Posted by: littlegirlyone | June 2, 2007

erotic frustration

perhaps some of my desire to be controlled comes from the fact that almost no one has ever really controlled me. as the only girl in my family, and the most successful child, i have been the apple of my parents and grandparents’ eyes since i was born. as i grew into a young woman, say 11 or so, i began to uncover the power and the powerlessness of being a girl.

i was an early bloomer – breasts as early as 3rd grade, menstruation far before i wanted to admit it. sex drive. young. it was alienating, and confusing, and erotically powerful. i had always been a handful, but now i was a handful.

not that i wasn’t rejected my fair share of times by (stupid) boys my own age. i was. a few of those schoolyard rejections smart to this day. but it didn’t take long for me to find my solace with the older boys, the ones i wasn’t supposed to hang out with too much, the older brothers of my friends and (gasp!) my first boyfriend.

there is much about being an American girl that is alienating, that feels like you are fighting the losing battle for respect, academically and socially. try being a 5’3″ blond 13 year old with a 32C bra size; it doesn’t take long to understand that dumb gets you more places, that men give you low whistles, even when you’re walking with your own father, and that lots and lots of other little girls don’t understand you. all this in a society that pornographizes (not a word, i know) youth and childhood. but i’m not as interested in that side of it anymore.

what interests me is power. the power i received as a young woman, to get what i wanted. i was a smart, manipulative little cookie. if being objectified at a young age had a silver lining, i was sure to find it. and i did. with powerlessness and objectification comes a certain power. and i toyed with quite a few high school teachers figuring out just how to use the power of a 14-15-16 year old’s “innocence” like a dagger concealed in a knee high boot. and it worked for me a few times (not that i’m bragging, in fact some of these experiences were the most shameful i have ever put myself into).

however, like all little girls with a taste of the sweet stuff, i pushed myself too far. that is a story for another day, because it’s really like a bit of an afterschool special. but i think that using my “feminine wiles” for lack of a better term, and using them to the brink of their usefulness, is what got me to the point where i desired, even craved, erotic frustration.

i didn’t know i craved it until it happened to me. i wanted so much more than he would give me, i was pressing myself into his hands, his hard on. i wanted him. but he didn’t take me. although he continued to see me. it was puzzling – was he gay? was i scaring him away with my desire? i had never run into it with a teenage boy before or since that exercised that kind of self control and didn’t give me what i wanted (not that i’ve been with any teenage boys in the past 7 years – don’t get the wrong idea). i didn’t have a name for it then.

i didn’t name that feeling erotic frustration until i met john, on a friday night in a bar with no sign in a somewhat seedy area. i sat out in front of the place, it was fall and i was buttoned and scarved up to the neck. i wore a good pair of jeans and a t-shirt that skimmed my curves in the perfect way. i waited for him. i had seen pictures of course, but i had also met enough online people to know that people send pictures that aren’t them. never a pleasant revelation. but he looked exactly like his pictures when he turned the corner – better, in fact. the bar didn’t open until 9pm, we had about 10 minutes so he sat next to me on the windowsill of the building. the stars were out – it was a clear night. i can’t remember what we talked about, but i pointed up at the stars – one of those moves that lengthens my neck and makes my big eyes adorable. it was the perfect moment to kiss me, which is exactly what he did, and what i was projecting for him to do. that was my bait, although i didn’t see it that way at the time.

we spent the next few hours talking, flirting, general giddyness from me and a calm sense of arousal from him. yet no matter how i moved, schoolgirled, flirted, smiled, tilted my head or beguiled him, he didn’t kiss me again. he wouldn’t. it was getting annoying – i wanted to be kissed, dammit! but he didn’t move on me again. right before we left, i found a long hallway toward the restroom, and he pressed me face up against the concrete wall. he’s a good foot taller than me, so i felt covered and controlled, enveloped completely by his presence. he lowered his head, whispering low into my ears while his hands traveled down, over the curve of my ass. and that was it.

he walked me to my car. i tried again. i couldn’t have been cuter or more obvious. i tried again. he smiled. i realized then that he knew exactly what i wanted, exactly what i was doing, and was deliberately denying me.

“WHY don’t you kiss me again?” i purred.

“Little one, when i am ready to kiss you, i will.” he grabbed me by the hair, gently tugging my head back, exposing my neck while i sighed. then he kissed me lightly on the forehead and sent me home. he told me to make myself cum when i got there, thinking of him.

i wrote him an incredulous email. i couldn’t believe he hadn’t kissed me again. it was unheard of! but secretly, i adored it. i adored his control over himself, and it gave me delicious shivers to think that i had finally met my match. i knew i wouldn’t get what i wanted this time, and that excited me more than all the kissing and fondling he could have given me.


Responses

  1. this was a great post, really beautifully written and so intimate and yet so generalizable at the same time. when you and i first started reading each other we seemed like twins and now the differences are emerging amidst the similarities. if i really go into this i’ll write you a whole treatise so i’ll just wait for our next chat. 🙂

  2. It’s a heady kind of intoxication, to know how much she wants something and know you have the power to refuse it. And know that the more you refuse it the more she will want it.

  3. It is such a pad to the ego, but i love the incredulous follow-up. If pressed in court, i’m not sure i could explain sometimes why i refused to indulge her, but it was my instinctual reaction.

  4. I’ve been reading Persephone for a few months now as I come in to my own belonging. I linked to you through her page this morning. This is the first post I’ve read. The childhood experiences between us are uncanny. I felt an immediate bond. I look forward to reading more from you!

  5. thanks to all for reading. i really enjoyed this post – not just writing it, but the way it set a whole chain of self-analysis in motion. i will probably be blogging on it for quite a while.for the Doms, deity and roper, it is a great pleasure to hear that from your end, the denial is as sweet as the frustration it reaps.to ms. butterfly – welcome. i am always happy to find a kindred soul, it makes me feel so much less of a freak in the best sort of way. i clicked over to your blog, and i am intrigued. i look forward to learning more about you and your submission.love to all!*lg

  6. Wowww… really enjoyed this post. It’s not often one meets the kind of guy that John was (except that now, these guys have names, and one just has to go look for a Dom).I developed in much the same way as you – 32C at 13 years old, although I’m shorter than you by an inch – but perhaps I didn’t know how to use it? At any rate, I didn’t notice anything special about it, nor the treatment I received. Now you mention it, though, perhaps I should have been more aware of myself…;-)

  7. eve,i have heard from other submissives that while they relate to my tale of early development, we all handled it in different ways. i suppose it confirms my own theory about myself: i have always been an extremely sexual girl, and my early experiences are no exception.


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