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    What if there was a lady who could walk with a stride – a bit of a strut even perhaps – who was at once both supremely confident yet friendly and feminine; with a gleam in her eye and a welcoming smile, and who carried a whip like it was just a natural for her to do so (and not with that little bit of hesitancy and artificiality of a woman who only carries a whip as of contrived fetishism – but a lady who carried her whip that said so powerfully, without works that the dominant side of her sexuality was just exactly natural – and so her whip was treasured. A courtesan like that who walked into the bar, her whip in hand, while I was visiting and who met my gaze, strode over to me smiling and stood with seductive poise and confidence to introduce herself both might catch the eye *and* spirit that is behind my strength and my desire.

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