Mistress Geraldine of Dorchester

"Sister, you're wasting your time with those Black men, my White clients pay a lot more and they practically worship me," Ramona Villanueva said, and she looked me up and down, then scoffed. I, Geraldine Valbrun, took a deep breath before answering Ramona's missive. I can't stand non-Blacks, fellow minorities included, who think they understand what it's like to be a Black woman in North America. If you're not me, you don't know what it's like to me...

"Ramona, I'm saying this nicely, because we're friends, you're not a Black woman, you're Venezuelan, and having a Black boyfriend doesn't mean you understand what women like me go through, or why we do what we do, no offense," I replied, and with that, I got up and walked away. Ramona and I were seated inside the Starbucks located near Commonwealth Avenue in downtown Boston, and all of a sudden, I couldn't wait to get away from her.

"Geraldine, you're taking this the wrong way, it's a business decision, that's all," Ramona hollered, calling after me after I took off. I crossed the street, and boarded the Green Line Train at the Copley Square station. I hurried downstairs, took out my Charlie Card, swiped it, made my way to the subway platform and caught the first train. I began making my way back to Ashmont Station in the so-called sordid area of Dorchester, my home.

I met Ramona years ago, at Dom/Domme Con, a sort of annual gathering of male and female dominants in the BDSM scene. I've attended those gatherings in places like Boston, Los Angeles, Houston, Atlanta, and even Montreal and Toronto. Ramona and I were among the few non-White mistresses in attendance, and we clicked because we were about the same age, and had a lot in common. Apparently, not as much as I thought...

Ramona and I are both professional dominants, meaning we're those ladies that men, and sometimes women, come to for, ahem, fulfillment. We're not prostitutes in that we don't sleep with our clients, not that there's anything wrong with that. I like to take men to the edge, and show them what I can do. Spanking, flogging, bondage, and even penetration with a strap-on dildo, I do it all. And they pay for me it. Fun, huh?

Ramona's words cut me to my very soul. I stand on the packed subway car heading to the not-so nice part of Boston, the United States of America's intellectual capital. When my parents first moved to Dorchester, Massachusetts, from the island of Haiti, Dorchester was mostly Black, just like Roxbury. The demographics of Boston shifted significantly, and there's been quite a lot of gentrification in the past decade. Dorchester is almost forty percent White now, and getting Whiter. Isn't that peachy keen?

When I graduated from UMass-Boston in the summer of 2011, I had a business administration degree but to be perfectly fair and honest, I wasn't sure what to do with my life. I ended up working as a realtor after getting my real estate licence, and I tried to corner the market on immigrant housing. On paper, I had all the tools to succeed...

Talent and business smarts are entirely different things, ladies and gentlemen. I speak Haitian Creole, and I also speak Spanish, on top of English. I wanted to help folks from the Afro-Caribbean and Latin American communities navigate the real estate market in my part of Bay State. I sought to do some good. Fat lot of good that did me. My real estate career did not pan out.

How did I go from prim and proper, church-going and college-educated Haitian gal to whip-smart dominatrix? Hmm, there's a story there. I discovered the world of BDSM while at UMass-Boston, around the same time that I was exploring my sexuality. Growing up as the only daughter of a strict Haitian immigrant household, I wasn't given a lot of leeway for self-expression and exploration. I went to school, I went to church, I had a part-time job at Walgreens, and that was it.

Long before I discovered a penchant for wearing leather skirts and shiny Black tank tops, leather masks and latex gloves, I simply discovered...me. I was aware that both women and men moved me sexually, but in those days, I wasn't sure what to do about it. Fortunately, fate soon provided answers...

My first girlfriend was Jeannine Gordon, a forty-something housewife from the island of Antigua, the aunt of my former roommate Beatrice Ruiz. While cute as a button, Beatrice was strictly hetero, but her aunt was more...flexible. Jeannine taught me the absolute love of the female form, and introduced me to my own sensuality. From that day forward, my life would never be the same.

"You're insatiable," Jeannine said to me, the first time we made love, in her Brighton townhouse, a train ride or three from the UMass campus. I lay in her arms, this tall, dark-skinned, curvy woman with her big, soft breasts, and neat, lovely scent. Jeannine looked into my eyes and gently stroked my face, then smiled as I kissed her passionately.

