What do you do when how you're perceived doesn't match what you are inside?
I've come to relish the surprise on my friends' faces when I reveal what it is I do. Some, I've known for years and they know every and all facets of me besides this one, which you have the privilege to share with me. Their look is always the same and so is their verbiage: "I cannot imagine you as a domme" but then I see their minds at work, their brows furrowed.
"Oh wait, it makes sense,"
then a second later: "Oh, yeah, it really makes sense,"
and that's when I let out my signature giggle.
As I've gotten deeper in my work and let this side of me take over, as I've become obsessed with everything BDSM, I've experienced a rebirth. My daily "me" has learned to conceal itself in a mask of hyper femininity, of shy timidity, of sweetness cloaked in a flowery distance. I was always a kind person, but I used to present myself differently before my sides were granted their division. For some who notice peculiarities, who are clued to subtlety, this veneer is a point of intrigue. My behaviors have slight inconsistencies. A stern order erupting from my stream of girlish, quiet "like" and "um"s. The way my eyes sparkle when they pierce into yours, holding your gaze for much longer than usual as I whisper "I know more about you than you think I do," and then drop again. For the rest of the time, and for as long as you've known me, you've only just looked at the way my eyelashes flutter and the way I peek at you, as if too weak to maintain eye contact. But from then on you learn to watch what you say and wonder what it is you gave away to me, freely, when you underestimated me.
I carefully observe where the thread of control lies. When I sense it's time, I'll gently twist it around my finger. Now I have the entirety of the fabric at my mercy. There is poetry in the element of surprise. There is elegance in a less obvious, but more pervasive power. It is the scentless gas leak.