Awhile ago, I had an interesting discussion on women and submission on my other self’s blog. The discussion, which originated at The Erotic Writer, was excellent and ranged over several different sites. Dominance and submission are subjects that I am particularly drawn to, and I find myself coming back to power dynamics quite a lot in my work. Control requires a delicate, watchful balance, after all, and I’m sure it will come up here again. In the meantime, however, I offer you Tessa, a snippet of a scene from the opposite side of the coin. Rather than female submission, it’s the portrait of a dominance.
Elsa, a woman knowledgeable only in the ways of her own psyche, stared at her sister skeptically. The lines around her mouth settled comfortably. Skepticism was her natural state.
“…But deep down, you must have fantasies about being dominated. Every woman does, even if we don’t admit them to ourselves, even if you never act on them…?”
Tessa leaned back and sipped her tea. She was tired of the conversation. Elsa was her twin, a fact that made less and less sense the older they got. It was a threadbare question, but threadbare or not, the question passed the time.
“Elsa,” she said. “I dream of pulling a man’s heart out of his chest and cupping it in my hands. I want to cradle it so he can see it pulsing, gorgeous and red. I want to say, “look, darling! Your heart! Your heart is in my hands.” I dream of my face being the last thing he sees – my face and his beautiful heart. That is what I want. So no. I don’t dream of being dominated. Not even a little bit.”
Elsa’s fingers fluttered over her porcelain cup. It was empty. Tessa watched her resist the urge to lift it to her lips. She needed something to do.
“I don’t understand you,” she murmured. “I wish I did.”
Tessa reached for the pot, and filled her sister’s cup.
“It’s all right that you don’t.”