The Look

Not every woman has it. This is sad, and this is avoidable. Even if you or your beloved do not possess the Look, I know you understand the Look I mean. That "do not fuck with me" look, perhaps with one eyebrow raised. It is the glare that stops unruly teenagers in their tracks. It is the steady gaze that tells a man that he will under no circumstances deviate from the woman's plan. When employed by the best, you need not even see it. You can feel it. It creeps up your spine and into your brain stem, squelching any desire for autonomy.

I was born with the Look. My mother had it in spades when she was my age, though her power has diminished over the decades. It is possible that my withering glance showed her defeat as soon as I hit puberty, but I prefer to think that she is just out of practice. The champion could come out of retirement at any time.

The Look is standard equipment for a dominatrix. The Look can lead a trainee to the right head space faster than my favorite flogger. It can do anything. It can mean anything. It can, and will, seduce you into submission. When we feel the Look upon us, we all revert to childhood. Some of us even aim to please. But the Look will never be satisfied. It will never concede an inch. And that is just how it should be.