"That's the idea," I replied, and Jeannine grinned, then we began making love again. This was my first time making love to another human being, woman or man. Jeannine rolled on top of me, and showed me the way, as they say. Her tongue slid down my throat even as she caressed my breasts with one hand and fingered my pussy with the other. Hmm, how I welcomed that sweet exploration...

Things were so simple in those days. Jeannine was the lovely, fun-loving and feisty divorcee and I was the younger woman whom she welcomed into her world. She taught me how to pleasure her, and how to recognize others like us, women who love women. Jeannine once told me that my tomboyish style and short hair first got me on her radar, but she had to make sure...

"I like tomboys like you, simple girls, not those fashion-obsessed young girls out there," Jeannine said, in between licks, as she munched on my pussy. I smile and moan softly as Jeannine makes love to me, and I delight in what she's doing to me. As our relationship progresses, our passion for one another increases. Jeannine kept our sex life fresh and exciting. I still shudder with delight when I think of that time she bent me over her sofa and fucked me with a thick Black strap-on. Good times...

Jeannine and I continued to see each other throughout my university days, and then things came to a head because of...Pierre. When I met Pierre Lucien in my Anthropology class, the six-foot-three, muscular, dark-skinned brother from the City of Atlanta, Georgia, simply took my breath away. I looked at him and felt...things. I just had to have this man.

"Geraldine, I don't like switch-hitters, confused sluts who can't decide if they like pussy or dick, we're through," Jeannine said to me, after I told her about my feelings for Pierre. I looked at Jeannine, stunned by her words. We were seating inside Au Bon Pain, a neat little restaurant located in the Back Bay.

"Jeannine, sweetie, don't do this, I like Pierre but I love you," I said, desperately holding her hand, but Jeannine wouldn't meet my eyes. I sat there, frozen, as Jeannine got up and walked out of Au Bon Pain, and out of my life. I shook my head, not believing what was happening. Tears streamed down my face. My good thing had indeed come to an end.

It's often been said that when one door closes, another opens, and I would soon find out how true that is. Pierre Lucien, a handsome young Black man from Atlanta, the only son of a middle-class Haitian American family, was destined to become my first male lover. Unfortunately, this meant the end of my relationship with the lovely and unforgettable Jeannine...

As a woman who loves both women and men, and falls somewhere under the tomboyish/androgynous spectrum of gender identity and expression, I can never forget the first time I made love to a man. Or had a man make love to me. I've never been the kind of female that most men, especially Black men, like. I've always been the odd woman out, pun intended.

Picture this, if you will. A five-foot-ten, curvy yet tomboyish gal with dark chocolate skin, short hair styled into tiny dreads, a round face with lively golden brown eyes, and the Whitest teeth you'll ever see. I don't know why but my teeth are super White, and I don't brush more than regular. Weird. Anyhow, I'm also not what you'd call busty, though I've been told I have a nice ass.

I've never been the girly type. Growing up, I played soccer, football and basketball with the young guys at my church. I didn't like playing with Barbie dolls. I sometimes got into fights. I hated wearing dresses. I found certain guys alluring, and found certain gals mystifying, but definitely preferred the company of men. Looks like I was destined to be that weird gal who never has a man. All that changed when I met Pierre...

"Damn, cutie, I like your style," Pierre said to me when I bumped into him at the school gym, an hour after Anthropology class. I was on the exercise bike, working up a sweat, and Pierre strolled by. The brother looked fantastic in a blue T-shirt and Black sweatpants, and he was smiling like a young Denzel, only taller. I looked him up and down, and returned his smile.

"That's what they all say," I replied, and Pierre winked at me. Normally, when guys flirt with me, I don't like it and it makes me uncomfortable. Throughout my relationship with Jeannine, I'd begun to slowly identify as a lesbian, and I'd grown comfortable under that label. I liked holding Jeannine's hand in public and kissing her. We'd gone to Boston Pride together, and I felt so proud to be able to show our love to the world. Sadly, those days were over...

"Hmm, I can tell by your accent that you're from the islands, are you Haitian?" Pierre asked, and as I looked at him, he licked his lips and returned my stare. There was a look of intensity in his chestnut eyes, and for some reason, a frisson coursed through me. I was feeling things when that man looked at me, and I had no idea why...

"Yup, I was born in Haiti and raised in Dorchester, the hood, so don't get too close," I replied, laughing, and Pierre nodded. He took a sip of water, grabbed a towel, cleaned up the exercise next to mine then parked his not unattractive derriere on it. I watched as he began working out for real, instead of merely going through the motions while flirting with me. Interesting...

