On the first day of clown school, the Clownologist instructs us to step on stage. One at a time, we “make contact.” No touching, no speaking, just “contact.” What is “contact”? We don’t know yet. The twelve other clown students sit cross-legged on the floor, our audience waiting with bated breath.
I don’t actually remember my first attempt at contact. I probably did the same as most: dragged my regret-filled feet to center stage, made eye contact with 24 other nervous eyeballs, and tried not to pass out.
This was also the summer I pegged a man for the first time (yes, one of my clown school classmates). It was two summers before I began working as a pro-Domme.
Years later, I bind a harmonica to a client’s mouth and squeaky rubber chickens to his feet. Another Domme is blindfolded, wielding a paddle. We set him loose and She listens to harmonica-breathing-squeak-stepping to find him and paddle him like a Marco Polo Piñata. It’s fun, it’s silly, it’s cathartic, and yes, it has a happy ending.
Everyone describes their time at clown school a little differently. It is not circus school: there is no juggling, no acrobatics, no stage makeup. Clown school is character development; a practice in presence, connection, intuition, imagination. It is creating a fantasy world and inviting others to play in it. It is responding to whatever is happening exactly in that room with those people at that time. It is, to quote the Clownologist, “the we-ness between us.” To me, it is mindful presence and interpersonal attentiveness. To me, all these things are also what it takes to facilitate an excellent kink scene.
Everyone describes their time at clown school a little differently.
We pass an oversized ball around a circle, not stopping until everyone’s exchanged with everyone else. We make eye contact with each other before each day begins. We make eye contact while laughing and crying on a two minute timer. We make a lot of eye contact. We practice thinking with our whole bodies and spirits, instead of just with our big, dumb brains.
We turn inward, laying back on the floor and fully succumbing to whatever emotion or urge arises in the moment. There are waves of howling laughter, devastating sobs, the occasional compulsive orgasm. There are no words to effectively describe how we wade through the body’s unspeakable drive, its desire and repulsion, its pursuit of what it wants. The body speaks for itself. Did someone say headspace?
After some weeks of practice, I return to the stage and feel attentive. My leg wants to move, so I launch into a deep lunge. The audience reacts. My ears perk. I lunge deeper. I lunge longer. Shorter. Doubly. I don’t remember how I lunge, just that for some reason, at that moment with those people, lunging was all we needed. We share a weird, mysterious, hilarious catharsis, and then our spirits smoke a collective cigarette.
On a good day, I step into the dungeon and this is also how it feels. I make eye contact. I remember to breathe. I am curious about the energy thickening in front of my chest, drawing me towards my playmate. I listen to the quiet buzzing of their desire, which tells me where to touch, how hard to squeeze, which implement to grasp. Are you a good kitten? Do you want to call me Mommy? Do you want me to spit in your mouth?
We share a weird, mysterious, hilarious catharsis and then our spirits smoke a collective cigarette.
I first studied clowning during my undergrad, as part of a human rights and social justice degree. Think less ‘red-nose-at-the-circus’, more ‘court jester’ or ‘ritual trickster’. The clown is an expert in presence and power dynamics–they watch a situation unfold and intervene to redirect power, attention, energy. They are an artful facilitator, manifesting an imaginary world and inviting others into it.
Isn’t this also kink? What is a “scene” but a temporary imagined world, responsive to the needs and energies of the moment? A dream-like place where your fantasies playfully dance before you in phantasmagoria? Both the clown and the Dom/me are facilitators of fantasy, so it only makes sense that the craft of one would inform the other.
Sometimes I intuit something surprising, something neither of us knew was wanted, and it takes my own courage to follow through. I do it–still nervously–and when I see the sparkle light up in my play partner, I know I can stay the course. Let’s do it again.
Sometimes I feel hesitancy creep in. More often than not, it tastes like shame: a fear of being seen, of touching that secret desire. Clowns are uniquely capable of holding shame, pulling attention away from the bad, scary, isolated feeling and creating a moment of shared humanity. I’ll illustrate with my favourite clownology example: we’re in an auditorium. The clown is spotlit onstage. Somewhere in the sprawling audience, someone farts (god forbid). Before anything else happens–before the awkward shuffling, the whodunnit witch hunt, the not-me shame game–the clown clenches their bottom and slams their hands over their butthole as if to say whoopsie! Everyone laughs; we remember that everyone farts. Everything is okay; we persevere. The clown neutralizes the moment of shame by redirecting it onto themself in a reminder that we are all human.
Sometimes I think I follow the signs and it’s a dead end. Neither Dom/mes nor clowns are perfect. We might try something that is actually a “no” or a “not right now,” and that is absolutely fine. When we are connected and present; receiving that “no” just means we pivot to another direction. This redirection could easily flow to another sensation or body part, and the scene continues. It could also mean it’s time to pause and take a moment for care and recalibration. Sometimes, you think you’re on the right path but you misread the map, it’s normal. None of this changes under an ethical model of clowning, or BDSM!
Clowns are uniquely capable of holding shame, pulling attention away from the bad, scary, isolated feeling and creating a moment of shared humanity.
This isn’t how everyone dominates, I know. It’s not ‘traditional’ power exchange. But authority is dynamic; it is more than sadism or protocol—which are excellent and fine practices, they’re just not mine. I prefer to lead with an equal mix of seduction and curiosity. “Domme” is the word I use because the industry requires branding, and “just another human erotically exploring fantastic space with you” isn’t a clickable category on the ad sites.
As my most authentic self, I am a listener, a guide, a spirit of inquiry. I’m not interested in enforcing a prescribed model of domination upon anyone; I like the tickle in my inner ear that tells me what the fantastic space might find interesting. It’s improv. It’s erotics. It’s mindfulness. It’s the we-ness between us.
Put simply, I think about clowning and domination as having four steps:
- Presence/Connection
No matter where I am, I breathe. I feel the cool air pass through my nose and expand my ribs. My feet press into the ground. I see you, and like an electrical current, I use my own contact with the ground to help ease your breath. Slowly, we sync up and arrive in this moment together. The moment unfolds around us like a flower opening, like a bubble, like mindfulness meditation; part of, yet separate from, the rest of the world. Anything can happen.
- Fantastic Imagination
Anything can happen. Identity, roles, social expectations are moot. The only limits are pre-defined red zones and our shared imagination. If your imagination feels narrow, restricted by your daily grind, that’s ok; that’s why you’re here. I invite you to play. I am listening.
In a dungeon filled with tools of all types, implements that open any orifice, textures to evoke any sensation—really, anything can happen.
- Impulse
I am listening. Like a tickle in my intuition, I hear a call–maybe your finger twitches; it wants to be touched, it wants to be needled or restrained or sucked. Or I notice the tension in your ribcage, and press all my body weight into your chest. Or your mouth suddenly looks so appealing, the beckon beyond your just-open lip, I can almost hear it begging for my spit. Perhaps the urethral speculum is shining brighter than usual. And so…
- Follow Through
I feel the tickle, I follow it. I move. I try something, observe your reaction. I follow the pull, as if being drawn forward by a magnet. Your body and psyche are a map, revealing the road as we drive. I follow the signs.
The world is full of oppressive conditioning, self-censorship, shame, disconnection from our desires and impulses. This is inherent to capitalism–if everyone noticed and pursued what their body wanted in a given moment, they would never clock in to work. And so, this presence and pursuit, this fantastic space of desire, has become a craft. It’s not the only way to connect or to play, but it is one way that I delight in. I would love to share it with you.
For more on clowning and sex work from the Tryst Link blog, see Amie Wee's
Honk if You’re Horny! Why I Became a Clown Porn Producer.
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