|
ABSURD
What do I write about that hasn’t already been written? Why
do I put myself through this absurdity? Why? My soul out here
in the open. …Well, why the Hell not? It’s not like I’m not used
to an audience. Perennial Performance Artist. Artiste. The Topic.
Timely or time-worn?
Do I write about my first spanking in my dorm room? Nope. Been
there, done that. Maybe. The Coming to New York story: an innocent
newbie in for a forbidden weekend away from school. Meeting “Daddy”
from a personal ad in the Village Voice? And also who happened
to be a bouncer at Hellfire—before I even knew what Hellfire was.
Me: Getting spanked, and flogged, and fucked in the ass all night
long… With the police lock shoved firmly against the front door.
Yeah, THAT was an experience!
Sense memory all packed and safely catalogued. …Nah. No sizzle
left in me for that one. Then there was the time in that scene
club downtown—dancing to Annie Lenox on the sound system— wearing
my black denim skirt that zipped all the way down the back; with
my every butt-thrusting move, unzipping it higher and higher...
Bent over a ready bar stool, then spanked hard by a way cool dude
in a black vest and black cowboy hat. Audience participation was
high that night! So was I, but my ass never felt better.
“Memories. Like the corners of my mind…” Babs Streisand wasn’t
wailing about corner time, now was she? Kneeling facing the corner,
head to the floor, bare bottom raised high. Thighs spread so wide
he could do a pelvic exam from across the room. Crawling backward
to him. Choreographed. Cat-like, licking his black leather boots
while his hand carelessly caressed, then spanked me till I begged—pleaded--to
cum. My hair pulled back tight till he could see the whites of
my eyes. The orgasm throttled me into next week. Basement laundry
room. Inching perilously down the stairs on hands and knees. “Get
your ass undressed.” Bent over the double sinks, naked and nervous,
my rump is high and warm for his form. Spanked again: slow. (“I
like a man with a slow hand… I like a man with a heated touch…”).
Taken from behind, my hair fanned out over the drain in the sink.
Wet. Wanton in the wash cycle… But all the dirt and guilt doesn’t
disappear in the rinse.
Roar of the greasepaint… Back seat of the taxi, my spanking
was hot, heavy, and non-stop. Taunting the grinning cabbie to
pull over and watch the show. He had a great time: front row seat.
And I had a wild ride! Nice… Sex. Spanking. Lust. Lashes. Languor.
Terror. Tenderness a premium? …But every once in a while, his
gentle hand stroking my hair from my forehead, and the permission
granted to release the tears, made it another game. Another realm
of discovery. What was I? Hard ass. Hard heart. Hard case. New
York chick willing to do…? Scared shitless schoolgirl shiksa,
but playing the game. Researching my role. Performance spanko-junkie.
The great pretender. Deviant deception. Virtual Vignettes — “Gee,
Toto, I have a feeling I’m not a virgin anymore!” I chose. I played.
I came... Back for more Don’t you know? Acting is my life.
THE END
|