You know, having “Dominant” on my profile maybe isn’t the best way to get dates with the meek or timid, since even a slight comment from me, often incites fear. On the other end of the spectrum, it fairly ensures that any she-woman with man-hate complex is sure to make some comment or snide remark. All I have to say to those she-bitches is simple, “I have yet to meet the woman who can kick my ass.” Somewhere between the timid and the estrogen overloaded though... there is a middle ground.

In the middle ground is where the  you’ll find the real women who aren’t threatened by my opinion, don’t see themselves in my words, and generally have ACTUAL opinions of their own based on their own thought processes instead of the status quo. Most of those women are actually like the women you and I know, our wives and mothers, sisters and cousins, doctors and girlfriends, who care more about who we are than they care about some feminist agenda. These are women who care enough and so much about you and other people in their lives that they’re too busy to bother to prove anything to anyone, least of all men ‘like me.’ Men who don’t give a flying fuck about agendas, women’s imaginary notions of supposed oppression, minority status, etc. Men like me who won’t validate their fucked up ideas by agreeing just because it’s the easiest way to a blowjob. I don’t want to pretend to give a fuck about whatever trip a woman is on or even try to pretend to give a fuck when I don’t.

 All I want is honesty in thought, feeling, emotion and opinion, and bacon for breakfast.

Anyway, now that I’ve chased the psychonauts off the page… It’s just us, so let’s talk about D/s…

I’ve been asked many times why Native American men so often describe themselves as ‘Dominant’. It’s a fair question, but I can’t answer for every Native American. Hell, we’re all different people, so please remember that my words belong to me alone, and speak for me alone. I should add, that I have NO IDEA why other NA men describe themselves as such.

 I remember being in High School, I used to hang out with the cool kids, and some of the kids I grew up with were totally not cool. Those ranged from the terminally geeky- to the sweetly naïve… and it’s there that this story began I think. Around the corner from our house, was where she lived. I won’t say her name, but I’ll just call her “B”… Well, B was a sweet little girl.. I knew her from the time we were about 5 and protected her through elementary and junior high, though we drifted apart a bit through H.S. Well, that is until She started dating a ‘bad boy’ who’d cast his eye upon her maturing body… Well, they dated, and she began to smoke pot a little, and she really thought she was in love with that guy. It was so wonderful she’d explain to me, sure, it wasn’t bad that sometimes they’d argue, and he’d hold her down, or slap her, “It’s because I made him mad” she’d say to me… I warned her off him, but like most people, she didn’t listen. She didn’t listen to me when she came home crying, only telling me what happened when I swore an oath of secrecy. “I had to lose my virginity sometime,” she explained to me. I wanted to kill that motherfucker. Of course, I didn’t and their relationship got worse, until finally that next spring, they broke up. I was glad, until he started coming around again, and B once more fell under his spell. That’s when he got her started smoking Angel Dust, and then there were the pills, then he offered her to his friends to use…  By then, something inside her had broken. The slapping had progressed, and in B’s mind, she made it somehow okay. She wanted to be loved more than she wanted to feel safe, and I suppose somehow managed to eroticize the abuse. I saw her around until summer when she suddenly disappeared.

I saw the boyfriend about ten years later, he and a friend came to the house to have a beer, and then he got the idea to go to his girlfriend for some cash, so he could buy more beer and we could continue to catch up on our H.S, days. They left, and did not come back. Three days later, his girlfriend was found by neighbors, when the shotgun blasted corpse had begun to rot, and the stench worried them.

Five years passed, and I found B again. I went to pick up a nurse friend for lunch and saw her there, in the asylum I’d gone to pick my friend up at. I asked my friend what had happened, and she said that the girl had lost her mind completely and required constant doses of drugs to keep her calm and keep her from screaming and hurting herself, and fucking every other inmate in the place. When she saw and recognized me, there was a moment of happiness in her eyes, and mine – until she said to me quietly, “I’ll let you fuck me if you buy me a candy bar.”

After lunch, I made some phone calls, and was disappointed to hear what had happened to the old boyfriend. After being convicted for the murder of his girlfriend, Mr. Kite had died in prison of lung cancer. It was sad for me, but a good thing too, since lung cancer is a much kinder death than what I had friends plan for him.

