Unashamed (2 page)

Chapter 2

After Grandma caught me with her “adult books,” masturbation material derived from other media. From the innocence of words on a page to role-playing in my one-woman show, my imagination became my playground.

My inspiration was characters from science fiction movies. Dungeons and Dragons infiltrated its way into every science fiction movie of the time, so in fantasies I morphed into a vampire goddess, a fair maiden, or a warrior. Tim Curry played the devil that cut off a unicorn’s horn before the world went dark in
Legend
. Tom Cruise’s character, the humble peasant boy, tried to save a beautiful maiden from the spell she was under to become a naughty devil bride. There were trolls, a jealous fairy, and treasures to be found. If it was mystical, yours truly used it to fantasize and masturbate at the age of thirteen. These days, young girls just give blow jobs in the band room, but back then it was the intangible that motivated me.

One evening, while feeling particularly randy and unsupervised, I dreamt this scenario where my character was a helpless maiden kidnapped by an evil wizard. Lying immobile on my bed, my brain visualized a wizard hovering over me. He explained his desire for a bride and that I was his chosen one, for dramatic effect I’m sure. But something was missing, so to enhance the foreplay I searched intently throughout my closet for a costume. Unfortunately, there was nothing resembling a cool, kidnapped bride outfit.

My brain figured the goons who took me had probably tied me up. Every belt and scarf available became part of the fantasy. Excitement about getting seriously kinky overwhelmed me. I placed the accessories on the bed and scurried into the kitchen.

There was a junk drawer with random paperclips, batteries, and plenty of candles. The long white one, for purity of course, was my object of choice. I washed it several times to kill every possible germ and ran back into my room to tie myself up.

My ankles were the easiest to bind first. Then, working my way upward in intervals ensured the ties did not constrict any joints—as if I were versed on the bondage manual. I tied one scarf over my hips tightly, leaving the extra ends to dangle over my pubic hair. The tickling would tease me perfectly. A belt around my stomach and one over my nipples finished the process. They were all as tight as could be tolerated without pain. Who said being a hostage of a lovesick wizard would be easy? Can you say drama queen? When the wand was in hand’s reach, the fun began.

Groggy from something, wondering what happened, I felt pressure all over my body. I could barely lift my head to feel the cool air on my nude body and the ties that restricted me from ankles to Adam’s apple. Dizzy beyond belief, my head fell back to the soft pillow that someone had taken the time to fluff. While regaining my composure, I noticed white linen had been gently placed and tucked around the edges of my body despite the hard leather straps binding me. The metal from the belt buckles cooled as I heaved upward to see if anyone was around. Sinking back into the mattress chilled random spots over my skin, making each cooled point jerk unintentionally. My frame tingled between each strap, but tension under the squeaking leather kept me shifting restlessly. The motion made the tightened scarf around my hips shift, grazing the silky material across my groin.

The excitement grew as I caressed my bonded body with a virgin’s touch.

Appearing out of the dim light, the wizard stood at the foot of the bed with his wand and hooded cape. He was a true wizard who had never owned a pointy, tilted cap. Rather, his hood was his dark retreat from magic. He claimed his bride could not fight the spell he had me under. He lifted his wand, commanding my hands to slide down and over my bonds until, lifted from the comfort of the bed, they began undoing the scarf at my ankles. I untied it so slowly that the belts around my abdomen begin to pinch and dig into my skin. When untied, I dragged the scarf over my leg, through my inner thigh, over my hip bone, and up my stomach and chest until there is no more flesh to tease.

As he waved his wand again, my hands obediently trailed over my taut nipples. Ecstasy at the touch pulled a soft moan from by breath. As he swept his wand through the air, the magic flowed, making me take off the belt below my knees and forcing me to stop as I tightened the one around my thigh. I held it like that until he tilted his head in acceptance.

While removing the belt from my thighs, I was careful to peel it from the sweat that seeped beneath the leather. Once unbuckled, I left the belt under my body and moved to my hip scarf. I teased myself with a gentle flick of my finger through the silk material. My clit hardened and pulsated violently in anticipation. Just before I began to take off the scarf, the wizard shook his head no. My clit continued to throb.

He directed me to the belt around my stomach, which has already embedded its buckle into my navel area. With my eyes closed, other sensations engulfed my body as I tightened the end of the strap in my hand until it began to hurt. A gentle release sent the blood rushing back to my sticky red skin beneath the belt. Once it was undone and off, my stomach felt light and tingly. I began breathing harder as the need to be fucked flooded my groin. The scarf there still taunted my already rigid clit. Without the wizard’s permission, I untied it and dangled it over my pubic bone until it stopped swaying. I released the scarf and felt it coil onto my skin again.

Then the wand floated up into the air per the wizard’s obvious magical instruction. It separated my outer lips. It circled in my wetness and over my clit before entering me. The tempo went slow at first and then picked up, causing the scarf to slide off of my body to the white linen on the bed. The belt around my tits was the only restraint left as the wand slid in and out with smooth perfection. I jerked with each tap as it banged against my deepest wall. The feeling of the belt tight across my chest, the scarf now lying against my hip, the sweat under my back, the rubbing of my clit with my right hand, and the wand working its magic made me cum. I blushed innocently.

I give Lea Delaria, a lesbian comic who expressed her guilty pleasure is her attraction to fourteen-year-old Catholic schoolgirls, a reason to invest her tax dollars into the public school system. This story beats out any Hail Marys one would have to do for letting the family dog lick peanut butter from their pubic hair. Hell, I may have a tale to tell on that one too. Delaria, call me for details.

Even with the masturbation adventure under my belt—pun intended—my reputation was as one of the “prude sisters” of junior high school.

