Just supposing that a man happened to be in a sexually submissive frame of mind, it is hard to imagine a finer-looking form for a dominant woman than the gorgeous brunette imagined by Japanese artist Namio Harakuwa, unparalleled in terms of femdom depictions of women. Isn’t she lovely?
The falsified ‘evil’ or anger towards men found in much tacky femdom art and photography is replaced here by a serene and powerful dignity. This woman does not need to put on an act to attract our attention. She assumes her authority in a casual and familiar manner. The man will serve her simply because of who she is. Everyone knows it, so why should she try harder?
Michelle agrees that she is beautiful in all Namio’s drawings of her (try here or here for galleries, to begin with). The problem, she says, is that the men in the drawings are unattractive. ‘If I were gay or bi, I might look at this for hours,’ she says. ‘But I want men that look nice, too.’
We agree that the best Namio pictures are the ones where the presence of the man is very minimal, such as a head peeking out between her enormous thighs. In his pictures where the male body is more visible, it is often lithe and relatively fit, but slightly palid, limp, undernourished, and very much smaller than the woman he serves. And this does not fit with Michelle’s desire to be taken care of by a healthy, attractive and capable gentleman.
We know that it is very much in the nature of femdom art done by men to marginalise the man and concentrate on the wonderful, empowered sexuality of the woman. Of course, this is done almost entirely for the man’s benefit. The male viewer does not want his pleasure interrupted by the sight of a healthy and virile male in the picture, a figure that is not himself.
We imagine another kind of femdom art, drawn also for the female eye. The male form would be equally central, and active as he engages in exercise, or attending in some way to the voluptuous woman, who is visible as a reminder of her authority. She reclines and relaxes, and he works to please her, not chained in the flesh, but in the mind.
I imagine Michelle looking at such pictures on the internet. She selects one she finds particularly attractive, of a man carrying a woman while the woman drinks wine. Michelle stares at the picture for a moment, smiling. Her left hand rises to cup and squeeze her left breast through her singlet. Her right hand moves down to roll up her skirt and find her clitoris. ‘Get me a glass of something honey,’ she says, not looking up as I stand before her, adoring. ‘Now.’
A shame I can’t draw.