In my life, I’ve run into many women who to varying degrees have suffered that same fate. Some now, are pain sluts, some are ‘normal’ except for the daily doses of Xanax… some are just plain old man hating lesbians, and for good cause, I am sure. I suppose that the point is, when you suffer some pain, or abuse, sometimes your mind can just curl up inside and wrap you like a little cocoon. The hope for butterflies is that they’ll emerge beautiful and fly free. I think that’s often the hope for people too.

I suppose that the whole Idea of abuse is a total turn off for me. And in this one small episode, you can probably see why. I’m sure it’s practically inherent not just in little boys, but in people in general as well. Have you ever seen little boys pluck the wings off flies, only finally to kill them? Why do they do it? I remember thinking when I saw my friends do this as children, that somehow, they were looking for that place inside which makes flies alive… maybe if we could somehow control that part of ourselves, then we’d never have to worry about dying… the bad thing about those fly experiments? That those flies paid with their lives to teach us that what we want to know cannot be learned by killing, or even vivisecting anything, or anyone. At the very best, those flies which escaped were hopelessly crippled, and permanently damaged. It sounds to me, very much like a young man’s game of control, picking the wings off the butterflies too young or stupid to steer clear, and those girls, unlike the butterflies they see all around them, are instead like moths increasingly drawn and ready to feed themselves to an ever more out of control flame.

 Being a man, I do like control, and not in the same way in which little boys look for it. In order to be Dominant, you’ve got to have a pretty fair grip on not only control, but reality, and self control as well. No woman really likes to be raped, or otherwise brutalized, unless she’s so damaged already, that like B, it’s the only connection she has left. I think back to B quite often, and think to myself of how strict her parents had been, and how the only ‘love’ she ever knew was so constricting, and it was always she who had to conform. When the bully boyfriend came along, I am sure it was too easy for her to translate his abuse into a romantic version of ‘caring’. Like a moth to a flame, our defects become fatal, then finally we are destroyed by the ‘love’ we thought we needed.

For the boys who eventually become men, it often becomes much like the mindset of Mr. Kite, so out of touch with himself, with reality, and with the women drawn to him, that his only way of expressing desire, is brutal, and somehow sexualized. It is that sort of boy/man that eventually becomes dangerous.

I have seen my own defect. In the mistakes I have made, in life, and in relationships, and I have come to terms with it. In life, I am the mellowest, most easy going person you can ever know. My friends are always amazed at how I am treated so kindly by complete strangers, and how despite my strange worldview, I am adored by the few friends I have. In the bedroom, well, my friends do not know me there - It’s a good thing too- because there, is where I excel in allowing my defect free reign!

Of course, even there, I keep to some pretty strict rules. The rules I follow are simple, like kindness and respect, refraining from abuse, understanding the difference between ‘no’ and a codeword which means, “No, really NO.” and respecting that. I also make a point to let my lover feel powerless under my control, my will. The payoff here is simple, spectacular mind blowing sex, while maintaining care and respect, while helping my partner explore the limit of her defects without fear of injury or death from abuse, be it emotional or physical.

I meet women everyday whose defect stands out to me like a puzzle piece. Maybe you don’t see it, hell, a lot of those women don’t!  But If YOU have that defect, I do see it, and quite clearly where the fit with my defect would be perfect, but I do not chase every woman who imagines herself my match. Hell, I don’t pursue most women who I think are my match! Why? Oh, because I’ve found that this whole sex deviant thing, it isn’t about sex at all. It’s about POWER, or rather, the total exchange of it. Where I take complete control, and that attorney or doctor, accustomed to being bowed down to in daily life, is forced to kneel before me, and so powerful is her defect that it must respond to mine. I get a total kick out of this, knowing that the schoolteacher where your kids go to school, that sweetheart of the community who is in church every Sunday, who volunteers with the PTA, who always presents herself as prim and proper, loves to be tied down and taken in any way I desire, completely out of control, in ways her boyfriends could never imagine she would not only enjoy, but LOVE and will do anything to experience.

Of course, all good things come to an end, and so it is with most games. In the same way that you’d never play checkers if you knew you ALWAYS lose; it wouldn’t take long to become bored if you knew you always WIN either... See? That’s why I say, it isn’t about sex, it’s about power. The power to make an old woman blush, a college girl stir in her seat, the cashier at the local Chinese mega-mart write her number on the back of a receipt. Yep. It’s, not the kill, but the thrill of the chase which hone the hunter’s skill.

