About Domina Vontana
Country queer. Preacher's child. Dominatrix.
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Growing up in rural Montana, I was laughed at anytime I expressed an interest in wearing something besides blue jeans and flannel. There wasn’t a Vogue magazine for miles and this was before the world went online. Fashion was some great mystery that I was drawn towards wordlessly and uncontrollably. I was desperate to be able to express, and justify this interest of mine to my peers but I didn’t even understand what style was at that time. Now I think it’s time to up the ante.
I wiped my running nose with one hand and with my other hand pointed at the uterus my torso was toppled forward over still crying. “I want to quit birth control. I want to stop taking the pills. It makes me feel numb. I feel like there’s a cement wall between my top half and my bottom half and I don’t know what’s going on down there.”
Taxes are just a metaphor for life, because everything is taxing. I used to believe that anything worth doing was going to take a little effort, but these urban attacks on my financials, my better job situation and my personal life and time seem to be taking on mammoth porportions lately. What is the ratio of bullshit to existence that my Mother intend for me to contend with in order to keep safe, sane and consensual I ask myself? Is it just the PMS, or in the middle of rainy deadline driven April am I finally ready to really set something, or someone, on fire? Finally.
This weekend I’ll step outside the kinky bubble I’ve been living in and attend my first feminist conference. I’ll be at Momentum: Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism and Relationships in Silver Spring and I’ll be in good company. I plan to attend the HIPS happy hour on Saturday, after I hear Tristan Taormino speak for the first time. As a female dominant, I’ve always been more interested in giving than receiving in the ass department. Apparently Tristan is the ass queen.