On finding my top space as a femme

In this essay, I ask the question what is erotic dominance made of, especially if you're femme – and probably fail to find a concrete enough answer. It feels like there isn't much written about that part of BDSM, or even that headspace, and it makes me wonder what kind of specific shame we attach to that. 

I use femme because I came out as non-binary last year – and that paradoxically made me feel ok with looking very femme. As usual, there is a bit of embodied history and a couple of hot quotes from 1990s books. Thank you for going along for the ride as always <3

One of the most beautiful things in BDSM is catching your partner’s eyes in the scene and seeing them transformed. Seeing their facial expression change, seeing something different glowing in their eyes. It’s like both of you are still there, in your usual human forms, but suddenly emotional intensity is bigger than you. There is a vocabulary for the altered states of mind in BDSM: sub space, or top space. Triggered by adrenaline and endorphins of the scene, these states allow you to embody desires which are deemed deviant, or simply enjoy yourselves having left behind some of your regular-self-related inhibitions.

As a switch, I have seen this shift from both sides – looking up and looking down. But it makes me think, from time to time, what do I inhabit when I top? What is this space like and why has it taken me so long to find it? What is dominance made of – in society, in queer S/M, and simply in relation to sex? 

I remember when I was younger, I used to look at men I was attracted to and think that I wanted to occupy space like them. I would observe how they moved their bodies, how they walked, how they placed their limbs when they sat down. Sometimes I copied them a little bit – but I don’t think they ever noticed. I have always been curious about power and how we perceive power, and all the power which as a woman I wasn’t meant to have. I looked at them and thought, I wonder how you would feel if your default intimacy was all about making love to someone physically stronger and more dominant than you? Would sex taste different to you then?

My top space existed before I knew that it was top space. I could step into it, in a non-sexual way, to be assertive at meetings, to find confidence for public speaking, or to make myself invincible to the stares men gave me when I walked down the street. It was about inhabiting power through energy, body language, and performance – but it took me ages to find a way to express it erotically so it felt authentically mine.

Sometimes when I talk to other tops, they describe their top or dom self as their nature – not even second nature but the most visceral expression of their authentic sexuality. For me, as a femme switch, it was the opposite of that. My kink coming out felt similar to my queer coming out – it was all about wanting something I was never supposed to want, envisaging ways to be outside of the cultural default. It was an odd detour into the unknown, but surprisingly the unknown suddenly felt like home more than home ever did.

The thing with dominance, or any erotic identity – when it becomes your second skin, it’s hard to remember what it felt like not having it. I remember always worrying whether I was doing it right. Scripting the scenes in my head down to the most meticulous detail, including what I was going to say and in what kind of tone. Realising how much I hate micromanagement. Realising that it’s hard to play with discipline when you keep forgetting rules you made up  5 minutes ago. Watching a lot of online workshops. Complaining to my (BDSM-friendly) therapist that I feel guilty and uncomfortable receiving acts of service. If it gives someone pleasure, it really shouldn’t be a big deal if someone does your grocery shopping, she concluded over zoom (in more appropriate words). 

While trying to find my top space, I’ve learnt a lot about myself – and what living in this society moulded me into. At a certain hour of the night, everything would melt away – and I would stand there in my patent black heels, feeling 10 feet tall, feeling ecstatic.

The mental journey of getting there, however, was not always straightforward. Sometimes, when I topped a few of my first scenes, I would end up in a very strange space. It felt vast, grey and empty. As if I have dissociated from myself but failed to become something else. It felt like a place of very old boundaries and very hot shame. That place was like a desert, and the thought of crossing it would make me feel tired. I would be there while holding someone's hair in my clenched fist, and it would drain all the warmth from both our bodies. Strangely, the other person often didn’t notice.

“S/M is scary. That’s at least half its significance. We select the most frightening, disgusting or unacceptable activities and transmute them into pleasure. We make use of all the forbidden symbols and all the disowned emotions. S/M is deliberate, premeditated. Erotic blasphemy. It is a form of sexual extremism and sexual dissent,” wrote Patrick Califia in 1979 essay “A Secret Side of Lesbian Sexuality”. It is one of my favourite quotes on BDSM up to this day because it reflects the complexity of playing in the shadows. The shadows, the grey areas, the questionable nature of some pleasures, the shame – all these things have hit me very hard when I looked for my dominant side.

I am a sadomasochist. I love playing with pain. I love being a top in an impact scene. I love seeing the high of enjoyment people get from pain. I love the connection it creates, because it’s like nothing else I ever felt. When it gets intense for them – it gets intense for me. I look at how their body moves, flinching or clenching their fists. I can feel them breathing heavily, and I sense that my breathing also gets deep and heavy. Sometimes, when it’s near their limit, I can feel it’s near my limit too. The limit gives me a tingling excitement. Thinking that I could not stop there, that I could hurt them beyond that point of pleasure – and what kind of person it would make me. Maybe this is where being a femme top comes into play – this amount of erotic power is intoxicating and completely unmatched by most previous experiences. 

In “The New Topping Book” by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy, there is a whole section on playing with your shadow self and its emotional effects. “Most of what we dig up from our shadows consists of feelings or roles that we have some shame about, so sharing that piece of ourselves is powerfully intimate. We are letting another person into a part of ourselves that we ourselves might have rejected. And then that person accepts us, complete with our old tapes, and responds with erotic enthusiasm, then we get the ultimate validation: love given to the part of ourselves we may fear the most”.

I get asked sometimes, what’s in it for you if you’re doing all the work? It gives me an incredible source of joy, intimacy, fun and pleasure. It allows me to be deviant, dirty and creative. It gives me an endless appreciation for partners who create the space for me to enact my dominant self. When you have someone naked and shivering at your feet and it looks like they’ve forgotten everything and even their own name. It’s not exactly something that is available in other areas of daily life. So yeah, it’s pretty special.

Portrait by Anya Gorkova