Does This Look Like A Face Of A Dominatrix To YOU?
Ok, so I am WEIRDLY excited to write these words to you right now.
You, who are curious. You, who are awakening. You, who are playful, creative, alive and WONDERING all kinds of kooky, wild, and fascinating stuff.
I am bubbling over with as much excitement as I am because I LOVE talking about consciousness. And EVEN MORE than that, I love talking about wacky, unique, off-the-grid ways that consciousness shows up to expand our awareness and teach us more about the nature of The Universe, Our Lives and Ourselves.
Ok, so here’s the SUPER crazy cool thing that happened to me recently to EXPAND the SHIZ-NIT out of my awareness.
I ADORE it when the Universe shows me a thing- or a person, in this case- that SEEMS like one thing to me, based on my wackadoo projections, rejections, separations, judgements and conclusions, but then turns out to be an entirely different, more dynamic, MUCH MORE interesting thing that the teeny tiny thing I originally thought it was.
You know when that happens?
Like when you see a little old lady on a street corner, and you think “Awwww, that sweet little old lady… I should probably help her walk her frail, old-lady-bones across the street, poor, frail thing that she is!” And then you approach her, and gingerly place your hand on her arm. You’re cautious as you touch her, lest her thin, weak skin be bruised and injured by the sheer strength of your powerful, young-lady-hands.
And just as you ease your hand, ever so gently, onto her arm, she SMACKS it away and screeches like The Wicked Witch of the Aged, “GET OFF OF ME, YOU! STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!”
“Oh,” you stammer… “I- I’m sorry, I-“
“You SHOULD be sorry,” she interrupts. “Do I look like an INVALID? I’m not 90! I can CROSS the GOD-DAMNED sonofabitch STREET by my GOD-DAMNED SELF. Jesus Fucking CHRIST.” And she makes her way stiffly, but with surprising swiftness, into the crosswalk, cursing you actively as she goes.
And you think to yourself, “Wow. That’s one sassy Grandma.”
Ok, so this was like that.
But cooler.
When I first met Georgia Watson, it was in an Access Consciousness Class in Santa Barbara, CA at Blossom Benedict’s house. She was with her beau/partner-in-crime, Bret Rushia (pronounced “ROO-SHAY,” he thanks you very much).
She was leaning against a wall, casually, comfortably, and at ease. She looked… Refined. Beautiful. Lithe. And sort of…. delicate. Not weak. Just delicate- like she might have bird bones… Like you best not slap her back too quickly at the end of a joke, cackling wildly, and claiming “HA HA HA HA HAAAAA- that was a GOOD one, right?” lest her thin frame shatter from the unnecessary force of your Oafish Katie Rubin Bear Arms.
She was blonde. She was quiet. She was lovely to look at. Like an innocent farm girl from a very slim, and attractive family of Horticuluralists, maybe. Like maybe her family had all been Scandinavian models- the whole lineage of them-until they all collectively agreed that the beauty industry was just too “harsh,” and “unkind,” and that the farming business might be a more conscious, earth-loving endeavor for them to pursue.
She sat in the back of the room, softly, unassumingly.
Sometimes, she lounged comfortably on a couch on the side of the room.
She seemed to always glow just a little. Not, like, an offensive, affronting “I”M VERY SHINY!” glow- the kind I might embody. But a subtle, quiet “I’m-very-calm-about-how-naturally-beautiful-and-at-ease-I-am” kind of glow. Like a fawn, basking in an otherwise invisible summer light. A fawn, who was peacefully witnessing the goings on of the several days we spent together from another close-by, but very different dimension where problems don’t exist, everyone is appealing in every way, and nothing difficult ever happens.
You ever notice that about beautiful women? How they seem to have an un-touched quality? Like life has never once dished them up a nice healthy serving of “FUCK YOU.” Like the very idea that stuff could ever be difficult for them is sort of… just… not a thing. And how, when you ask them a question like “What is the hardest thing you’ve ever been through?” they just blink at you, vacantly. As if to say “Hardest? What means this word? I am beauty. I know not… hardest…” Blink. Blink.
She didn’t speak often over the several days we spent together. And when she did speak, her voice was soft and comforting. Like a warm liqueur, gliding down your throat soothing and heating you all at once.
Whenever I spoke, (which was all the freaking time) the volume and hardness of my naturally bull-in-a-china-shop Jew-Voice seemed to disturb the very frequency of her being. Not that she let on that this was its effect. More like, I HAD to imagine it was. It would have to have been.
She was made, in my mind, of softness and wind. And I was a flaming pile of poo that some neighboring kid had flung on to her family’s theretofore pristine and undisturbed horticulture farm.
I had to be smelly, at the very least. To her perfect nose, I mean.
So.
On the second night of our three night class- or was it the third of 4? (Who can remember anything any more?) Silent, Mysterious, Fawn-Model Georgia, Blossom Benedict, Meredith Locher and I sat outside on the patio of Blossom’s breezy, So-Cal Villa, chatting, and creating stuff, and getting to know one another a bit. Blossom asked me how my then writing project was coming along. We talked about screenplays and how I write them. We talked bout Blossom’s online video-making endeavors, her business, Meredith’s horse, the champagne they were all enjoying. At a certain point I asked “What do you do, Georgia?”
