u/that_villainess

This summer, I rescued a kitten from the undercarriage of a car. She was screaming for her mother and it brought many of us running—people on the street, neighbors with open windows, shopkeepers with open doors.

All of us wanted to save the kitten. To coax her from her dangerous hiding spot, guide her safely off the road, and make sure she was okay.

Myself and the other women on the scene were on our bellies partway under the car, coaxing kitten with treats and chicken, kitten noises playing on our phones. Come out, little baby. It’s nice out here, with treats and friends.

The men in the group—equally well-meaning—had a distinctly different approach. Without any real discussion between them, they all began to shake the car and shout. The theory: we can scare the kitten out and into our arms.

Well-meaning as they were, I think you see where this is going: it didn’t work. The terrified kitten retreated farther into the car’s undercarriage and would not come out.

I sent everyone away and promised I would come back for kitten in a few hours when she was calm again. And I did: early the next morning with little traffic and almost no people on the streets, I played kitten noises and tempted her with chicken and eventually she came close enough for me to grab.

I tell this story because it’s a tiny example of a larger societal pattern. Women are socialized to care and collaborate and de-escalate. Men are socialized to solve problems with force. That force can be caring and well-intentioned and it is still force.

And because our culture (it should go without saying, but allow me to say it anyway: wrongly) associates masculinity with dominance and dominance with violence, even here in kink spaces, dominance is so often seen as a violent act.

Outside the bedroom, we “dominate” by making war. We “dominate” by enforcing our will. We “dominate” through physical overpowerment.

This so-called dominance is “because I said so,” and it is “don’t question me,” and it is ultimately an act of fear. Authoritarian government. Authoritarian parent. Boss dangling unemployment over your head.

Then it slips into BDSM, this violent idea of what dominance is. It’s “shut up and send, piggy,” in the first conversation. It’s the “dom” men in my DMs telling me their violent fantasies of me forcing them to submit.

And god, how boring, how narrow this vision is.

It leaves behind the reality that peaceful protests have dominated authoritarians right out of power (see: Nepal, see: Ukraine, see: the Singing Revolution). It leaves behind the utter dominance of a nurturing mother. It discards the electric power of the small to defeat the large, of good ideas to defeat violent ones, of the underdog we all are rooting for. Of the quiet power we submit to because we long to do so.

I am not interested in being your Stalin, your Napoleon, your because-I-said-so mediocre dad.

I am interested in the same thing I wanted for that kitten: to overpower her fears and take her through the hard feelings into the safer place.

I am interested in your surrender as healing, as trust, as a gift given freely.

I am interested in breaking down your ego because it’s in your fucking way.

I am interested in you surrendering because of who I am, not what you fear I’ll do if you don’t.

You put yourself in my hands because they are strong and steady. You show your vulnerable parts because you know I won’t look away. You wrap yourself around my finger because it is safe there, warm, full of purpose. You serve and send because you admire and respect and long.

I am not interested in society’s broken ideas of dominance. The way it’s been gendered and narrowed into a violent box.

(I’m not saying there is no violence in D/s. There very obviously is. But you don’t serve because you fear it. You serve because you crave it or because you want to find your limits near it or because you want me to stand with you through it.)

So come out, kitten. Come to me through the dark. Come to me because your trust is larger than your fear of me. I am interested in leaving you safer than I found you. Less fleas. Less scrawniness. Less fear of the darkness, the unknown. A knowledge that you can do the brave thing and what you find there in the scary place is rest. Authenticity.

Yourself.

What you find there is yourself.

Let’s start here: I love a cuck. I love to tease. I love to push your buttons. I love to know that you know it’s date night and I’m having a series of orgasms at someone else’s hands.

Here’s what I don’t love: when you say a man is my alpha.

Even just typing that, I barfed in my mouth a little.

First off, go fucking unsubscribe from the brain-rot influencers who taught you that word. Repeating it makes you look stupid.

Because all it takes is a few minutes of research to find out where the term came from—and that it’s been debunked.

The idea of alphas began with a scientist studying wolves. The pack had an alpha, he said. The strongest wolf. The main wolf. The boss. The “dominant” wolf.

He published a book on it. And then realized he was wrong and spent his entire life trying to undo the damage.

Because, news flash #1: wolves don’t have alphas. He was observing a family. The parents trying to keep their kids safe, teach them, guide them.

News flash #2: he was observing captive wolves—and very quickly observed that wolves don’t behave the same way in the wild. It’s like saying we can study a prison population and use that study to talk about how people behave outside prison. These two things are not the same.

And news flash #3: even if neither of those things were true, you are not a wolf. You are not a bear. You are not a lion. And you are not a lobster. If every animal behavior were part of humanity, hoo boy would life be different. Hamsters eat their babies. Squid *punch sperm into their bros* (go look it up). Show a dog a piece of roadkill and he’ll probably roll around on it. Wolf behavior isn’t any more predictive of human behavior than any of those examples.

The reason you think it is is incel culture. That’s where the talk of alphas and betas in the world of men took off. So feel free to be embarassed that you adopted the idea uncritically.

Just using the word alpha drops my estimate on your intelligence. And thinking I would let a man dominate me drops it further.

