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AC_Wright 58F
83 posts
7/29/2014 12:56 am
I and She.

http://alt.com

"First of all, from what I understand from doctors, that's really rare. If it's a legitimate r*pe, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."

—Rep. Todd Akin (R-M

I know there are some who disagree and I respect their point of view but I believe that life begins at conception...I came to realize: Life is that gift from God that I think even if life begins in that horrible situation of r*pe, that it is something that God intended to happen.

—Indiana State Treasurer Richard Mourdock (R-IN)

There are two of me. At least two.

One of me is the real me who lives in the world. The one you could shake hands with who writes fiction when she can stand to do it.

This me is forty-nine years old and in a very committed, very private relationship. At the age of forty-nine, I consider myself lucky. I am nothing like lonely. I have someone to serve and a place to write and a place to live if I ever have to give up my apartment. If all goes well, whether or not I ever make another dollar writing, I might have a place to grow old.

The other me is the narrator in the stories I write. She is of varying ages in the stories because they take place in different parts of her life. You could say that she was born at the age of twenty-one years and eleven months on the Tuesday afternoon she was delivered to Martin Wright in the office of his townhouse; arriving with all memory of her life before that day, meticulously and permanantly erased.

You could just as well say that she was born at the age of ten, born sleeping, blisfully unaware of the existence of either of the two men at the top of this page who said what they said and weren't exhiled to the nearest desert or taken out on a ship and dropped in the middle of the ocean. A sleeping ten-year-old girl had no way of knowing that the righteous were flexing their hatred and sharpening their knives—no idea whatsoever of the kind of laws they were going to make one day.

I have always needed to be on the downside of a power-exchange. I needed it before I knew what the sexual act was or that kinky strange versions of it existed. After a long time of wandering in the wilderness, I found my downside with someone who understood my version of it better than anyone I had ever met, but that didn't stop me from wondering about what was over the hill and in the next valley. I wonder—he makes me wonder—what it would be if my servitude weren't a well-played, consensual game, but "that old time-religion" where there was no safeword (as if we have one) and no escape hatch. I was interested in historical slavery—Hebrew style, Greek style, Roman Style—white-on-white slavery. I wondered what it would be like to know that my trying to leave him would not mean the end of something I want and need, but being hunted down, captured, and returned to him *in chains*.

The invented me intimately understands the thing that makes me curious that I can never have. My fantasy is her reality. She goes through life remembering crying and twisting her wrists behind her back in handcuffs, and saying,

"Anything...anything you want...*Master*...just don't *slap me like that again."

"How should I slap you?"

"Just don't. Please don't. I'll keep my word this time. I'll keep it—I'll do anything you want, just don't slap me again...*Master*."

His voice is as calm as an hour in a garden. He reaches out. She flinches, closes her eyes as he strokes her jaw with his thumb and the back of his fingers.

"Are you asking or demanding?"

"Begging...*Master."

"What will you do in echange for it?"

"I won't refuse to call you, "Master" again, *Master.* Not ever, *Master.*"

Like an hour spent in a garden.

"Good." He says, "Very good. I think you're lying, but we can let that go..."

It took the real me years to learn how to moan. The invented me is a screamer, a biter, a monster who claws at her a mans' back when the pleasure rolls her eyes back in her head.

There are two me's, at least two. One of them exists only in stories, but from where I sit, both of them are interesting.

The other me lives in the titles on Amazon collectively called, "Black Tickets: The Memoir of his slave."

Both of us are completley loyal to the men they serve.

Only the other one was ever met by five male strangers and went to prison rather than give birth to the consequences.


Schrille Schlampen aller Länder, vereinigt euch! Ihr habt nichts zu verlieren als euren Kontakt mit Versagern!


KinkySubGal 41F

7/29/2014 2:21 am

As someone who has been writing since she was young, and used to spend my school lunch breaks up at the library tapping away at their computers, I understand this dichotomy you feel. I don't know how many versions of me exist were I to define myself by your terms, but I know that I put pieces of me into everything that I write, even if it is just the smallest aspect every character that I breathe life into shares some part of who I am. You write beautifully, and you have obviously perfected the art of the cliff hanger that leaves the reader intrigued and wanting more

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time - Andre Gide


AC_Wright 58F
323 posts
7/29/2014 3:04 am

Kinky,

Thank you so much for your thought-out and complimentary comment. It's so hard to find intelligent criticism from anywhere. So hard to get words.

Thanks again.

ACW

Schrille Schlampen aller Länder, vereinigt euch! Ihr habt nichts zu verlieren als euren Kontakt mit Versagern!


KinkySubGal 41F

7/29/2014 3:27 am

You are most welcome thank you for sharing

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time - Andre Gide


AC_Wright 58F
323 posts
7/29/2014 3:11 pm

@Adreyevich

Of course I do.

It's Messalina, Eugène Cyrille Brunet (1884). museum of Fine Arts of Rennes.

I love the pure, after passion or between partners, languor of the figure that shows itself best in the shorter viewing angles like the one in the photo—the rhythm of the ascending curves...

Thanks for the comment.

Schrille Schlampen aller Länder, vereinigt euch! Ihr habt nichts zu verlieren als euren Kontakt mit Versagern!



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