Sticks & Stones May Break My Bones but Whips & Chains are Old News (Part 1)

I've written about this before, but not on this blog and I'm feeling nostalgic today, so here goes.

In the fall of 1989 I began my illustrious collegiate journey at the prestigious Henry Ford Community College.  Being of the scholarly mind set, among my plethora of intellectual challenging course studies, was Art 101. I needed an easy A. 

I attended class with my closest and dearest friend, let's call him "Bob". The class was filled with a wide array of people, lots of very run of the mill normal looking folks of all ages, Bob and I were of the "everything we wear is stone washed denim and hey look at our mullets" school of fashion and then there was "the girl".

The Girl was something I had never witnessed before. She was petite, no taller than 5'4", very thin, pale white skin, with very long black dread locks. Her clothes were all black and either skin tight (like her tights) or too big (like her black leather biker jacket and army boots that made it look like she got into her dad's clothing, and her dad was Andre the Giant). She was gorgeous, seriously, simply beautiful. 

All of these features though was not what made her stand out, no, she had something else that I had not seen before in person, it was 1989, so I don't think many people had seen it in person; she had piercings...everywhere. Each ear had a half dozen or so rings plus ones through parts of her ears I didn't realize you could pierce and her nose was pierced, which, back then, was not common. This was so exotic and so beyond the norm for me I had no choice, I didn't know her, and she wasn't exactly exuding the "hey I want to make friends with you people" vibe, but I had to talk to her. So I did.

She was amazing. She was friendly and warm and most of all she was giggly. She had a Bettie Rubble style laugh that I shockingly didn't annoy me, but just added to her charm. Within a day she had invited Bob and I stop by her home in Detroit to "check out her beat off mags". Yes, you read that right. I was in heaven.

The day we supposed to stop by the girl's house, Bob had something come up, so I went alone. I was nervous. I was 18 and from Redford which meant "suburbs". My self image as a long haired guitar player in a rock and roll band meant nothing here, I was so blatantly NOT cool or cutting edge it was laughable. She was the real deal. I knocked on her door, she opened it, smiled and let me in. The smell of incense filled her house, it decorated in gothic horror which again, in 1989 wasn't in the media, wasn't on MTV and wasn't seen ANYWHERE. There was a nice naked man practicing yoga in the living room, we walked right by him, I wasn't introduced and his presence wasn't commented on. She took me right up to the attack and we sorted through an old box of Cherry and Hustler magazines as we talked and I tried harder than ever before to make her giggle, we were just getting to know each other and hanging out over some nice beaver shots. Suddenly my life seemed beyond perfect.

Over the the next few weeks the girl and I hung out more and more, we became really good friends. One day she called me and asked if I could come over and drive her somewhere, I asked if her car was broken, she said no, she just needed to be dropped off somewhere I said, "of course". 

When I got to her house she was waiting, she came out and got into my big old blue Buick looking more bad ass vampire chick from hell than ever before. She had black thigh high lace up boots on with what looked like 17" heels, she had make up to rival Elvira, a tight, tight, tight, tight latex corset on and was carrying a large black purse/sack/body bag. We hugged, I smiled, she giggled, we drove off. She pulled out paper with directions on it.

When we arrived, she casually, without looking at me, asked if I could come get her in an hour. One hour exactly. I said sure, but what are you doing? She smiled, leaned in and kissed me, just a peck, but a kiss still, smirked and got out of the car without answering. One hour later I was back in the exact same spot, she got back in the car, fumbled around a bit, then handed me $75 cash and said we could go back "home" now. 


So began my year-long adventure as a driver (and  occasional lover) for a professional dominatrix.

More to come in part 2 of the series, "I've Done Every Job on Earth Except Worked in Fast Food Because I have Standards"