Lois, Stacy and Karen were the three girls who lived closest to my house when I was in elementary school. We would occasionally get to together, either one on one, or rarer, more than two at a time. They were all girlie girls, very feminine, and very much into the usual trappings of girlhood. They played with dolls and dreamed of weddings and tried on their mother's pearls.
Out of all of them, I would have to say Lois was the most like me. Meaning, different.
Lois and I would sneak around back to the furthest part of the property, behind the garage, and engage in sadistic play. She would have me spread my legs and prod me with a tree branch. Down there. Especially "down there." And if it was a really good day and if I was really lucky, she would tie my hands behind my back with her knee socks or a hair ribbon or whatever was around. That just heightened everything. The breeze across my legs, the blades of grass on the backs of my knees, the hem of my skirt brushing my thighs, the elastic bands in the underwear I was wearing...all enhanced, all screaming for attention.
I was scared of Lois. But intrigued. I always went behind the garage with her, wondering what she would do next to me. I wonder whatever happened to her. If she's out there somewhere, a kick ass dominatrix, I wouldn't be surprised.
Lois and Karen and Stacy dressed up Barbie in beautiful ball gowns and shoes and elaborate hairstyles. Ken would marry Barbie and drive off in the pink convertible and live happily ever after. They would have 2.3 children and the most exciting thing in their lives would be having sex with the lights on.
Not in my doll sessions. Ken would drag Barbie by the hair down to the cellar, where he did truly "underground" activities to her. Sick things. Perverted things. Things you can get arrested for in 38 states. Of course, I had these sessions alone, after Lois and Stacy and Karen had gone home.
I would often get bored and go find boys to play with in the neighborhood. That was much more interesting than playing vanilla Barbie. My mom called me a tomboy. Yes, I played sports with the boys but what happened in the secluded neighboring woods were sports of a different kind.
We lived next to an abandoned cemetery and there were always grave markers, trees and crypts to play in. Sometimes, if I was lucky, I would get tied to them, switched with a sapling branch from a nearby tree, and left alone to conjure up all sorts of even more wicked scenarios.
This was between the ages of 8 and 10.
Fast forward not even a decade later, and Carn and I were engaging in regular bondage sessions in the backseat of his car, in his home when his mom wasn't around, out at the party spot across the street from school in the orange grove, in the middle of a cow pasture by a live oak tree. Wherever.
It is one of those paradoxes I still cannot understand, but to this day, I still feel at my most freest, when I am in bondage. A strong rope tied around me, the inability to move, the freedom to choose stripped away from me, all that is left is the necessity to experience whatever my partner does to me from that point on. Freedom in bondage. Bondage brings freedom.
My ex-husband was not into BDSM at all but bless his heart, he tried. We had a very active and good sex life, even though he was vanilla and I was the most deviant person he had ever met. One day he decided to give it the old college try and tied me to the metal rod across the opening to our shower stall, and proceeded to play with me as I was tied up. He was amazed. He said in all the years of our marriage, he had never felt me so wet. The juices from my vagina were literally running down the inside of my thighs, trickling all the way to the floor. I think that was the first moment he fully understood what bondage and discipline and sadomasochism and dominance and submission means to me. Unfortunately, he was not wired up that way, but I still do appreciate him trying.
Today I am single. And single I will remain.
Until I find my Kinky Ken, or he finds me first....And I will be his Bondage Barbie. There will be no driving off in a pink convertible. We will drive off in a camper, with the back bedroom turned into a dungeon. There will be no elegant princess fairy wedding dress. I will wear a dress that has the ass and breasts exposed, and will be shackled, wearing a chastity device with sharp tacks inside.
And I certainly won't be wearing white.
But, he will be making my nasty deviant scenarios come true. And so help me god/dess, I will make every single one of his perverted twisted fantasies come true.
And that is why I am single. I will not settle for anything less.
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