation, he seemed a bit nervous but also very happy. He couldn’t stop smiling.
“So, what brings you in?” I asked.
“I want you to be my true love, but you have married another man. So I am going to pick you up and run away with you and hide you in my house, because we are meant to be together.”
It took me a few seconds to process that one. Wait, let me get the Dr. Evil clip…this definitely needs the Dr. Evil clip…
I consider myself to be a feminist and this fantasy offended my political values. Then I remembered that I have recently been “abducted” and held in captivity by Heinrich & Co. at my request. Rejecting this young man would be rank hypocrisy.
“Interesting…I’m a good improv actress. Anything else…? What will you do once you get me back to your house?”
“I spank you a little until you admit that you love me and say that you are sorry for hurting me. Then we are together forever!”
Should I re-post the Dr. Evil clip…? No, no, that’s overkill…
“Can you wear a sari?” he asked.
I have a locker full of uniforms and all sorts of domme gear, but alas…I regret to report that I do not own a sari.
“No, but I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
(Incidentally, I think that saris, even the plainest ones, are beautiful clothing and I am glad that Indians have decided to keep wearing them.)
I ran back to the locker room and ghetto-rigged a sari substitute. One woman had a long, bright yellow skirt with beading and sequins sewed into it. It was too full to be a sari skirt, but I rolled up the extra fabric in back and affixed it with safety pins. Then I put on my black sports bra and draped a sparkly pink scarf around it, also affixed with safety pins.
Young Indian dude burst in the door. I looked up from my vanity, where I was putting on lipstick.
“Gupta (NOT his real name)! What are you doing here? I told you never to come here! My husband and his family will kill you!” I said.
Oh yeah. Melodrama in the Superstudio.
“You belong with me!” he said. Then he ran over, picked me up, and ran away with me slung over his shoulder, like this:
That was most of the session–him running around with me over his shoulder. I was instructed to kick my lower legs and beat his back with my hands. He would stop in front of one of the mirrors periodically to see how we looked.
When the space was clear, he’d run back and forth in the hallways with me.
The hardest part was trying not to barf, because all of that movement made me dizzy, and my head was down.
I’m amazed by males’ physical strength. Women are very tough and some are excellent athletes, and we work like beasts of burden all over the third world, but men are so much stronger. The Surgeon was my height and lean. He was strong like an ant. Have you ever seen a tiny ant lift and carry something 100X its size at a picnic?
Anyway…Indian guy ran around with me over his shoulder most of the time. Sometimes he would switch it up and carry me in his arms in front of him while I would feign protest. The lifting and carrying and kidnapping seemed to be his favorite part.
Finally, we came back to his “house.” He told me that he loved me so much that he wouldn’t let me be with another husband. I said that I only married the other man because he paid for my brother’s college tuition and bought my parents’ house.
Then said I was sorry for hurting him. I said that I always wanted to be with him, in my heart.
(note: the first time I was asked to say “I love you” in a role-play with a client, it caused me major angst. I’d never said “I love you” to anyone I didn’t really love…saying those words is extremely significant to me; I don’t just toss them off. I was being asked to roleplay someone’s wife. I told myself that it was just like acting in a play.)
He forgave me and said that he loved me and that we would go somewhere where we could live happily forever.
P.S. My abs and torso muscles are sore from writhing around in this session. I also have a tender spot on my left side above my hip bone. I think this is where his shoulder was digging in.