How We Fell In Love

dungeon windowsill with paintbrush & pencils

(With Our Future Dungeon & Shared Domming Ethos)

S and I had dommed in a dungeon together for weeks, falling into a queered sorority house closeness–sharing joints & iced coffees, changing into lingerie while chatting in the office, dropping in on each other’s sessions to laugh at subs. We’d spent days tag teaming projects, side-by-side at matching desks, hammering out policies on sanitation, streamlining intake, cleaning up databases.

But until that sleepover when we stayed up later than everyone, S and I hadn’t really really talked, not one-on-one. There’s always someone around in the house, doing homework in the corner or rushing in to grab a donation envelope just when you get into something deep. Finally, at witching hour o’clock that morning, whispering in red lamplight across a sleeping friend, we connected.

When you trade in seduction, you find there are a lot of opportunities for love. However, to find a business partner, a true collaborator, a friend you want to clean leather and crunch numbers with, is a rare and brilliant thing. For weeks we’d been in a silent mutual admiration society, checking out each other’s practice and circling like cats. Once we spoke it aloud, we were on fire.

By 5:30am we’d outlined the foundations of our shared vision–a house of our own, an impeccably constructed dungeon, a sanctuary for our cozy occult practices, a business designed to give us the space to thrive. It felt like something we’d already walked through together in a dream and had only now remembered to write down on paper. We figured Williamsburg? Maybe a short-term rental first? 6 months from now?

Next morning, we stashed our plans. We traded a few significant looks across the bondage table, but kept it together, wanting to wait until the “right time,” leave things cleanly at our home dungeon, give our Domme-Mom notice before we struck out on our own.

Funny how once the unspeakable desire is named, it must be spoken. The friendly dungeon basement ghosts must’ve been listening to our slumber party wildest dreams, because about a week later Domme-Mom casually mentioned that she’s been “meaning to turn the spare room into a mini-dungeon.”

Before the sentence was all the way out of her mouth, I had texted S. As soon as we got her blessing to build out the space, I had half a legal pad of plans ready.

In a weirdly wholesome way, it feels like we’ve been preparing our whole lives for this project. We’re lighting design theater tech nerds, former punk house DIYers, the kind of teens who got trusted with power tools at Habitat for Humanity, outsider artists, meticulous planners, nerdy project management types (and of course we have over 15 years of BDSM experience between us).

Domme-Mom is in basically a “Jesus take the wheel” situation, except it’s two geeky gay satanic sadists at the wheel and one of us doesn’t know how to drive. What we don’t know yet, we’ll research and learn–plus our circle is filled with brilliant, generous, hand-on types, so we’ll use all the phone-a-friend favors we can pull.

Give me and S the tiniest little chain-link leash to run with and we’ll go full Queer Eye (for the goth domme dyke) on your spare room. Watch this space to follow our adventures at Homo Depot, the evolution of our mini-dunge (rhymes with “lunge”), and the seances & sessions to follow.

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S + M

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