'Switching' and blogging.

Decisive, fearless, planner, thrill seeker, engaged, social, self-centred, comfortable around others, image conscious, likes to be centre of attention, adventurous, outgoing, manipulative, emotionally stable, leader, ambitious, hard working, dominant, prepared, hates to be bored, confident, opinionated, analytical, prepares for worst case scenarios, organized, orderly, clean, driven, resourceful, finishes most things they start, achieving, risk taker, desires fame/acclaim, image focused, narcissistic, arrogant, perfectionist, driven, academic, scientific, critical, avoids giving in to others, does not like to compromise, sceptical ~ Classic ENTJ profile

-----

As I said the other day, I am feeling somewhat under par at present for a lengthy list of reasons. And as some of you know I am a Myers Briggs type ENTJ, heavy on the extrovert and, well, all components actually. To paraphrase I’m you’re original ‘assess, then get the job done however necessary by day, then have a big fuck off party afterwards’ type.

We talk about this a lot in the O/p group, having discovered over the years that O/p is littered with an abnormally high percentage of   INTJs , and people have sometimes asked me how I feel about the fact that ENTJs are sometimes seen as second in command types. This doesn’t bother me at all as I have spent large periods of my life as a damned fine 2IC person and excel in that role (well, as long as I respect the person in charge. Ahem. See slaves? I understand).

Incidentally, the ENTJ profile ‘trademark’ is often described as 'I'm really sorry you have to die' and though it sounds overblown I can’t say I don’t strongly identify with the sentiment. I imagine some of you can recognise this in me ;)

Anyway, when I have a slump I can occasionally become quite introverted which is highly unusual for me. An interesting side effect of this though, is that I have suddenly grown quite fond of blogging …. and let’s face it I was hardly blogging exceptionally regularly before. Again I say ‘ahem’.

I don’t feel particularly drawn to my usual interpersonal engagement, and random people asking things of me is not being met with a particularly enthused grace at present, but blogging lets me talk to people (because I’m still me, just having a comparatively introverted phase) without quite the same, suddenly draining, feeling that conversation does.  It’s interesting. I may have some vague insight into how all you INTJ types feel.

Blogging also gives me a misleading feeling of buffer so I’m doing things I may not usually do, and also feeling unconcerned with causing offense without cause. I’m not in a public space here so I can rant and wander to my hearts content without feeling like a knob. Tra la la, rant rant, oh look there’s a funny picture and a bootie shot. Have I told you about the time I anally fucked a girl with a scalding hot tea infuser? What do you think about spirituality? Do you like my shoes?

Anyway, from all this I have deduced that one of the keys to successful blogging is introversion, a theory that a totally non-scientific two minute 'poll' in her head would appear to support. N is a strongly defined INTJ. Master’s piece is an INTJ, I imagine also strongly defined. In fact most O/p bloggers are introverts from what I can tell. So, hurrah for this major scientific breakthrough brought to you from the wilds of Suffolk this fine Sunday evening!

But if it came to introversion and a semi maintained blog or my E-ness, I’ll stick with the latter. I mean, someone has to put the world to rights, offer tea and crumpets to the good people, slay a few fuckwits, and then organise a lovely party afterwards, don’t they?

Hello, I seem to have started a blog.

Hello, I'm MT, a dominant woman from the UK. Nice to meet you.
　
Now, at this stage casual readers are possibly already imagining some PVC clad dominatrix strutting archly around in six inch heels, wearing artfully applied make up, a peaked little hat, and a sneer. While I am fond of my lipgloss, and can manage a bloody good sneer on occasion, I am deeply unlikely to be found in a catsuit and skyscraper heels. At the time of writing I am sporting a fetching black tshirt with an 'anatomically correct' mermaid skeleton on bought in Brighton's Kemptown, a black lacy skirt from Monsoon (so edgy!), and men's black biker boots. I imagine the disappointment at this news may be crushing for some, but sadly can't quite find a spare fuck to give despite my best endeavours.

So now we have established that I am not a two dimensional porny dominatrix, who, pray tell, am I? And why do I call myself dominant if I don't even have the good grace to totter around my own home in spike heels and my tits busting out of a corset? Well here, gentle readers, is the abridged version;
　

• Human being, female genus. Aged 38.
• Good at control, direction and nifty with the 'Jedi Mind Tricks' of enslavement. I am successfully bossy.
• Owner of a male slave hereafter known as N, with whom I live in a committed relationship, and love very much. His main duties include making poached eggs, banging my brains out, mending things, loving me and providing nice arms to sleep in, keeping my house infinitely more tidy than it would be left to my own devices, bleeding for me as per my cravings and kink, generally entertaining me, stomping around the house looking sexy in tight tshirts and growling when he's cross, looking after me when I am unwell, receiving pain and humiliation whenever the mood strikes me and managing this mostly with good grace, making the gardens lovely, driving me about much in the manner of Lady Penelope, and making copious amounts of very nice tea.
• Opinionated, and bright enough to pull it off. I can string a sentence or two together, and people sometimes find what I say on various issues moderately interesting enough to pay me for it.
• I'm a Sadist. More on this another time (she said, titillatingly).
• Feminist. By this I mean I believe in the utter rightness of equality for all people, regardless of what they are sporting between their legs. I am categorically not a female supremacist. Female supremacy flies entirely in the face of feminism after all, and, well, the way it's done in BDSM it always looks a bit silly doesn't it? I'm not a Goddess, I'm just an old school, born to rule, woman with attitude (Ra)!

