The Dom Brunch
JO?O
D ark wood, sports paraphernalia, and a full bar surrounded twenty Black men and one woman as they stood around the space chatting. Sunday mornings in community with like-minded people always set me right for the week.
Years ago, when I was just starting in the kink community, I met an older man, the first Black man who had experience and was willing to share some tips and education to ensure new Black Doms in the lifestyle understood consent and the personal responsibilities involved in being a Dominant.
Before I fully understood what RACK i, PRICK ii , and SSC iii meant, I knew from him that I was responsible not only for my actions but for the environment I created for my subs.
Old Man Joe had no acronyms to provide, nothing more than his no-nonsense approach and his belief that Black men in the kink community had an inherent responsibility to create spaces for all people to feel safe.
From my conversations with Old Man Joe to my evolution in the lifestyle, the idea of a brunch between Black Doms, Dommes, and Tops emerged.
And what better place to host that than Old Man Joe’s, who didn’t open his doors until after the throngs of professional brunch-goers were neatly tucked into their beds for their mimosa-induced naps.
What started out small and intimate had remained intimate but not so small through the years.
Every first Sunday of the month, we made our way to Old Man Joe’s bar, set up some tables on the dance floor, and had Black caterers on rotation to provide the food and service.
Old Man Joe served bar food only and no one was gonna convince him to make breakfast for us.
Today’s spread of waffles, fried chicken, baked beans, biscuits, and collard greens was artfully displayed by a young Chef looking for a break to grow his business. If the aroma coming from the buffet line was any indication, he’d be alright.
“Smell good, don’t it?” Old Man Joe nodded to the table while I stood at the perimeter, observing my brethren network in a safe space. Here we could chop it up, discuss new ideas, exchange tips, or just speak to the needs of our community.
“Yeah, Rawana was right. This was a good choice.”
“What am I right about?” Rawana sauntered over to us, her inquisitive eyebrow putting in overtime.
“About young Chef Raul over there. This is good food,” I said.
“How would you know if you haven’t served yourself? And you, Mr. Joe, did you get some food already?” Rawana inquired, giving Old Man Joe a look that had him scurrying over to the buffet table. A faint “She ain’t my boss…” floated toward us, and Rawana pursed her lips.
“Only you get away with talking to Old Man Joe like that.”
“Mhm, someone has to take care of the rickety old man. And someone also has to check on you…how you doing, friend?”
A trickle of cold emanated from my chest, but I ruthlessly tamped it down.
“I’m straight, Rawana.”
“Really? So, does that mean you have a new sub? Or are you at least topping in scenes at the club? Demonstrations?” My skin crawled at the questions. “Don’t even answer; your face is sufficient response. Quentino, you need to go back to therapy. Grieving…even an absent parent is?—”
“Is something I don’t need to do.” I waited calmly as Rawana’s mouth gaped open and then closed. “And even if I needed to, you and I both know it would have to happen when I’m emotionally ready.”
“How can you advocate for good mental health for your siblings—as far as recommending your brother to come to me for couples counseling—but you can’t do it for yourself?
What happened to dreamer Jo?o, who pictured making sure Black men took care of their mental health the same way they took care of everything else? ” Rawana gently chided me.
“Listen, I found other ways to support.” I gestured to the full room and everyone starting to settle down.
I had no space for worrying about the death of my father.
He did nothing but cause pain during his life, and now that he was gone…
Well, the silence that gathered where my hate used to reside was something new to get used to, but I would manage.
For so long, I’d focused on my club, my siblings, and making sure Julio couldn’t hurt us, and now…
now the hollowness refused to leave me behind.
The only brightness in my days besides my family was thoughts of Gisele and the potential that brimmed between us.
Just thinking of her had me schooling my features not to show anything to Rawana.
She was a fantastic Domme because she was very perceptive, almost as much as I was.
“Jo?o, you— Listen, I’m not gonna press you, but you know I’m here, right? And I have some good recommendations.”
“Now why you lying? You know you’re gonna call me in a week asking me why I’m not doing any scenes for Dom Demonstration Night.”
