"Career Call"-article for loyola university's LGBTIQ publication, part 1 by Claudia Typhoon

Becoming a professional Dominant is a pretty straightforward path.  For me it certainly was, which I take it to mean it was meant to be.  I had been interested in BDSM since I found out about it at 15.  Once I had moved to NYC, becoming a professional Dominatrix seemed to be something more attainable than the South I was raised in.

One day while looking for jobs on Craigslist I found an ad for women to work at a dungeon in Manhattan, no experience necessary.   I called and set up an appointment for a few days later.  The large and unfriendly woman asked me a series of questions; “what’s your level of experience, knowledge, interest in BDSM?”  BDSM meaning Bondage, Domination, Sado-Masochism.  She seemed to be testing me, watching my body language as she informed me that I had to be comfortable with bodily fluids and touching the assholes and such of strange men.  Later this would equate to a handshake instead of an eye-brow raising comment.  When she felt satisfied that I do not scare easily, she set up my schedule with me.  I would work at least 3, 8 hour shifts per week.  No guarantee of income, but $80 per session with potential for tips outside of that.  The dungeon charged $220 per session, (industry standard is currently $250 in NYC), the dungeon kept the other $140.  Since I had two other jobs at the time, I wasn’t worried about making money.

Dominant women, much like typical men in positions of power, are competitive and have erect egos that tend to bump into others and become irate when others do not move from their path.  I chose to remain quiet and out of the way my first few weeks, asking questions of the other women I felt may actually give me information instead of angry blast of insults.

My first session was a smoking session.  Something I enjoy, but my first was a departure from any subsequent ones I would have.  This was a forced inhalation smoking session.  The gentleman (who was a very lovely man) had an apparatus that was strapped to his face.  There was a tube that led to his mouth and nose.  He could only take in air through this hose.  I smoke cloves occasionally, but I loathe cigarettes. I figured I could pull the cigarette smoke into my cheeks and blow it into the tube without inhaling much smoke.  It made my nose run terribly, which I blew into my hand and smeared on his thighs. He thought that action wonderful.  We both laughed and had a great time.  I felt I had a great session, but when I got home later, I had an asthma attack like no other.  I couldn’t take in air and my roommates called the EMTs to give me oxygen.  This reinforced my hatred of cigarettes; but hooked me on becoming a Dominatrix.  For the next few years I would work professionally both in and out of a dungeon setting as a Domme.  I find my occupation to be a very satisfying one. Each new interaction, each new session I learn more about sexuality, myself, and how no one has “normal sex.”