From: [email protected]
Subject: The List part n=n+1
Date: 20 Nov 91 19:34
From Nurse Jones,
Someone wrote that they didn't read my "memory dump" posts because
they were too detailed, too long, and didn't have enough white space
in them. Hrumph. Long paragraphs do seem turgid, I agree. Sorry, I get
windy sometimes. I hope to God somebody flames me before I become a
bore. I'll cut out the detail, anyway.
They ought not to call it white space anymore. Or maybe I just have an
old-fashioned monitor.
Those of you that have been following the hypnotism thread will know
that Jay and I have been sidetracked. I'm supposed to be the top now,
and I haven't been doing a great job of being dominant.
It's funny, but our experiments in hypnosis haven't spilled over into
our bondage play, although our actual lovemaking has become very
deeply intertwined with hypnosis. But that's another story.
When you have to be propped up by your bottom in order to Do The Job
(ThankyouClone) you aren't really a proper top. Or I'm not, anyway.
I'm doing something else instead, which I am beginning to admit (to
myself) is what I want. It isn't exactly topping, but I am in control
and I get what I want out of it. Maybe that IS topping, but it's
different from what Jay did to me.
As I look back over The List, Column One, I realize that Jay
orchestrated an experience for me -- and himself -- in which my
experiences and reactions were of paramount importance, even to Jay.
Remember when I was worried about being considered weird? I read back
over The List, then, trying to take an objective look at myself, and
one thing I realized was that time after time I wrote hints into the
diary; Jay read them and later acted upon my hints. I don't think I
was even consciously aware of it at the time.
I feel as though I was the selfish one, in a way. I wanted to be
pushed as far as I could be, and it became a kind of month-long erotic
dance along the edges of my desires. I would peek in the direction I
wanted to go, and then Jay would know which way to lead the dance.
Fortunately, Jay had the courage to pull me a little bit over the edge
now and then. I guess that's what you call exploring the limits. But
it was MY limits.
Now, as top, I'm being selfish. I don't have what it takes to bring
Jay to his limits. I can't give him what he gave me.
I was a selfish bottom, and now I'm a selfish top.
I haven't really been posting about this, but in the background, we
are continuing to experiment. Even though I am a novice top, a pattern
is emerging. Each time, each "scene," I indulge myself, without much
regard to Jay's needs. When Jay topped me, my needs came first with
him. When I use the bondage toys we have, I deliberately put him in
some kind of predicament, telling myself that by doing this I am
trying to be a good top, but then I go all motherly, caring for him
and torturing (well, teasing) him at the same time.
I become almost schizophrenic: I keep him tied up, I "do things to
him," the kind of things a top should do, I guess, but the moment he
shows a reaction, the moment it starts to hurt, I turn into Florence
Nightengale and (without releasing him, mind you, or even backing off
sometimes) I treat him like a handsome young soldier who was wounded
in the trenches and may not live to see his girl back home, so I'm
going to make his last hours, painful though they may be, as
comfortable as possible.
I take on the attitudes of the romantic version of a model nurse that
every school girl aspires to. I sympathize, I listen, and I tell him I
understand; I stroke his brow, I kiss it where it hurts, (once I even
lifted his head and gave him sips of water) then I get carefully into
bed with him and screw myself silly, being careful not to hurt
whatever part of him happens to be, um, undergoing treatment.
When he can't have an orgasm because I won't let him, I'm still deeply
concerned and sympathetic over his problem, ("Oh, I know, I know...")
and he becomes my "poor baby" and I cuddle and stroke his fevered
brow. "Just try, just a few more minutes," I whisper in his ear, even
as I continue to tease and torture him with the other hand and tell
him "It'll all be over soon and then everything will be all
right...").
Talk about ambidextrous. Mentally, I mean.
It sounds hypocritical to be making the wound with one hand and
putting on the bandage with the other, I know. Or maybe schizophrenic
is a better word. I'm not trying to justify myself. I don't think. I'm
very loving and sympathetic, and the emotions are genuine, and he
responds to them. But I'm doing him at the same time.
I don't actually fantasize that I'm a nurse while we're doing a scene,
though. It's just the nurse/god attitude. In fact, nursing is the last
thing on my mind. I'm more of a goddess. Or a high priestess. A
slightly cruel and hypocritical one, but I do have the interests of my
"subject" at heart. I like the control, and I like to relieve the
pain, but I don't much like to cause it. Except that causing it puts
me in a position to relieve it. Tell me: do you feel like I've turned
over a psychic rock?
Funny, it seems okay to me when I hear about tops causing pain for
it's own sake, or because the bottom wants it. But it seems a little
sick to cause it in order to relieve it. So I'm a little sick. So
what.
Trouble is, I think he can stand a lot more than I subject him to. I
just imagine he's in dire straits for my own sake. That's what I mean
by selfish.
Of course, I don't exactly dress the part of Florence Nightengale,
either. I use my body to tease him, and I can hardly do that in a
white uniform. Black is best. What a dual existence I lead. White at
work, black at home, in uniform and in spirit.
Nurse Jones,
her life color-coded for convenience,
now um, submitting in outline form,
apologizes for the length of her posts:
if I had more time, they would be
shorter.
And if I thought more, they would be
fewer.
On to the next posting
Back to the Nurse Jones Index