Rawana’s sigh could have blown buildings away. “You know me too well.”
Smirking I walked off, leaving her rolling her eyes at me. I clapped hands with Knox, the newest member of our little club. This was his first brunch, so we had a little surprise for him, a tradition that every single one of us had to endure.
“What’s up, my man? Good to see you.” I clapped his back.
“Same, same. What you have going on here? This is some good shit. You know I have my support group for NA, but those can be a little depressing at times. I’m looking forward to the camaraderie.”
“Well, before you get too comfortable…” I smirked and cleared my throat.
At this point, all but a few stragglers were settled at the U-shaped table we’d set for our meal.
“Good morning, everybody. Welcome to our monthly fellowship brunch. We have a new member, Knox. Many of you already know him from Q’s Space, but this group here… this is the core group.”
“Welcome, brother, sit, sit. We got some questions for you.” Old Man Joe gestured at Knox impatiently; he just wanted to get to the eating part.
“I guess I’ll start. So…why are you a Dom?” Rawana asked, the newest member before Knox joined.
Knox sat pensively, his plate untouched, as he studied everyone around the room.
“That answer has evolved over the years. At first, I would have thought it was because of my personality, my tendency to be bossy as fuck. I can’t help myself, but now, after understanding kink and Black kink specifically…
I do this to give my sub the space to release all control, not to have to run anything but to me, and for me.
It’s the space to be who I am authentically, devoid of any artifice. ”
“Not this nigga trying to be mad deep with his answer off the bat,” Deacon, one of my brother’s good friends, said, and everyone chuckled.
“Damn, can you take anything seriously?” Jardel asked, shaking his head.
“You know he can’t.” Joaquim grabbed a waffle and stuffed his mouth.
Inviting my brothers had seemed like a good idea when I first brought them into this circle; clearly, I had a lapse in judgment.
They were not exactly Doms in their relationships, but they certainly topped their partners, and even though I tried to know the least about their kinks, I knew they were anything but vanilla.
“Next,” I reminded them and kept the questions moving along.
Every member had a question to ask Knox; the questions were never the same, but the reason behind them never changed.
We wanted to ensure that the people in this group understood the responsibility we had to our community, and together, we made sure that our club also stayed free of predators and abusers, people who took advantage of kink for the wrong reasons.
People like my father.
What would I have answered if I was Knox, just starting in my path?
Before, I had that question well-secured in my soul, but now…
Nothing I’d done in the past months had given me any fulfillment.
I ensured my partners during scenes and my old subs were well cared for, but nothing gave me that high again.
Gisele waiting by my door, a glass of bourbon in her hands, wearing a yellow dress, brightening my home, deep brown skin glowing as she enjoyed her submissiveness…
My skin prickled, a rush of adrenaline flooding my mouth with want.
I hadn’t lit up like this in a long time, and just at a mere thought?
Before, creating scenes in my mind, thinking of protocols and rituals, it all thrilled me.
No matter where I was, my brain was always formulating new ideas to keep my subs on their toes and myself stimulated, but that spark had faded.
“You good? You look like a kid meeting their superhero for the first time,” Joaquim murmured in my ear as Knox fielded questions, some lighter than others.
“I’m straight,” I replied back.
“Really? I mean, it’s good to see you lighting up from inside; I haven’t seen you like this in a minute, and now that Pai…”
“Pai what?” My voice dropped, leached of all emotion.
Joaquim swiveled in his seat and stared at me for a second.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, disappointed.
The weight of that look settled on top of me, removing every vestige of adrenaline. Instead, I felt drained.
“So, if you see an asshole abusing a sub instead of doing consensual domination, what do you do?” Migue, one of the original Doms in our crew, asked.
He and his husband Richard were beloved club members, and Migue loved topping his husband; his scenes were always full of pomp and circumstance, so much so that they had a regular spot in our demonstration events.
“I’d ascertain the risk in interfering. As long as I could without risking the sub, I would engage the Dom so that the sub could be freed….by any means necessary,” Knox said with a quiet menace that had several of us humming in approval.