Taking the Mick …
In the UK (and I suppose in Ireland too), there is Cockney slang called “taking the mick.” It means making fun of you. And it usually is used in the context of playful affection.
In reading over one of Ceara Lynch’s recent blogs (entitled Kevin McGahern’s America) she signs off with “Stay tuned, you patsy white Guinness drinking fucks.” Clearly she’s taking the mick. It’s a playful way of saying I had fun and enjoyed your company.
One of the most fascinating aspects of Ceara Lynch’s persona is how genuinely she likes men.
Oh sure, men are her source of income. But it’s more than that. She likes her job because it is so lucrative. But she enjoys her job because she gets to play – with men.
So many online Dommes’ persona comes across as misandrist. Despising men. Hating them. Inspiring dread more than playfulness. And I suppose some men find that appealing.
But Ceara Lynch’s appeal is that she is able to keep the play in ‘playing‘. In nearly all her clips, behind the dark veil of Humilatrix, one sees a woman who is genuinely amused. It’s not a scornful amusement. Rather it’s an amusement driven by the playfulness of exploration. The twinkle in her eyes and that well-known laugh give away how much she enjoys playing with her clients. The laugh that says “I’m not a sadist. I’m just playing.”
About That Laugh …
There’s a scene in Robert Heinlein’s “Strange in a Strange Land.’ Of all the insights offered by that book on human nature, this is the one that has resonated the most with me since my first reading over 40 years ago.
But today even the unmitigated misanthropy of the camels could not shake Mike’s moodiness; he looked at them without smiling. Nor did the monkeys and apes cheer him up. They stood for quite a while in front of a cage containing a large family of capuchins, watching them eat, sleep, court, nurse, groom, and swarm aimlessly around the cage, while Jill surreptitiously tossed them peanuts despite ”No Feeding” signs.
She tossed one to a medium-sized monk; before he could eat it a much larger male was on him and not only stole his peanut but gave him a beating, then left. The little fellow made no attempt to pursue his tormentor; he squatted at the scene of the crime, pounded his knuckles against the concrete floor, and chattered his helpless rage. Mike watched it solemnly. Suddenly the mistreated monkey rushed to the side of the cage, picked a monkey still smaller, bowled it over and gave it a drubbing worse than the one he had suffered—after which he seemed quite relaxed. The third monk crawled away, still whimpering, and found shelter in the arm of a female who had a still smaller one, a baby, on her back. The other monkeys paid no attention to any of it.
Mike threw back his head and laughed—and went on laughing, loudly and uncontrollably. He gasped for breath, tears came from his eyes; he started to tremble and sink to the floor, still laughing. Worried that Mike will go catatonic, something he often did soon after arriving on Earth, Jill gets him home.
“I’m all right. At last I’m all right.”
“I hope so.” She sighed. “You certainly scared me, Mike.”
“I’m sorry.. I know. I was scared too, the first time I heard laughing.”
“Mike, what happened?”
“Jill… I grok [understand completely] people!”
“But how, darling? Can you tell me? Does it need Martian? Or mind-speak?”
“No, that’s the point. I grok people. I am people… so now I can say it in people-talk. I’ve found out why people laugh. They laugh because it hurts so much… because it’s the only thing that’ll make it stop hurting. … That poor little monk.”
“Which one, dear? I thought that big one was just mean… and the one I flipped the peanut to turned out to be just as mean. There certainly wasn’t anything funny.”
“Jill, Jill my darling! Too much Martian has rubbed off on you. Of course it wasn’t funny; it was tragic. That’s why I had to laugh. I looked at a cageful of monkeys and suddenly I saw all the mean and cruel and utterly unexplainable things I’ve seen and heard and read about in the time I’ve been with my own people—and suddenly I hurt so much I found myself laughing.”
Laughing is as much a defense mechanism as it is a way to deal with the imperfections of a non-Utopian world. It’s uniquely human. And there is always someone or something that is bearing the brunt of the joke. We laugh because it hurts too much to cry.
And so Ceara Lynch laughs. Because the alternative to laughing would be acknowledge the hurtfulness of her words. And she doesn’t want to hurt her customers. She wants to play with them. To find the enjoyment and pleasure in their fetishes. And so she laughs. Just a smile and a little knowing, pain-relieving laugh. A signal that she doesn’t mean what she says.