By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
Lately, she's had some reevaluating to do. The choices she's made sometimes overwhelm her. "I gave up normalcy," she says. "As I'm getting older, I'm feeling lost and lonely about it." Relationships have been the biggest sacrifice.
With a tired expression, she crosses her legs and smiles at Amanda. "I think we're working out some karmic things from a past life," she says.
Amanda folds her powerful arms and thinks for a bit. "So, were we good or bad?" she asks.
Mikayla glances down at a long, lotioned foot. It rests like a boat in her flip-flop. Then she looks back up at Amanda and shrugs.
Now with his clothes on, Mikayla's client Don looks much less edgy. Sitting outside a Starbucks on Hallandale Beach Boulevard with a pack of M&M's in front of him, he agrees to answer one question: Why?
Wearing a pair of thin glasses and a Dolphins T-shirt, he speaks gently. "The degradation is a big relief — to be her property, to be dehumanized," he says. He sounds like he's reading directions from a bottle of Tylenol. "Female supremacy is the natural order of life."
Don grew up in Nebraska with a traditional homemaker mother and a firefighter father. In April 1974, when he was 7 years old, he flipped on the TV set and came across the movie Planet Earth. The premise: A future society is run by a breed of fierce women who use men as slaves. As much as a 7-year-old could be, he was turned on. "I'm thinking maybe I'll grow up and be a slave to a good mistress," he says with a straight face. (Don is adamant that he's never been abused. He also notes that his parents shared equal power roles in the family.)
A couple of years after college, he watched Planet Earth so many times that the tape stopped working. By age 25, he had developed the wholehearted belief that men are inferior to women. The gist of his credo: A man's Y chromosome is just a broken X chromosome, causing males to live shorter lives, commit more crimes, and lack a womb.
He longed to be treated as a slave not only in the bedroom but also in everyday life. And he longed to feel small. Coupled with his tendency to overeat and gamble, this made finding a girlfriend difficult. (Don has never had a romantic relationship with a woman. Nor does he have "normal" sexual intercourse with them.)
He kept his desires masked until he found Mikayla online in 2001. Because of her size, he believed she was the perfect mistress. "I thought I had died," he says. "You just don't see many women with her dimensions."
By the time he got a job as a business professor at a Las Vegas college, the fantasy had developed into a fixation. While teaching, he succumbed to the compulsion to give all the ladies in the class A's. And he had trouble saying no to female coworkers.
He met Mikayla in person in March 2006 at a fetish conference in Vegas. Since then, he has seen her six times. His sessions usually begin with him giving her gifts — fine perfume, lotions, designer purses, dark chocolates. Then the energy shifts and she gets into character.
She stands on him, spits into his mouth, and makes him lick the bottom of her feet. He also likes her to treat him like a dog, leave welts on his back with a whip, and mark degrading things on him with pens.
Once, this past May, he flew to her home and paid her just so he could clean it and be ordered around. Aside from literally walking all over him, she demands he do positive things. They maintain an email correspondence, and she orders him to eat healthful food and quit gambling. Like a good slave, he obeys.
These days, Don still can't stand up to women — such as colleagues who dump workloads on him. Or ladies who cut in front of him in line at the grocery store. Or reporters who request an interview an hour before his plane takes off. "Every woman is better than me, even if she's in a trailer or a person I don't like," he says.
He swears sessions have been good for him. Indeed, since he met Mikayla, he has lost 50 pounds and is now at a healthy weight. He stopped gambling. It's liberating, he says, to let someone in on your obsession — even if it's just one person. Even if you are paying her. "She cares about me," he says. "There is certainly an emotional side."
Mikayla acknowledges that very few of her clients are in a healthy state of mind. Most of them have addictive personalities, and she's had to ask herself if she's harming more than helping.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm the drug dealer — that I'm feeding the addiction," she says.
Back at the Crowne Plaza Hotel, after their session, the role-playing has stopped. Mikayla, now out of her red corset, is no longer in character. She shouts lighthearted remarks from the bathroom as she slips out of her boots and back into sandals.