I ruin your orgasms. Except when I take them for myself with joy.

I’m sweet and loving. Except when I’m cranky and snarky.

I am stern and demanding. Except for the times I give in to the puppy dog face because it makes me so happy to do so.

I will humiliate you and poke at your deepest insecurities. Except when I’m building you up and encouraging you.

I will hurt you and set your nerves on fire. Except for when I pleasure you or cuddle you.

I will wear six-inch stilettos and latex. Except when I prefer yoga pants and a tank top—or nothing at all.

I wrote a piece in 2014 that I use to close my communications class: How Do I Say…?. I revisited the idea in 2017 with One Cannot Not Communicate.

In kink, we talk a lot about communication and consent and protocol and sex and lots of other good things. I love it, and engage in these talks with abandon.

What we don’t talk about—in fact, what anyone ever anywhere rarely talks about—is non-active communication.

For some, this may call to mind numbers. 93%, 70%, 55% — All tied to how much of a role body language plays in our communication, versus the words we speak or our tone of voice.

That’s not entirely what I mean.

Although that’s part of it.

What I mean is that we communicate most often (93% of the time, maybe) without thinking about communicating.

I do most of my domination without thinking of being dominant. Submissives do most of their submission without thinking about submitting. Sportsballers do most of their sportsball without thinking about sportsballing.

AT THAT TIME.

Our conscious acts of communication, domination, submission, or sportballing the perfect play are the highlight reels, the ones we watch over and over in our minds when we get them right or wrong, either patting ourselves on the back or flogging ourselves for blowing it.

Those are what we mostly focus on.

But those don’t make up vast majority of our lives and communication, or even much of our lives and communication. Life is too full for most of us to be conscious and intentional all of the time.

And the rest of the time, we autopilot.

And THAT tells people who we really are, when they get to see that part of us over the long haul.

They get to see how we dominate.

They get to see how we submit.

They get to see how we sportsball.

They get to see how we love, how we care for our pets, how we treat waiters, how we listen to children (or don’t), how we appreciate the beauty of nature, care for our environment, care for ourselves…

Because who we are in our non-intentional time is the largest part of who we are. And it’s the largest part of who people experience of us.

How I dom thee is not the scene.

• It’s the planning the scene, with attention to detail and questions asked, getting to know you.
• It’s the greeting before the scene, and the many (or few) ways of putting you at ease.
• It’s the headspace you are inspired to as the scene begins.
• It is also the scene (1 hour? 3 hours?).
• It’s the scene winding down, the small touches, the assurances, the sweet talk.
• It’s the after care, and cuddling and closeness.
• It’s the checking in the next day and the day after that. It’s the building of a friendship or relationship.
• It’s the inclusion in my life, in my friends’ lives.

It’s so much more than the scene.

How I dom thee is simple.

It’s everything I do for you, to you, with you. It’s every word I say, every quirk of my lips into smile. It’s every time I touch your knee or cook for you. It’s small gifts and watching your favorite movie again for the umpteenth time.

It’s asking you if you need anything when I walk to the fridge. It’s giving you my attention when you speak. It’s listening to your advice and taking it into account. It’s sitting next to you quietly as you stress, and simply sharing my presence if you need me.

It’s everything I do right AND everything I do wrong and everything in between.

So, sure, I could tell you the many ways I dom thee… but what matters is the ways YOU experience my domming you.

How do I dom thee?

I’ll let you count the ways.