"I'm not afraid to get close to the flame, darling, I like the fire," Pierre said, and something about his southern accent, and his way of carrying himself made me smile. The brother was not full of himself but he was definitely confident. And you know what? I kind of liked that! Ladies and gentlemen, that's how it all began...

"Hmm, the flame might burn you, Pierre, but you look like the type who doesn't mind a little pain," I replied, and Pierre casually shrugged. That's how it started between Pierre and I. We began hanging out, strictly on campus at first, and then we ventured to places like the Loews movie theater in Boston Common, and Copley Mall, some of my favorite places.

There are major differences between dating a man and being involved with a woman. Pierre surprised me with his openness and his vulnerability, the burly Haitian brother from Atlanta was quite gentle. A collegiate basketball player who writes slam poetry about being the son of two worlds, of Haiti and of the American South. Pierre surprised me, and this was one of many things I liked, no, loved about him...

"You're not what I expected," I said to Pierre as we walked through Boston Common park one night, after watching Borat, a fantastic comedy by the Ali G dude from those MTV videos. It was one of our first dates, and I had a lot of fun. On that evening, I wore a Black leather vest over blue jeans and sneakers, and Pierre looked cool in a bright red silk shirt, dark tie, Black silk pants and Black Timberland boots. Brother's a snappy dresser and has a cute butt, mama likes...

"I know, right? I'm a big jock but I've got a soul," Pierre said, flashing me a bright grin, and I smiled and nodded. Grabbing his silken tie, I pulled him close, and then I kissed him. Miss Tomboy kisses the King of the Jocks, what will they think of next? Pierre kissed me back, and then embraced me passionately. This was a most fantastic moment. Another first for me. The very first time I kissed a man...

"You're into soul sisters, that's good enough for me," I replied when Pierre and I came up for air. And I gave his cute butt a tap for good measure. What followed was a most unexpected evening, for I invited Pierre back to my one-bedroom cot to have tea and watch Boston Legal. We ended up starring in our own re-enactment of Basic Instinct, minus the blood...

"Hold my hands down while you're riding me," Pierre said to me, even as I admired that tight, muscular body of his. Tall, dark-skinned, masculine, and quite virile, Pierre was something else. I rubbed my breasts together, massaging my erect nipples and looked at the hard stick swinging between Pierre's legs. I like phalluses, and I've worn one, a strap-on dildo, during those few times Jeannine let me fuck her. I couldn't wait to touch Pierre's member...

"Whatever you want," I replied, looking at Pierre's manhood as though hypnotized. We kissed again, and he caressed my breasts, then playfully smacked my rather thick ass. I felt a wetness begin between my legs as I straddled him. I wanted this man badly, and couldn't wait to feel him in my pussy. I felt both excitement and dread at that prospect, but excitement won out...

How to describe the sensation of Pierre entering me? Making love with a man is entirely different from making love with a woman. Women aren't all soft and sweet, there were times when Jeannine could get quite rough with me, slapping my face, biting my tits and fucking me roughly with her fingers and/or toys. Pierre, though decidedly stronger than her, was much gentler...

"Geraldine, please relax, babe, just let me inside of you," Pierre whispered, and I looked into his eyes and nodded. Slowly I impaled myself on his dick, and at last we were one. I felt invaded by Pierre's big dick in me, but I also felt...so fucking alive. I sighed happily and began riding him with all of my might, and he bucked his hips, thrusting deep inside of me. That's when the fun really began...

After hours of passionate lovemaking, Pierre and I lay side by side on my bed, happy as can be. I looked at him, and smiled. This tall, dark-skinned male, a fellow Haitian, the son of immigrants, a member of my community. He's so...male, the embodiment of the patriarchy, everything I've struggled against as a feminist, a womanist, and a lesbian, albeit one with bisexual tendencies. And yet...I loved him.

"You're really one of a kind, Pierre," I said to him, as he wrapped those big strong arms around me and kissed my forehead. This tall, strong man who is not intimidated by my tomboyish demeanor, my masculine attire, and my unorthodox approach to life as a young black woman in America. The man who accepts me as I am, a funny-looking gal with a lot of quirks. I can't get enough of him...

