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May 09, 2008, 11:47AM

Dear Mom, I Thought You Should Know About The Dominatrix

On this weekend's Mother's Day, consider whether you'd communicate as openly with the Moms as this guy does. But at least he learned a valuable lesson: professional dominatrixes (dominatrices?) should be approached with caution.

"I waited a couple of days to call her, because that’s what people do to pretend they aren’t desperate. We chatted briefly and made plans to meet in a park by her place. Before she hung up, she said, “Be there at 6 p.m., don’t be late and bring me an Iced Mocha Frappuccino from Starbucks.”

In retrospect, I admit that was a pretty obvious red flag. But at the time, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “That’s a bit odd, normally girls don’t. . .” and then losing my train of thought when my mind wandered back to the fact that she apparently enjoyed showering with other people enough that she took it into consideration before she would consider moving into an apartment. And by the time I stopped thinking about that, I realized that I was sitting on a park bench near the East River with an Iced Mocha Frappuccino perspiring in my hand.

“I love taking pictures,” she went on. “You can really capture moments that way, and even feelings. But I work at a dungeon in Tribeca for money on the side. And Craig was a client of mine that really started liking me. He’s so loaded, so he helps me out a bit and sometimes goes a bit overboard, because he’s always trying to impress me. You can understand that though, right?”

“Listen, it’s real tough to find guys to date me cause of this. Please try and understand. I think you’d feel better about it if you went to my website. You’ll see it’s all very professional,” she said, not realizing that was the problem. She wrote the URL on the palm of my hand, which, let’s be honest, is pretty whorish.

She was standing next to an overweight, middle-aged man. He was naked except for a leather mask and was sprawled on his back across a stainless steel table. His eyes were closed, and the muscles in his neck were strained, suggesting that he was in pain—which made sense, because half of Katrina’s forearm was in his ass. She was smiling, and looking at her, I realized it was the only time I’d seen her smile.

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