One Life To Live

It may come as a shock that I have surrounded myself at work with highly intelligent, driven, opinionated women employees. Dare I say they are all pretty bossy? Anyway, fairly recently it became painfully clear that one of them was just not right for her position no matter how hard she tried. A wonderful, creative, artistic talent was simply wasted as a paralegal/receptionist. And what's more the other women had viciously turned on her. I was spending hours of my day vainly trying to keep the peace and failing miserably. Everyone was at each other's throats.

Everyone that is, except the intern.

Ah, the intern. Last fall I was asked by an extraordinarily well regarded, very successful, active domme friend to try to help her friend, a retired domme, get an internship in my general line of work. So I offered Retired Domme a volunteer gig at my office and she graciously accepted. Then when Ms. Artistic Office Beauty and I decided it wasn't working, I offered Retired Domme a paid postion as my paralegal and receptionist. And presto, like some sort of secret, voodoo magic, my office was transformed from a scene out of "Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill" to a serene, professional, calm workplace.

But this "just-the-facts-ma'am" description does not even begin to describe the internal odyssey I've experienced since meeting and working with Retired Domme. We first became acquainted at a little evening soiree held by Active Domme in honor of a visiting subbie guy who she'd sort of adopted, much in the same way she has sort of adopted me. I arrived and Active Domme gave me a big hug while she leeringly told me I smelled of cologne and money.

Well, maybe cologne, I offered.

As she led me into her parlor of perversion she told me that it was just her, subbie guy, and Retired Domme. She referred to Retired Domme by using her stage name.

And my heart missed a beat.

You see, Retired Domme for me, has always been one of those iconic symbols. Dominant women I'd never met but whose visages and presence in the ethernet of my imagination just captured all that is so deeply and darkly sexy about this thing of ours. And there she was. Just a smart, pretty, funny woman who I talked to normally all night long.

And so, Retired Domme has become a part of my office. A trusted and valuable part of my office. She is an integral link in the delivery of my services to my clients. At this week's office meeting when I made a bit of a fuss by formally welcoming her to our lean and mean little staff, everyone burst into simultaneous applause and proclaimed her employee of the month.

As for me, I truly feel like she's the employee of a lifetime. At once, she is both icon and normal girl just trying her best to fit in and do a good job. While I'm a red blooded subbie guy who still has a healthy libido, it's great being her boss and appreciating her intelligence, talent, and attention to the detail of our practice.

I must confess to the irony of asking her to make my travel arrangements and having her cheerfully present me with my security blanket envelope containing plane tickets, car rental voucher, and accomodation information. But it just feels normal, despite her place as Ms. Kink Universe in the pervy pin-up calender of my mind.

I think I'm a good boss. A tad anarchic and unconventional. Prone to befriending particularly good employees. But a good boss nevertheless.

BTW, she did authorize me to write about this confluence of scene and work, just so you know.

And I just love her as my "wing ma'am". Far more scene savvy than I am, I can ask her questions about events, people, and stuff in general and have these nice, normal conversations about kink. She is always circumspect and appropriate, never gossipy or loose with the many confidences I'm sure she must enjoy. Retired Domme is happily involved in a committed relationship and is the perfect friend with which to share the vicissitudes of dating kinky.

So after over two months of sharing my professional life and kink life with my new favorite employee and friend, the internally rancorous and raucous assemblage of scene life, work life, and vanilla social life has uncannily morphed into a quieter and more confident sense of success.

And yo dog, if Rhianna can get banned in Britain, I can certainly at least attempt to engage Retired Domme in idle chit chat about who's hot and available and who's not.