Mar. 28, 2022

IS IT EVER-TOO-LATE TO BE A DOMINATRIX?


 
A few years after moving to Atlanta, I crossed paths with a handsome man in an American Airlines uniform in a popular Atlanta Department Store. He smiled and graciously-volunteered to help me shop for shoes. It was certainly clear he wasn’t a shoe salesman.

When I sat down to try on a pair of shoes from the sale rack, the uniformed man took the empty seat next to me and-- holding out his hand-- introduced himself as Mitchell, a pilot for American Airlines.  While removing my shoes, I took a quick glance at my seat mate, noting how intensely he was studying my feet.  Standing in front of the long mirror, studying  the sale shoes, the stranger insisted on voicing his opinion:  “I can’t help but notice your feet are very slender and--  “You have such delicately-curved ankles” AND--- “Oh, I’m so in love with how your arches so elegantly—caress the inside of those high heels.”

Perhaps, in the beginning, I was flattered by the attention but soon-- I’d had enough of the submissive behavior and weird comments.  Nervously, I put on my own shoes, muttered something about another appointment, then hurried away. Under normal circumstances, I’m very- attracted to a man in uniform but--- not this time and--- not this man.

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When I moved-back to Little Rock in 1983, I continued my commitment to daily-running.  My favorite place to run was the nature trail near the Arkansas River. At some point, during the summer, I began receiving mysterious calls from a man who, apparently, was following me on some of my runs.  The mysterious caller could describe what I was wearing on certain days and-- the exact time of day I was running. I was shocked to hear this stranger describe—whether to me or on my answering machine---- how he wanted me to stand on his chest-- kick him--urinate on him--and strangle his neck between my “two, very-powerful--- long legs.”

In the next few weeks, I taped three of the stranger’s explicit phone calls before playing the tapes for the Little Rock Police Department.  Police Detectives insisted I arrange a meeting with the mysterious caller as soon as possible.  The chief of police assured me I’d be safe because I’d be followed to the meeting spot by special officers in an unmarked car. Realizing the mystery man could be dangerous, I felt relieved--- simply-knowing the police would soon arrest this unstable caller.  I was more- than- ready for the stressful phone calls to end.  

My heart was beating like a drum when I arrived at the designated meeting spot.  A few minutes later, the mystery man pulled up in a late-model Mercedes convertible, got out, and walked toward my car. Without hesitation, he opened my car door and climbed inside. Immediately, six policemen, guns pulled, surrounded my car and took control. I couldn’t have been more surprised when I turned to look at the mysterious caller. I knew his name--in fact, I knew his wife! He was a wealthy businessman who was married to another Miss Arkansas.

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Shortly before my divorce, in 1973, a prominent Pine Bluff Attorney began calling my house, telling me he wanted to “service” me. Naïve and inexperienced, I was embarrassed by the attorney’s descriptive comments. I listened—in horror-- as he described how he wanted to be my obedient servant; to wear a ruffled apron over his nude body and cook for me; how he wanted to chauffeur me, run errands, wash and dry my hair, and clean my house--- all in the nude. With each phone call he grew bolder and sometimes-- he was so breathless he could hardly-speak.  He confessed his love for rough sex, saying he wanted me to dominate him and make kinky sexual demands.  After I mentioned that his calls were being recorded by the phone company--- he never called again.  

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One of the most unforgettable of my “Strange Encounters”--- took place during the mid-eighties---when I lived in Atlanta, Georgia.  One Sunday, when I was leaving the First Presbyterian Church on Peachtree Street, a handsome, well-dressed man walked over to introduce himself.  He admitted he’d been watching me for several Sundays----watching as I left the choir loft, watching me walk down the church hallway, even watching when I climbed into my car. Beautifully mannered, this classic Southern gentleman from a prominent Atlanta family asked permission to be my “footboy.” Dumbfounded, I listened to his dream of chauffeuring me to appointments, shopping, and even on dates with other men. He seemed to “glow” as he talked about being my personal bathmat when I stepped in and out of the shower.

 Standing on the sidewalk outside the church’s main entrance, I marveled at the nerve of this Church Deacon to share his sexual fantasies so close to God’s house.  I looked around to see who might be listening.  The more he talked, the more “aroused” he sounded.  I fought the urge to look down-- to see if his excitement was visible.

 This southern gentleman, listed as one of Atlanta’s ten most eligible bachelors, wanted to dress/undress me, bath me, help me use the bathroom, even wipe me! For months, I received love letters detailing his servitude.  Eventually, I had no choice but change churches. (One of his letters appears in the show/tell section of my book—THE BEAUTY QUEEN.)

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In 2004, as a Virginia school teacher, it happened again. The school day was almost over when a high school student asked to stay after class--to talk with me.  The normally-shy student proceeded to tell me about his recent dream. When I asked what he meant by “dream”--- He blurted out—“I dreamed YOU pulled down my pants and kept spanking my bottom—hard-- until it bled!”  The more he talked, the more excited my student became.  Not certain I could handle more “dreaming”--- I walked to the door and asked him to leave. When he didn’t respond, I warned him—if he didn’t leave--I would have to call the principal.  Apparently, my words motivated my student and he left my room.  At the time, I was a teacher in my early sixties and he was a sixteen yrs. old student. Twenty years later, I received a Facebook “Friend Request” from that very-same student.

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Yes--Love is rare, life is strange and---nothing lasts.  Not long ago, a professional-looking man at a dinner party began engaging me in conversation. Only a few minutes into our casual “small talk”, this absolute stranger decided to share the “PICTURE OF ME” he had quickly- formulated--- in his mind:

“I see you in thigh-high, black stiletto boots, worn with a tight black leather body suit, and a sexy-black eye mask. I PICTURE YOU--- smiling--- as you use a long, black leather whip--to inflicting pain on a stable-full of naked young men--all on their hands and knees!”

Well--count me out as a Dominatrix---these days.  Most of the men who live in my community no-longer have the ability to "get-down on their hands and knees” and--getting up--would be impossible.

Simply, Sally