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Tuesday, Nov 24, 2009
"My husband was standing there holding a riding crop. 'When did we get a horse?' he asked."
Dec 16, 1999 | Mistress Patricia Payne, dominatrix, drove up from Washington, D.C., recently to have lunch with me in Manhattan. I'd suggested that we meet at the Howard Johnson off Times Square. I could have suggested an S&M eatery called La Nouvelle Justine, but no thanks. Whatever goes on in such a restaurant can't be hygienic. I figured, why not conduct this interview at the most wholesome restaurant in New York, HoJo? As for the neighborhood, this is not your parents' Times Square. There's no porn here. No kung fu theaters. No white slavery or dope dens. There's nothing but Disney stores. Times Square has been shopping-malled and sanitized the same way Las Vegas has. Indeed, there is no more incongruous place in New York to take tea with a dominatrix.
She kept me waiting, which I thought was a little sadistic. When she finally showed, Mistress Payne wasn't what I expected. She was pretty enough, but no knockout. She had reddish hair -- probably colored with henna -- and wore an angular black dress. After we were seated at a window booth, she confessed, "The last time I was at a HoJo, I was a kid -- on Sunday, after church for ice cream."
"Let's get right down to business," I said. "Do people come to you?" I asked. "Or do you go to them?"
"I am not a professional," she answered firmly. "That's been really difficult to get across. I am an avid hobbyist."
She's also the author of "Sex Tips From a Dominatrix." "Patricia Payne" is a pseudonym, of course. "How did this book get written if you're not a professional?" I asked.
A professional dominatrix was originally hired to write the book. "But it was very hardcore," Mistress Payne explained. "What happened was my agent had submitted my manuscript to Regan Books. The editor who got it said, 'We already have a dominatrix book.' He was in the process of writing my rejection letter when Judith Regan came across my manuscript and said, 'Oh my god. This is what we want.'"
And what a book it is! It has more instructions on how to tie knots than a Cub Scout Manual. There's an entire illustrated section on how to bind a penis -- a pear used in place of the manly organ.
"So you're a hobbyist?" I asked. She nodded, yes. "You do it for free?" She nodded again. "Is there a network of fellow S&M freaks?"
She laughed. "There are all kind of clubs and organization and parties. Last night I was at an S&M convention in Washington, D.C. They might have 15,000 people attend such events. Things like that go on all the time. There is no shortage of people to play with."
"I'm guessing that men who want to be tied up and beaten are not milquetoast types," I said. "They're in fact bosses."
"It's true for most of the guys," Mistress Payne agreed. "The people I engage with tend to be type-A personalities. It's taking a break for them -- letting someone else be in charge for a couple hours."
"Have you ever encountered a man who wanted to be ordered to take a letter or file things?" I asked.
Mistress Payne smiled. "I haven't encountered anyone who gets off on doing secretarial work. However, I could have a guy in high heels and a maid suit cleaning my house every day of the week."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"And these are bank presidents?"
"Yes."
"Publishers?"
"Yes."
"And senators?"
She didn't answer because the Jamaican waitress arrived with our drinks.
"Here's a fantasy," I said, sipping HoJo joe. "Somewhere there is a restaurant where guys wear female Howard Johnson uniforms and take orders."
The mistress laughed. "'Beat me! Make me wear polyester!'"
We talk about S&M restaurants. "If you'd given me the choice of where to have lunch," she confessed, "I would have suggested Lucky Cheng's."
"Isn't that the joint where Asian men dress like women?"
"Yes. All the waitresses are transvestites."
"But this place is hip enough," I said. The mistress and I were surrounded by chattering tourists.
"This is cool," she agreed. "I would not ordinarily drive to New York to have lunch at a Howard Johnson. I appreciate the sense of humor that goes along with that."
I wanted to know what happened at S&M restaurants. She told me that the staff was dressed in "fetish clothing." Besides a little floor show about spanking, a diner could pay 20 bucks and eat out of a dog bowl or have his or her feet worshipped.
"So do you have a secret identity?" I asked. "Are you Bill Clinton's secretary?"
"No," she answered patiently. "I'm a technical writer for a Fortune 500 company. Can we leave it at that?"