Gosh, I guess you might wonder, where the hell do you go from here you sick pervert? Well, that’s easy to answer too. Remember my friend B? Can you imagine how difficult it might be to find a girl like that (well, like she started out as)? It would be tough to find – a girl who is sweet, kind hearted, eager to please. A girl who generally deserves to be loved, and not abused, and not only to find HER, but to find her well before life takes her to places that no one should ever go. Hell, I’ve known too many women who have irreparable damage, whose ideas of pleasure and pain are so screwed up that no matter how great they look outside, they are already horribly deformed on the inside.

I’m not looking for the deformed, or even the depraved. I’m looking for something else. The ONE girl who requires my attention- but why? That’s easy too. I guess all anyone really wants is someone who will love them not for what they do, or how they look, or even how much money they make (or don’t) it isn’t any of those common things. I believe we all want someone to love who not only treats us with respect and caring, but also, cares about our health and well being, and will make us better people because of the time we travel together. I’ve been looking for the girl who requires a strong hand to guide her, needing even at times stern master who will demand from her all that she is, to ensure that she becomes a better person. I’ve been looking for the one girl who will be a better with me, than without. I’ve been looking for the girl willing to look at those strange yearnings and urges, and subject her desires to a control which is not abusive or even selfish, but caring and gently, harsh only when her behavior is detrimental to her own being. I’ve been looking for that one woman, who knows instinctively that there’s more to life than being slapped around by a boyfriend whose only claim to being a dominant is that he bullies women.

I guess when I look back and remember B, I’ll always owe her this one small debt, because when I saw her last, I was forced to look deep into myself, and realize, that in this big world, there are lots of people, but few true human beings, few who would risk anything in the care of another, and very few of any who are brave enough to claim their own guilt. If I had never done so, how many butterflies might I have picked the wings from? And how many would it have taken to feed a monster which would then rage on its own, completely out of control? I am guilty, but not of that. I am not like Mr. Kite; instead I have taken the steps necessary to ensure that my guilt isn’t covered up or hidden. It’s in plain sight, for all to see. The solution I’ve chosen to deal with my defect isn’t what everyone would choose, but I already know, that some women find danger and being out of control an incredible turn on, so I feel confident that the one woman I’ve searched for IS out there.. Somewhere, and between now and the time I find her, I’ve been doing the world a favor and keeping the monster locked in the basement. I want to be sure that when I find her, she doesn’t end up like B, rotting years from now in an institution, Instead, I imagine her keeping a little secret from the kids. What secret? That mommy loves bondage, or that she loves the old man BECAUSE he’s strict with her, because it’s what she needs to feel loved, and cared for. When I do find her, it won’t likely be a secret that she is loved and even adored, made strong by our relationship, fearless in the world, because she will submit to no one except the one man who has taken time to know her completely.

What all of this has to do with being Native American, I haven’t any idea, except to say, that in most Native cultures, the responsibility for the community does not lie with government, but instead upon each individual, and as imperfect as we may each be, it is still a serious responsibility. For me, I never wish to see any unkind thing done to anyone, I do not wish to see anyone enslaved, or coerced into anything, but my responsibility to society, to myself, and maybe even to B, is to take control of those best served by this behavior and no one else, helping to make them better, and healthier, and happier.

Yeah, it all sounds like a bunch of self serving crap to some people, but if you are one of the people who understands what I am saying, then this journal is for you. Don’t be a moth and let your spirit die in an uncontrolled flame! Instead, carefully search for the one who feels like the perfect fit for you. For anyone who doesn’t like this opinion, like I said before, “So fucking what?” It’s how I am, and most often appreciated for, because the one who is submissive to me, gains much. You see, in my care, she will feel safer than any creature on earth. She will be freer than any butterfly, because she will know that my control freak monster in the basement is totally under control, reserved for just those adult times which we will share. The rest of her day, the rest of her life, she’ll feel the kindness and respect, the love and caring that every person hopes to one day find, and when SHE emerges from her cocoon…she will be like a butterfly, free on earth beneath a kind and adoring Sun.