Tits and Ask: New Girlfriend, Ex-Dominatrix

Nice work... if you can get it.

Dear Ken & Ariel: Do I tell the guy I’m dating that I used to be a dominatrix? Or is that something better never mentioned?

ARIEL SAYS: The answer is, yes, no, maybe, never, wait ’til he’s on his fifth Appletini, perhaps not the night before your wedding.

In other words, my darling disciplinarian, it’s entirely up to you. In our long and lengthy research, Ken & I have discovered an amazing trend: people like stuff. Certain positions, certain pet names, certain orifices. And it runs the gamut from, “I like it when doggie style” to “I like it when we hire the entire graduating class from Clown College to perform their doctoral thesis whilst we fuck on a trapeze.” We’ll say for the sake of brevity the latter is a fetish, as opposed to, say, a cry for help. And is it good to share your fetish with others? Indeed, when a sufficient amount of time has passed and you’re somewhat confident your SO won’t run screaming from the room.

However, for you this was not a fetish, but a profession. You provided a service for said S&M fans, and I presume you were rewarded handsomely (by other forms of currency besides boot-licking, yes?) for your efforts. For you it was a way to pay the bills, not get your rocks off (although there’s certainly nothing wrong with enjoying your job.)

Therefore, if it doesn’t interfere with your current dating sitch, (you did say, “used to be a dominatrix”, not “is”) I say, carry on. Feel no pressure or obligation to divulge your sexual c.v. Unless, of course, your paramour begins expressing an extreme interest in being punished for his naughty behavior – at which point you reach calmly in your little black bag and sweetly ask, “latex ball gag, or rubber?”

KEN SAYS: Lemme get this straight. You used to work guys over with a paddle or whip or fishing lure or well-worn copy of National Geographic and you want to tell your new boyfriend about it? Honestly, I wouldn’t have a problem. In fact, if I found out on our first date, I’d probably lie down right on the floor of Applebee’s (yeah, that’s where we’d be going on our first date) and ask you to demonstrate your best “ass smother” routine.

Honestly, I’d find it intriguing. It would show an understanding of all the kinks and predilections that make this fucked up world go ’round. And it would make it a little less awkward when I ask you to sit on my face while you’re wearing leather pants.

Of course, as you probably know, I’m not like other, normal guys. One of them might not feel comfortable bringing home a woman who may or may not have had his Uncle Louie dress up as a dog and lick her stilettos.

I look at it this way: Assuming you used a stage name of some sort when working your gig, and assuming also that you’re not likely to be approached whilst on a date with this guy by some 56 year old dude who says he left his leather diaper at your loft, I’d say just keep it to yourself.

On the other hand, if it turns out your new boyfriend is into comic books, you can instantly add kitty ears to any domme outfit and you’ve instantly become the Catwoman of his dreams.

Oh, and if you’re down with that whole Catwoman thing, er… what are your rates?

Got a question you’re afraid to ask someone who knows what they’re talking about? Hit us up, Madam.

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