This post was submitted by Domina Vontana

During the 32 years of my life, I’ve gone by a lot of different names and been called all sorts of other kinds of names. Upon the birth of their firstborn, my parents perverted a beautiful french word and I came out sounding like someone not with my features and not from my part of the planet, but nonetheless with the ass to go with such a color coded name. I credit organic red meat for my figure and my parents pre-internet isolation for their social ignorance.

I could ride a horse by three, had my first orgasm at four and got hit by a school bus at five while making a forbidden u-turn in the street while riding my 50cc yellow three wheeler. I liked to use my motobike to terrorize boys on bicycles twice my age. I was born in Glacier country Montana and grew up along the muddy Mississippi. In my family you are either a teacher, a preacher or a soldier. Like a lot of eldest overachievers, I thought I wanted to be a doctor. I became a Dominatrix instead.

When I was 17 I made my first trip to Washington DC to attend the National Youth Leadership Forum on Medicine. When I walked into Pentagon City Mall my jaw dropped. I wanted everything I saw. I returned to DC after high school to  pay my way through college working as a nanny. I graduated with honors from UMCP with a degree in English and a lot of debt.

I got a good job in commercial real estate and one day while out at L’enfant Plaza for lunch I stumbled upon the book I was a Teenage Dominatrix by Shawna Kenney. That day I decided I had to quit my life sucking corporate gig. I finally knew what I was and what I’d always wanted to be. I finally had a language to express my inner most workings. What I didn’t know was where to begin. No one I contacted was interested in training me.

Gender became my gateway into the leather community and this complex, profound profession. For as long as I can remember people have been telling me their secrets. Once I hooked up with the local drag community in DC, I couldn’t keep the girls and the gurls and the bois and the boys off my couch. They all wanted to talk and they all heard that I was the one to talk to. Back then I didn’t know what they meant by that meant but they all kept saying the same thing, so I just listened.

That’s when my Dad died, young. From what they call back home “hard living” but it really just means shame and substance abuse. In the hospital Pop told me to take better risks than he did. My brother once said to me, “Sis, you’re Dad with tits.” Within a month of his passing I posted an ad on Craigslist in the adult services section looking for a submissive client.

I did my first session as a professional Dominatrix in my second bedroom. I had a paddle and a toy. That’s when I changed my name from Shamaine to Vontana. No I did not choose this name because I was born in Montana. The actual story is much cheesier than that. After the funeral I asked God for a sign because I didn’t know what was next.  What I got was a giant commercial real estate banner on the side of a condo development in the Penn Quarter that said “Ventana” in huge letters.

Slouched down in the back of the cab dressed all in black, street lights zipping by, when I looked up through my sunglasses  “Vontana” was all I could see. Renaming is a common gateway ritual in my two primary communities. One of my favorite lines from film is “choose a name, or one will be chosen for you.” My name is Vontana and I like to do the choosing. My friends call me Vee. I live in Washington DC and I’m blessed to be queer and kinky.

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