This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is about “The Last Tree”
I’d like to write about something along those lines but I’ve had something else
filling my head these last few days. If you follow Allison Tyler’s blog you know
she asks a question each week. (you really should, she's pretty awesome) There are a lot of interesting answers to them.
This week, the question was “Are you Dom, sub or switch.”
The more I thought about this, it really wasn’t a question
of where I landed on the scale, it was the label. I really hate the term “Dom”. It has to do with the first group that I was
social with. I’ve wrote a bit about how I came into the world, and how I was
taught. But I’ve never really talked about some of the people in that
group. They considered themselves “Old
Guard”. I’ve met some Old Guard folks and they were far more respectful that my
first social group.
I was in the military at the time. It is pretty much habit to refer to
most people you don’t know as Sir, or Ma’am. In this first group there was a
guy, let’s call him Doug for posterity’s sake. He thought that was a sign of
submission. It was more about the fact that he was the age of my grandfather, or
about my age now. In that group if you were a single male, the rules were you
had to give the sub gals and evening of whaling on you if you wanted to be a part of it.
I went on the cross, I
let them go till I was black and blue and bloody.
It was something you had to
claw your way out of. It was meant to be humiliating. It was meant to drive
away the guys who thought they could join and just demand sex from the single
subs.
Doug, who thought that anyone who would accept that had to
be submissive, began pressing. Kap advised me to be patient, to show people who
I was, and I what I was, to ignore the asshole. I did. It only made him worse.
He saw my showing a bit of respect to the submissives who’d been with their
partners a while as a weakness.
He started coming into the bar on nights between parties. I
worked there, I had to be respectful. “Yes Sir, I’ll get you that drink.” “Oh
that’s not what you ordered.. I”ll fix that.” It took a couple of months but
finally Kap told me to do what I needed to.
A few nights later he showed up and I asked him. “What do
you want Sir?”
He said “I want you to come to me out back. I want you to be
my boy.”
I looked to Kap, and she shrugged her shoulders. I knew that
look. It meant ‘Do what you need to.’
I followed him out back. He put his hand on my cheek and
told me to get on my knees. It took about fifteen seconds to dislocate his
shoulder, his elbow, and his wrist. Having a lot of aikido training can be a
surprise to folks. I took him out to the alley, tossed him out by his pony tail.
Then I went back to work. We never saw him again at that group.
Whenever I hear someone demand to be called a “Dom” it
reminds me of Doug. It makes me think of people who demand respect when they do not deserve it. Respect is earned by your actions, not by your ego, or by what you think you're entitled to.
And you’re probably wondering how does this tie into the
theme of “the last tree”
When I think of the theme, along with Alison’s question, I think
of Breta. She was 87 when I met her. She had a number tattooed on her arm. In
Germany in those days, they didn’t just go after the Jews, or the Gypsy. They
went after the gay. Breta was a Domme in Germany in the 40’s. She went to a camp
because of who she was. Miraculously she survived.
I met her while I worked in a nursing home in the late 80’s.
I don’t know why, but we recognized something in each other. Over about a year
she began telling me stories about her girls back then. What she did to “Top”
them. She never called herself a dominatrix, but she was one. She liked to top her girls. After
at time I told her my stories about my experiences in Hawaii. The violence I
had committed. My love of the violence involved BDSM, versus the almost casual
violence I committed against Doug, which was far worse, and far more lasting
In my experience I would far rather be remembered as someone
like Breta. A “Top”, someone who wanted
to make people feel wonderful about who they were, no matter what that
entailed. To bring them to a new sense of feeling; stretching their limits
until they felt like they were more than what they were before they met me.
Breta is not my last tree. She’s one of my roots Her, Kap and many others helped me become who I am. I could have easily
wound up like Doug. A bully who demanded that others serve. They taught me
better.
They’re both gone now. They were gone may years ago, but they are always with me. I like to think that who I am now
honors their memories. To those who think less because I don’t demand others
bow to me, I have one of Breta’s favorite phrases to offer them, “Ficken Sie”
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