When I say I love submissive men, I fucking mean that shit. I mean that in my heart and my soul and my bedroom. I mean that the love of my life is the same man who comes over almost daily to pick dog poop out of my yard, who curls up after a long day with his head in my lap, who was the first person to collar himself with me. He is the one granted entry to the most sacred spaces of heart, mind, and body. Not because he is in charge, but precisely because he’s strong enough, centered enough in his masculinity and authenticity to let go of that.

He is not having his way with me; I am having my way with him.

Nobody is the alpha (because that shit is stupid). But I am the boss. The holder of space. The lap he rests his head on. The safe space where he can take off his mask. The Goddess at the center of the universe.

Not every woman is submissive for “the right man.” The alpha bros are not our fantasy. They are yours. And fantasy is the operative word.

You want to admit my partner is a better man than you? You want to serve him? You want to serve us together? Go for it. But do not co-opt me into the patriarchal fantasy that women are all secretly submissive for some sort of extra-masculine bro. I do not consent to be dominated—even in your fantasy and even not by you.

I am his boss and yours. That is kinky for both of you.

I am not conquerable—period. And frankly, that reality is healing if you’ll let it be. You are not submissive because you are less. You are not submissive because someone else is a better man. You are submissive because you are submissive—no value judgement attached.

And if you want to play humiliated cuck? Well, when I say you can’t please me like he does, it’s not because he’s alpha or dom. It’s because of choices he makes every single day. Which means when you don’t measure up? That’s all choices too. And I can push your buttons even harder when we take “I’m just this way and nothing I can do about it” well and truly off the table.

For as long as I can remember, people have wanted me to be in charge of their lives.

I am the peacemaker. The organizer. Steady. Thoughtful. Capable. 

I am the person strangers spill their secrets to.

The one who people turn to in a crisis. 

When you walk into a room full of strangers, I am the one you find when you need to feel seen, held, safe, and intimidated all at once.

Last year, there was a multi-country-wide power outage across Portugal, Spain, and parts of France. Mine was the door people showed up at for comfort. For a plan. For reassurance. To put down their panic and trust.

And they were right to do it. 

I was calm, prepared, steady in crisis. 

I turned the power outage into a backyard barbecue. Bring everything that’s about to go bad in your fridges. We cook it all tonight! By candlelight and solar-powered twinkle lamps, we did just that. Chicken, rice, salad, pot stickers. 

I popped a bottle of special Champagne and we toasted laughing to the “end of the world.”

The lights came back on late that night. Maybe 12 hours of outage in the end.

And the people who showed up—many of them who didn’t know me too well, actually—kept saying how simply stepping across the threshold of my home and seeing it was handled turned their panic to nothing. 

When I think about my dominance, this is what I think of:

The way my power, my calm, my strength stand consistent over time. How they are safe to sink into, to build something on. And how somehow people sense that in me, often near-instantly. 

My dominance is not a mirror of authoritarianism. It is not conquest against your will. It is a safe haven. A place to rest. A place to lay down the mask you’ve been wearing in a world that forces you to cosplay dominance because of your gender. A place to lay down the responsibilities. 

A place to surrender. 

To share your secrets and find that I am still there the next day.

To show your vulnerability and find that it makes you stronger. 

To show yourself. Be seen. Be held. In your darkness. Your weakness. Your strength. Your truth. Every hidden part.

To step across the threshhold, see over and over again that I’ve got this, and release your grip on control bit by bit until you can truly, bone-deep let go of masks and anxiety and performance…

And simply be.

For as long as I can remember, people have wanted me to be in charge of their lives.

I am the peacemaker. The organizer. Steady. Thoughtful. Capable. 

I am the person strangers spill their secrets to.

The one who people turn to in a crisis. 

When you walk into a room full of strangers, I am the one you find when you need to feel seen, held, safe, and intimidated all at once.

Last year, there was a multi-country-wide power outage across Portugal, Spain, and parts of France. Mine was the door people showed up at for comfort. For a plan. For reassurance. To put down their panic and trust.

And they were right to do it. 

I was calm, prepared, steady in crisis. 

I turned the power outage into a backyard barbecue. Bring everything that’s about to go bad in your fridges. We cook it all tonight! By candlelight and solar-powered twinkle lamps, we did just that. Chicken, rice, salad, pot stickers. 

I popped a bottle of special Champagne and we toasted laughing to the “end of the world.”

The lights came back on late that night. Maybe 12 hours of outage in the end.

And the people who showed up—many of them who didn’t know me too well, actually—kept saying how simply stepping across the threshold of my home and seeing it was handled turned their panic to nothing. 

When I think about my dominance, this is what I think of:

The way my power, my calm, my strength stand consistent over time. How they are safe to sink into, to build something on. And how somehow people sense that in me, often near-instantly. 

My dominance is not a mirror of authoritarianism. It is not conquest against your will. It is a safe haven. A place to rest. A place to lay down the mask you’ve been wearing in a world that forces you to cosplay dominance because of your gender. A place to lay down the responsibilities. 

A place to surrender. 

To share your secrets and find that I am still there the next day.

To show your vulnerability and find that it makes you stronger. 

To show yourself. Be seen. Be held. In your darkness. Your weakness. Your strength. Your truth. Every hidden part.

To step across the threshhold, see over and over again that I’ve got this, and release your grip on control bit by bit until you can truly, bone-deep let go of masks and anxiety and performance…

And simply be.