When I was a dominatrix

I.
you drove me to work every afternoon laughing
at how easy it can be to earn so much, to do
so little. I never told you about the seventeen
minutes of fear, alone in a room with this unknown,
possible peditor, the way I listened with my whole

body; I felt what should come next. You saw me:
the high heeled boots, shining vinyl bustier,
my Betty Paige bangs. You saw red lipstick,
eyeliner. You felt the welts I left on your back,
you hear my husky-voiced commands.

II.
Inside my stiffened, well shaped cacoon, my heaving
breasts were not born of excitement. I was not
throbbing with desire for your flesh. I kept my fear
and left you with pleasure. While I held that
many tailed whip, I sent it sizzling thru the air,
I made it crack and twitch against your skin,
I was the one being tortured for your pleasure.

III.
That fall, when I was a dominatrix, I gave.
I gave and gave and gave and gave. I pushed
your face into the floor with my boot, I pressed
your nose against concrete until it bled, I tied
you up and left your when the snows finally
came to press against the wounds.
Your frayed skin, in the end, was mine.

5 Comments

Filed under lust and love, poetry, The muse

5 responses to “When I was a dominatrix

  1. That last line in Part II seems to be so central to what the poem’s doing. I love the way you create tension in this way.

  2. this is a great title for a piece. it makes for fascinating narration and prepares us for the “violence” that loving (or not loving) (or unloving) can be. oh, and not being truly seen. that’s violent, too.

  3. Part 111 is really strong. I love how you’ve given her the sort of voice we wouldn’t expect. Happy holidays, you.

  4. Michelle

    Great images and so clever.

  5. If you want to read a reader’s feedback 🙂 , I rate this post for four from five. Detailed info, but I just have to go to that damn yahoo to find the missed bits. Thank you, anyway!

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