It’s so strange. This has been an extremely difficult article to write. I’ve gone through two drafts and scrapped it all.
Let me explain. I don’t live in a vacuum. To say that I’m a Dominant, an Alpha, a Goddess, and a Queen, is to include the very rules of measurement that have conjured such titles into existence.
How did they come about? Through men and a man’s experience of what a dominant is or isn’t. The essence of my dominance has been defined by men.
Where, in the heart of all of this, does the spirit of the untamed woman live?
Let’s suppose for longevity’s sake that we attempt to filter out the male definition and find the original thoughts of being an independent woman. After all, dominant is sometimes synonymous with aggression, bitchiness, cold-heartedness, determination, voracity, all the types of characteristics found in a pricey lawyer or feminine activist, both stereotypes that over time have diminished their cause with soap opera banality. By definition and through action, a “dominant” doesn’t leave cracks in time for inquiry. Only the very bold (or over-eager) questions why she acts the way she acts.
More likely, she is there, she makes her wishes known, and she leaves when she’s finished doing whatever it is she set out to do.
Sounds like a cat. The kind that likes to be stroked and slinks away when she’s had her fill. The needs and wants of the stroker don’t seem to factor into her equation and for good reason. Most of the time, getting someone else’s opinion is a waste of time. There’s method to this madness. It’s not an egocentric mind gone amuck. This can’t be explained in its entirety. It must be shown.
In session land, such dialogue excites those who relish the thought of being squashed by the thumb of a large and in charge Alpha. Her ponderings on why such a tiny, helpless, pathetic man would question her demands are liquid gold. Her playthings tremble with slack-kneed lust. Instead of being pissed off and boasting their superior position of masculine authority, there’s a whole tribe of would-be lambs dying to crawl underfoot. These men know power, have power, and quite frankly, need to give some of it away. It’s a survival instinct.
I don’t know much about cats. I’m a dog person. I don’t have anything against the feline persuasion. I’ve met nice ones and nasty ones, which I chalk up to a mutual lack of understanding. When I do think about cats, I think about the giant ones. Panthers, lions, tigers, jaguars. I think about the power, the purpose, the grace, and the lethalness of their position as predators. They are fine, fine predators.
Cats like these don’t look good in a cage and they don’t seem to be in it for the “tribe.” Altruism is not what comes to mind when a huntress crouches on a high limb waiting to douse doe-eyed prey with a bucket of knives. They do however maintain balance in the lifecycle, and if you are prey, it’s your duty to go to slaughter lest there be overpopulation, disease, starvation, a whole host of ugliness that doesn’t flourish in a stable ecosystem. If one is to be prey, one would hope for a quick takedown over a slow painful death. I for one believe the animal in man understands and appreciates this.
Why do I consider myself an Alpha? Like the cat, it’s how I was made. A good chunk of my teens and twenties were spent agonizing over what to give away and what to keep. The desire to be accepted, to fit in and blend with my peers, came with the price that I must smother my dominant tendencies or be subjected to endless pissing contests. I must not question the trends. I must conform to how the majority looked and spoke and thought. In essence, if one is to engage in a pissing contest, the question of length, width, girth and force is a pre-existing insecurity. An insecure animal is an animal that provokes dominance in other animals. The animal kingdom has no qualms about abandoning weaker members to forest slaughter as their instability endangers the whole. It’s a cycle.
I made attempts at conformity but that predator part of me, the longer she was bound, the more bad tempered she became. It wasn’t until I found a worthy role model, a teacher who owned her sexuality and balanced those dominant parts with compassion that I learned to focus my gifts into a pack mentality.
Funny thing, I don’t think of myself as a “dominant” woman.
I know what I like, I’m open to new experiences, and I don’t have a problem letting those wishes be known. This isn’t dominance. It’s experience talking. It’s too often reaching the breaking point, an internal willfulness that says, “Enough is enough.” It’s knowing that if I trust myself, whatever anyone else decides to do isn’t my business.
I’m not down for the stigma that proclaims a bossy chick needs to be a bitch to make her way in the world. As much as I could use it, that’s pouring blood in the shark tank. The majority of my thoughts are NOT centered around bending a weaker will to my bidding. There’s no such thing as a weaker will. There are strengths and weaknesses. Noticing where power is assigned is why dominant women have a leg up on the competition. This is teachable. The height of power is the ability to empower others.
Such pretty talk. I can get myself riled up and it’s mighty fine affirmations when I come off the mat, spent and glistening and licking at the sweat. But it’s better shown.
So here ya go. Some mental wanderings right at the cusp of fighting weight, jotted down when the animal is on the hunt.
You there. Yes, you. Man.
I know what you want. In a million different ways, a million different pictures, a million different words. They spell the same wish.
Help me or get out of my way.
Respect me and I will glorify your existence.
Fight for me or I will feed you to the wolves.
You think it matters that I am smaller, that this physical body can’t lift or pull or throw as you can? It doesn’t.
Can you move my mind? Can you out-see my possibilities?
Not stuck as you are to pavement, to matter and weight and linear thinking.
I can free you from those traps.
This is not a promise. This is inevitable. As surely as you were made, as surely as your cup runneth over with delicious chemistry to be drained and refilled, you walk in front of me. Your largess casts many shadows for I am the sun.
I will use you as you were meant to be used. I will envelop your force with softness. You have already surrendered. Go ahead and put up a fight. Make a good show of it. I will laugh at your playfulness and tussle with you in the grass. I will show you beauty and subdue your fears. You will surpass your limitations because I command it.
I am the Huntress.
Getting good, right? This is the rare and unfiltered. I don’t go stomping around saying this aloud, and I certainly don’t think this way all the time. To keep it as this and only this, I would be doing us and the idea of a “Dominant Woman” a great injustice.
Thoughts are just thoughts. This body is just a body. Combined, they are capable of glorious and monstrous actions.
It is not enough for me to think and feel this way. Conceptualization is planning a feast in which no one is invited. I want the core, the marrow, the blood. What drives me is bigger than any fantasy of respect or worship. I don’t need those things to be independent, to know and love myself. They are results at the end of an equation that begins and ends with love.
Scraping those influences aside, the man part of the female, the constant dialogue of power, sex, and control, what remains is the intention.
I want to be kind. At the bottom of the barrel, kindness is the only thing that matters.
I want to see a man at his fullest potential, glory in his maleness and what separates us, and stand for his humility and divine strength in the bowels of servitude. I want him to see what I see. A King made strong by a Queen.
To experience this is to be this, and the only way I’ve found that gets the job done is to control my thoughts, master my body, and live like the wolf while playing the cat.
In a pack, if the Alpha dies and there isn’t a replacement, they will all starve. The Alpha maintains balance. When everyone knows their place, there is harmony. The whole is greater than the One. The Alpha is continually tested and if another comes to challenge the throne, she fights for the survival of her family. If she loses, she leaves so that her blood may continue with a younger, stronger leader.
And she would rather die than fail her family.
Sure, I’ll put on the cat suit, dance around a petting hand, and carry on the air of indifference. I’ll make men kneel and let them play their small games of control. I’ll even enjoy myself and this temporary position of power. Because behind all of that, my intentions are bigger than any fantasy or material reward.
I am the Huntress and you are my Family.