Which I suppose rather brings me back to my opening point. I'm not a FemDom person. I'm not a pro Domme, or a House Domme, or a 'Domme' at all. I'm really just a 38 year old woman with some rather varied life experience, a few thoughts, lots of opinions, a great deal of determination, a slave, a submissive or two here and there, lots of lovely friends, far too many books, and an addiction to Earl Grey. I would also really like to also have shiny hair but that doesn't seem forthcoming anytime soon.

I suppose I should now really cover Why I Think FemDom Stuff Is Bollocks and get that out the way. It's simple really - I'm just not ashamed of being a woman. While I have many flaws as a human being - I leave hair (unshiny) in the plughole of the shower, spend too much time pissing about on the internet when I'm meant to be being productive, and sometimes read texts I need to talk about on the way to talking about them, - the presence of a uterus and inny rather than outy genitals is not something I see as one of these flaws. The truth is that I rather love being a woman.

　

You see, to my mind, the majority of FemDom rhetoric seems to me to have a very low opinion of women - all that subtext screaming out that submitting to a woman is a degrading act is both inane and would piss me right the fuck off. And trying to disguise this tripe by blithering on about how the woman is a Supreme Dominant Goddess usually seems such a craply unconvincing attempt at covering this up, that anyone would think that really it's just an afterthought to try to quasi-legitimise a very fucked up game, having spotted such a major flaw in the 'philosophy'....

I mean, if the best quality person I could find to submit to me was a ‘pathetic little maggot’ then I'd be a pretty shite dominant. I enjoy having people I think highly of submitting to me, that's my thing. It gets me wet, emotionally, politically and sexually.

Speaking of which I also find all the "you have a teeny weeny cock and are a pathetic little worm, boy" stuff cringeworthy. There is a political point coming (no, really), but first the hot stuff; I like fucking. I like fucking very very fucking much indeed. You could say it's my life's work, my calling (when I'm speedily reading those texts on the way to a talk you can usually bet it's because I've been shagging in the time I planned to be diligently working). So anyway, I like sex. And therefore do I want some sexually inept man in my bed? Do I long for someone with a tiny cock? Do I pant with desire and drip down my muscled yet plumptious thighs at this thrilling thought? Does the idea of poor sexual esteem seem likely to you to result in a stupendously brilliant, screamworthy shag? Because it doesn't to me.

I get humiliation, really I do. In fact I somewhat excel at dishing it out. But I like a sexually advanced and depraved man in my bed. I like someone with their Life shit together, who submits to me because they think I'm fucking brilliant, not because they think they're a bit shit, or because they get a naughty little thrill out of lowering themselves to 'submit' to a woman.

　

Really, I find most of this whole FemDom thing about as convincing as telling me that Katie Price with her dysfunctional misery and her sagging silicone and her public desperation is a feminist icon, or that lap dancing clubs with their junked up women who look like orange anorexic depressed drag Queens are havens of female empowerment, or that too tight thong underwear riding up your fanny is sexy and empowering and For Women rather than just an uncomfortable, bulgy-yet-speedy way to get a UTI. Whether the kink the women are servicing is forced feminisation ("degrade me by making me look like some fucked up Eurotrash vision of the feminine. Empowerment baby"!), or whatever, it's just... well aside from being fucked up which is the main point, it's also tacky and I find it really really unsexy. I'm never going to get wet knickers at the thought of a man with hairy stocking-clad legs telling me he has a naughty little maggot between his thighs and he deserves it chopped off for being a bad, bad boy.

And I think that's my real objection to FemDom conventions really. It just seems to me to be a sort of pantomime interactive porn for men, almost designed to degrade women. Lots of men may want women strutting around in spike heels and corsetry, and I don't see that as any different to male dominants who want their chick submissives in white cotton panties and school skirts. And I actually think there's nothing wrong with that, I'm all for people getting their rocks off anyway they please - vive la difference! But if it's only for male fantasy it's not bloody serving me, now is it?

And I like being served. Not as much as I like controlling and being obeyed but I'll take all I can, because I can. I can have what I want, and then some more. I like seeing my man sweat for me while he writhes in pain, or watching his muscles ripple while he works for me. I like him in tight tshirts, and well fitting jeans because he looks shaggable. I like his big strong arms to sleep in, and his lovely fat cock to come on. And more than that, I like my man to be someone I admire and respect, and for the fact I own him to be a reflection of the fact I think he's someone pretty fucking cool.

My kick is owning a three dimensional, intelligent, capable, strong, funny, hot piece of arse who doesn't need to submit to anyone, but submits to me, and totally belongs to me. Who doesn't have to delude himself that I am some pseudo-Goddess poster child for womanhood to deal with me. Who is cool with the fact that I'm a bit fucked up and that means I crave some freaky shit. You see, being a three dimensional woman means I want a three dimensional man to stomp through life having adventures with me.

And being a dominant woman means I want to own him. See? It all makes perfect sense.