"Geraldine, you're the unique one, you just don't know it," Pierre whispered, before licking my ear. I simply melted in his arms, this big gentle giant. I was raised to be a good Catholic, and my parents once worked me to wear skirts instead of pants as I sat in church pews. I rebelled against religion and the rules of femininity and community, and now, I'm putty in this gentle man's hands. Who would have thought?

My romance with Pierre caught me by surprise, but isn't that what must be said for the best things in life? Seemingly overnight we became a couple, and an odd one. The tall, handsome basketball player and his tomboyish girlfriend, the short-haired, dark-skinned chick with the rainbow buttons on her backpack, and the penchant for wearing everything from men's shirts and ties to leather gear. People stare at us everywhere we go, and we don't care...

Pierre is the one who introduced me to the world of BDSM, having been taught the ropes by an ex-girlfriend of his back in Atlanta. I wasn't too sure about all this stuff, whips and chains and stuff, but Pierre explained everything to me. Turns out BDSM can be a lot of fun, when done safely, between consenting adults who know and respect each other's limits. It's too bad the whole scene gets a bad rap in the media...

"Trust me, BDSM is fun and it's for normal people like you and me, it doesn't have to be taboo because we're black or whatever," Pierre said to me, as we did some exploration in his basement apartment. Pierre lived in the basement of a townhouse located on Fields Corner, not far from the MBTA Train tracks. His place was neat, and I liked it. The brother knew how to live, and he was about to teach me a thing or two...

"Alright, I trust you," I said to Pierre, and he smiled and nodded. We undressed, and then he showed me a few things. It felt weird to be lying across his knees, on my belly, with my butt sticking out, but it was fun. Pierre gave me a sound spanking, beginning gently at first, and then he picked up speed and intensity. It was weird, but I kind of liked it...

"Hmm, Geraldine, you got an ass made for spanking," Pierre said to me, and I laughed, even as my big ass stung from his whacking and spanking. Over the next few weeks, Pierre and I continued to explore. One particularly intense night, he put me on his dining room table, ate my pussy, and then, as I lay there, with my hands and feet bound, he fucked me. I felt kind of abased, but totally alive. It was fantastic!

"Hmm, I like to spank too," I told Pierre after that fun experience, and to my amazement, that sparked his interest. I was kind of surprised when my big and tall, NBA star-like boyfriend revealed to me that he had certain, ahem, submissive desires, which he was looking to explore. With me. I did not see that one coming...

"I think you'd make a great dominatrix, Geraldine, in fact, I will help you become one," Pierre said, and I looked at him, astonished. We exchanged a smile, and a sense of excitement flooded both my mind and body. I don't know why, but I was really eager to try this out. Pierre saw the interest in my eyes, and nodded. From that moment on, nothing would ever be the same between us...

"Call me Mistress Geraldine," I said to Pierre, and he looked at me, and hesitated. I cocked an eyebrow, and totally got in his face. He was much taller than me, but I pressed my curves against him in a challenging manner, and locked eyes with him. Pierre looked back at me, and he blinked, but I didn't. I think that's when we both knew...

"Yes, Mistress Geraldine," Pierre replied, and I smiled and nodded in approval. This was but the first step. His acknowledgement of my status as a female dominant, never mind that I had a lot to learn about female strength and male submission, and the rules and codes of the BDSM world. Certain basics had to be established, and Pierre and I were eager to dot the I's and cross the T's, so to speak...

"This is going to be so much fun," I said to Pierre, the first night I dominated him. We were in my bedroom, my comfort zone, and I set the pace. Prior to doing it, we'd discussed rules and limitations, safe words and whatnot. Pierre trusted me and I trusted him, and with our bond and powerful connection, I didn't foresee any problems. Without any further ado, we got this show on the road...

"I can't wait, Mistress Geraldine," Pierre replied, and I smiled at him, this burly young black man who knelt at my feet. I wore a black tank top and black leather pants, and Pierre wore his black boxers. The brother looked good, and I couldn't wait to torment him...with his permission of course. The thought of dominating him had my pussy tingling and I couldn't wait to make it a reality...

"Careful what you wish for," I told Pierre, and then I switched into dominatrix mode, and showed him what I could do. As the night progressed, I put Pierre through the paces, as they say. I made him pull down his boxers and spanked him, and also led him around my place on a leash like a dog. All fun things, to be sure, but the highlight of the evening was the pegging session...