My first kiss was to my first love as his dad drove us home from celebrating his sixteenth birthday, a far cry from leather and candles. We kept it simple and sweet by holding hands in the hallway and never giving public displays of affection as he walked me to my classes. Robert carried my books and wrote me love letters. A sideways glance was enough to fulfill my need for affection. He was a perfect gentleman to me, a good hometown boy. Definitely the marrying type, Robert busted his ass working two jobs to save up for a junkie car, and spent more energy on treating me right than getting in my pants.

Other than my parents, who obviously didn’t read into my gay poem, and Sunny, who told the fucking world, my first love was the person my sexuality was expressed to. It was only mentioned a few times, so we never really had an in-depth conversation about it, according to my faded memory. Robert was far too shy to discuss a topic like that. He couldn’t even buy condoms because he stood red-faced and frozen at the end of the aisle and giggled all the way to the car. My virginity would have been lost to him at sixteen had we not used the condoms as water balloons. We jiggled them around for hours. It’s a good thing the origin of my sexuality was a boring subject because greasing the prophylactics with shaving cream and trying to pop them with pins was way more fun.

Nevertheless, something unheard of compelled me to look beyond my good old boy. Robert was too perfect. My quote to him was, “I’m too young to be so in love. Maybe we should see other people.” He begged me not to and didn’t understand why too much happiness with him meant cutting it off. Honestly, it felt like a huge mistake, but it had to be done because we were so in love it seemed surreal. Many tears were shed when he wasn’t waiting for me at my locker anymore.

I tried to date a few other boys after the idiotic dumping of my first love. They were just crushes, temporary interests compared to him. Running back to him seemed the right thing to do, but just like a man, he shagged the first girl that showed interest. Somehow, this shocked me, as if he should have waited for me as long as necessary. What sixteen-year-old boy would do that?

Escorting oneself through a first heartbreak is never easy.

That is when my mind wandered back to girls. The boys were easy to leave behind when half the girls’ volleyball team happened to be in my gym class. Joining the team was a possibility until this tomboy learned that the uniform included “Daisy Duke” spandex shorts. My underwear covered more of my ass than the shorts!

Like a true queen, my extracurricular activities revolved around drama club theatrics. The summer before my senior year I auditioned for a role in my local theater’s production of
The Secret Garden
, fitting for the tale that follows. A decent role was assigned to me, although it wasn’t the lead. I was required to be at rehearsals nearly four days a week. The most desired role was given to the most talented, upbeat girl.

Angel was perfect for the role and had a powerhouse voice to deliver each song she performed. Hearing her sing was never tiresome. For her age, she was very roomy in the hips. The red dress she wore in one of the scenes was this flowing, see-through material, layered enough to blow endlessly in the slightest breeze. During her song she expressed emotion using hand gestures and swayed her hips to each slow word. The dress, to me, looked like a crackling fire licking gently around her legs. It was mesmerizing. She was a pretty blonde; her personality was welcoming and upbeat, but it was the dress that made me take notice of her body.

The front bodice hung low enough to show the slightest hint of cleavage beneath her first Victoria’s Secret bra. When the right light cast as she moved to the edge of the stage, her silhouette glorified the ensemble.

Being turned on by a girl of sixteen singing songs about death makes a person uneasy.

Our friendship grew with each rehearsal, and suddenly, for whatever reason, same-sex relationships came up in conversation. I pried into her sexuality in the wings of the stage and exaggerated about my own flings with women. Angel faked being comfortable as she bashfully explained her inexperience and unwillingness to do it again. I reveled in every delicious lie until our names were called for the next scene.

After my admission on such a taboo subject, things changed between us. The touches became more frequent, never excessive; the laughter became flirtatious rather than friendly. Once, Sprite nearly shot from my nose when she winked at me from across the room. Then, one evening during our break from rehearsal, she almost kissed me behind the theatre bushes until a bunch of bastard kids ran past us in the alley, killing the sexual tension.

Caught off-guard, I stepped on my own toe while turning to break free from the moment that no one was supposed to see. During my reach for the bushes to cushion my inevitable fall, my hand slid into them, scratching my arm and jabbing a twig into my upper gums. These were my pre-pimp days.

She could barely help me out of the bushes, she was laughing so hard. The stolen moment was forgotten when she pulled me to my feet and asked me to stay the night. There was a strange tingle in my veins as a heat crept through me with a sudden burst of unexplainable energy.

It was in her room when the infamous first
real
girl/girl kiss happened. We were seated yoga-style on her bed, facing each other when somehow, in the wee hours of the night, our teenage conversation turned sexual and we realized our hands had migrated to each other’s inner thighs under the blankets. We verbally ignored what was happening and pretended that it wasn’t, but our bodies accepted each inching reach until there was an uncomfortable silence as she stared at me in the dark. Our hands bathed in the heat of each other, inappropriately close to the cotton lining within our underwear. She was trying to read my facial features for a sign that she wasn’t the only one with desires to move forward. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” she whispered with undertones of her own wishes. Briefly, it felt as if she was in charge and that all of my shit talking about previous experience was coming to light. My reaction to her question was involuntary.

My sphincter muscle snapped tight right before our kiss actually happened. My body went through the whole gamut of physical reactions, including the most amazing twitch I endearingly refer to as the butt-hole pucker.

The butt-hole pucker is the shocking clench of the anus produced involuntarily when encountering unexpected emotions. This odd malfunction of human anatomy is stimulated by an array of experiences. There is the fear pucker brought on by horror films and death by hang gliding. There is the “Holy crap, I have to shit!” pucker, warning its human host of upcoming deposits that desperately need to be made. But, the one I experienced at the moment accompanies sexual excitement and can be the origin of physical exhilaration. I’m sure that somewhere out there it has been surveyed and documented. Note to self: find butt-hole pucker research. But I digress.