The Fawn Woman seemed to sink a bit deeper into her chair. She paused, scanning my being.
She seemed to be looking for something. “What was it,” I wondered? Did she think I wouldn’t understand? Was she actually from Scandinavia and therefore couldn’t understand my English through my thick, obnoxious American accent? Was she maybe a famous actor from LA?
I had definitely, at this point, met several famous actors, on several different occasions, who I hadn’t recognized as famous actors, and made the mistake of saying something like “Did we do a play together in Sacramento?” only to have them respond, “No. I’m Steven Tyler.” or “No. But I was just in the most recent Woody Allen film.” or my favorite response (this is real), “No, but I’m pretty famous, so…”
Ugh. Was this one of THOSE scans? Where she was trying to figure out how to break it to me that I was clearly a clueless idiot for not knowing that she was… DUH- Ellen Degeneres’ Wife?! HELLO?!
Thankfully, she broke her scan-gaze, and looked at Blossom. Blossom looked back at her.
They seemed to be discussing something silently, the way sister-deers do.
“Can I tell her?” Blossom asked. “I’d only ask about someone I know won’t judge.”
And in that moment, the Innocent Porcelain Doll Woman nodded, delicately, so as, I assumed, not to strain her delicate muscles and skin. It occurred to me in that moment, that she probably lived in the Tower of a Castle somewhere, where servants brought her whisps of daffodils to munch on, and poured flutes of cucumber-infused waters into her virgin mouth parts.
“She’s a dominatrix,” Blossom said.
Just like that.
“HA!” I cackled insanely. Like a louder than normal really loud thing.
“RIGHT! SURE! Totally!” I continued, laughing very much by myself.
I waited for them to join me in the laughing.
They did not.
They stared at me blankly.
Time passed.
Like a lot of time.
Eventually… I caught a sliver of a drift.
“Wait, what?” I pointed at her. “You?” I pointed at her, which seemed like a thing I probably shouldn’t do to a Fawn Woman.
“Yeah,” she barely said. “Here.”
She turned her laptop to face me. As it happened, her website was open at that moment.
And sure enough, there she was… All sex appeal, hypnotizing her submissives into worshiping her.
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!”
I squealed. On the inside.
“Oh, Cool!” I said, casually and supportively. On the outside.
And here is what I knew immediately in that moment:
1. This woman was EVEN MORE fascinating than I had already assumed and projected.
2. CLEARLY, the energy of “domination” is VERY DIFFERENT than what I had assumed it was before meeting Madame Delicate-Pants.
3. I HAD to know what SHE knew about what ELSE was possible with the energy of “domination.”
If a delicate, kind, energetically soft being like this made her (very comfy) living DOMINATING dudes, there had to be many erroneous points of view I was being and living from about what domination is.
In my mind, having spent many years in the Bay Area, and learning what little I knew about dominant women from that community, “Doms” were cheap-leather-clad, angry-at-their-Dad bitches who wanted to make men suffer. I figured every Dominatrix was working out her rage at Mommy or Daddy on unsuspecting, sad, and pathetic men who paid them to re-trigger their childhood traumas cuz they were too fucked up to go to therapy and “work their shit out.”
Yeah. My first thoughts can be SUPER judgey.
Lucky for me, I know now that those first thoughts are almost never mine.
But/and, in the case of Georgia, they were the ONLY thoughts I had in relation to dominant women. So, I knew I needed to ask her some questions. So, I called her. And we chatted. And luckily she found me at least charming enough to bother chatting with me some more.
And as we have continued to chat over time, and as I have poured over some of the videos on her site, I have come to be aware of some entirely different energetic possibilities that are available within the act or process or state of being “dominant.”
Additionally, as I’ve gotten to know Georgia better, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and interacting with her bad ass side too. This is no fawn-in-the-field lady, except for when she wants to be. This is a strong business woman, who is masterful at the art of BEING vs DOING or FORCING. This is a woman who can lull you into doing whatEVER she wants you to do with your cock, all while making you feel simultaneously cared for and nurtured.
No. I don’t have a cock. But I have had one in many other lifetimes. And I kinda remember what it’s like to be led by it. And boy would I have enjoyed knowing Georgia back then! My invisible penis tingles at the mere notion of it.
All of this is to say, dear one. If you’re curious about an entirely DIFFERENT KIND of domination. If you’d like to know how and when other people might be dominating YOU. If you’d like to be able to maybe even possibly dominate others form time to time withOUT having to hurt them, injure them, or abuse them. Perhaps now is the time. Perhaps now is the moment. Perhaps Madame Georgia is the Goddess Access Consciousness Certified Facilitator for YOU?'
By Katie Rubin
About The Author-
Katie Rubin is a writer, performer, director, spiritual healer, and one of the funniest people I know. She has an incredible way of slipping consciousness and tools for greater awareness into her commentary on being alive whether in conversation, stand up comedy, and videos on Facebook. If you haven't seen any of her comedy yet, here's one of her many videos I love called, "Psychic Sex"...
