Tags

“He thought that every woman should be at one time or another a whore. He thought that all women, deep down, wished to be a whore once in their lives and that it was good for them.  It was the best way to retain a sense of being female” (Anais Nin, Delta of Venus).

 Everyone wants to be a star.  Everyone has fantasies of who they want to be — how they want to be touched, looked at, loved, desired.  But everyone is trapped being who they really are – or at least, being who they’re supposed to be.

Aren’t you tired of feeling repressed?  Tired of feeling like you have to be a good girl to get what good girls get? Going to bed like a robot, waking up like a robot, and somewhere, during the day, having lunch…

You don’t want to live like that.

You want to be a star.  You want to be touched, looked at, loved, desired.  You want to feel ached for, needed, wanted — but how does a good girl get that?  Good boys are never any fun.  Good boys want to go to bed with a goodnight kiss and wake up with a good morning hug.  Good boys want to go to the movies and sit in a good seat.  They don’t want to hide in a back corner and stick their hand down your pants.  They don’t want to sit in a good seat but let you stick your hand down their pants anyway.

You know what rest stops are really for – and it isn’t gasoline.  You know what bathrooms are really for – and it isn’t cocaine.  You know what tablecloths are supposed to hide – and it isn’t bad furniture.  And dressing rooms?  They aren’t for dressing.  They’re for undressing.

But good girls aren’t supposed to think like that.  Good girls aren’t supposed to get turned on by highways.  Or dessert.  Or taxi cabs.  Or stairwells.  Good girls aren’t supposed to think about what else you can do in a bathroom stall.

So where do I fit in?  When I think about bathroom stalls, rest stops, dessert and taxi cabs, I stop thinking like a good girl.  I start thinking like a bad girl – and then I don’t know what to do with myself.  I don’t know what to do in taxi cabs and movie theaters, because good girls don’t do bad things.

Good girls find good boys and kiss them goodnight.  So I got good at the goodnight kiss and waited.  I waited to find out what to do with this other part of myself, the part that wanted desperately to be pushed up against the wall, to be messy, and to be really, really bad.  I waited and hoped that part of myself would go away.

But it didn’t.

The hunger, the need, the ache – it all got worse. And I couldn’t figure out what to do with the bad girl.  I couldn’t make her go away.  The more I ignored her, the worse it got.  The more I tried to pretend I really was a good girl, and I mean, a real good girl, the worse it got.  The more I felt like I wasn’t a real good girl, I wasn’t a good girl at all – and the more I felt like I wasn’t a good girl, the more I wondered who the fuck I was, anyway.

I knew I wasn’t a bad girl, at least not one of those bad girls – but then who was I?  If I wasn’t a bad girl, why did I stare at them?  Why did I watch men stare at them and wish I could get stared at like that? If I wasn’t a bad girl, why did I think about them so much?  Why did I watch them and wish I could move like that?  Why did I wish I had tits like that, and an ass like that, and a skirt like that – and why did I wish I could move my body like that, and why did I wish a boy would touch me the way I knew they got touched?

I wanted to be wanted like a bad girl gets wanted.

I didn’t want the good boy kind of wanting.  I didn’t want someone who liked the way I wrote, or liked the way I spoke, or liked the way I thought about things or liked the way I did things.  I wanted a man who watched me talk, who watched my mouth move, and could barely sit still because he wanted to taste me.

I wanted to be tasted.  Licked.  Touched.  I wanted to be needed.  Desired.  I wanted someone to feel hunger for me.  I wanted someone to ache for me. 

I wanted it all desperately, but I didn’t know how to get it.  How do good girls get it?  Good girls don’t get it, because good girls don’t want it.

So what was I?  I wasn’t a good girl, I wasn’t a bad girl, but I wanted to be both.  I wanted to be neither.  I felt trapped by my good girl label and afraid of a bad girl one.  I didn’t know how to put them together and make it fit.  I knew I looked like a good girl on the outside and felt like a bad girl on the inside, and I wanted things I couldn’t have and needed things I didn’t know how to get.

I wished desperately I could figure out a way to be both.  To be a good girl (when I felt like it) and a bad girl (when I needed it).  I wished I could figure out a way to be me, without the label, the box, the restrictions – but I didn’t know how.  I didn’t know how to get out of the trap that was my life.

I knew all these things, but I still didn’t really know what I wanted.  I didn’t know where to find those things I needed.  I just knew I ached to find something.  I just knew I wanted to be someone else.  I knew I felt trapped in my skin, in my body, in my life.

But how do you find a new one?  How can a good girl be a bad girl?  How do you learn how to be someone else?  How could I get men to look at me the way men looked at other girls?  How could I get them to stare at me, to look at me and think about my legs, my breasts, my tongue, my lips, not movies or books or theory or dinner.

I wanted to be dinner.

But being dinner doesn’t fit into a good girl life.  None of the things I wanted fit into my life.  So what was I supposed to do?  I had to find a new life.  I had to get a new secret life – something on the side – something I could step in and out of until I figured out how to make it fit into my real life.  I had to make myself into something new. 

I had to become someone else.  New life, new rules – new life, no rules.  This was my game, and I could play it however I wanted.

I could stay a good girl on the outside, since I didn’t really know how to live any other way – and then, in private, after dark, I could start learning how to lose control.  How to get control.  How to get messy.  How to be needed.  How to be desired.  How to desire.  How to be a bad girl.

Bad girl rule number one – no skirt too short.

Bad girl rule number two – no drink too strong.

Bad girl rule number three – no thought too perverse.

Bad girl rule number four – no act too forbidden.

Bad girl rule number five – nothing is off limits.

Advertisements