P
Pia
Guest
Imagining O
I
I can still remember the first time I saw her picture in the newspaper
And read the story of the film that would not be released
I don’t think I’d ever seen a girl so exquisite as Corinne
And I had to find the book and read the story
I was entranced. I wanted to be O so much
Well almost. My first few frantic tumbles with boys
Revealed in their clumsiness that some things weren’t for me
But O felt that way sometimes too
I yearned to feel her pride and shame
To feel her body not her own
Taken, abused and used. A plaything for others
Most of all, I longed to feel the lash
I envied her beautiful leather collar, how it hung over
Her sweetly swelling breasts
Her wrists bound and chained. Sometimes raised above
And hung from high to where her gaze rose too
I dreamed of touching those two pillars
And standing on the little stage
While lovers, some cruel, some fearful
Whipped my perfect back
I wanted to be there. Smiling, cruelly marked
As you came in the door
And ran away in horror at the sight
My body raw with welts the tail had left
I kissed the iron before the fire was heated
And embraced the surge of hurt right to my heart
The rings that on my labia were mounted
That showed the world that I was someone else
I waited for the day when this would end
And, here’s the thing, I wanted more than O
For Pauline’s choice was soft and not enough
To simply fade her out into a life
I knew what choice that I would make for sure
For my O sensed her road would have to stop
And I would take the knife and drive it deep
The blade kissing soul in sweetest pain
II
A dull grey English October day. The golden stone looking more like grey putty.
I’d signed up in my College for crew and now headed to the Exam Schools for the Freshers’ Fair
Dodging past the political societies and the environmentalists and heading to the group I had to join
Smiling faces welcomed me. We were young and free and we could at last be ourselves now all those awkward days of school had run their course
I’d hated it. The pretty girl who fumbled when she kissed. Who felt aroused but not at the same time. Then slowly working out things for myself.
And now, at last, girls who felt just the same as me. And after lectures coffee, talk and tea, we’d tumble in our tiny attic rooms and laugh as boys looked on with envy as we strolled together in the quad.
But something still was missing and I knew what. A longing, burning passion for something more.
I begged her just the once to play my game. She tried and tied the ropes above my head. But in her eyes the tears welled and she grew sad. I pleaded for the whip but it was hard.
She sobbed and one lash fell, but then no more. We kissed and rolled and pretended it was just a game.
But I knew that sometimes games just have no end. They aren’t bounded by a clock or finish line. You have to keep on playing and playing deeper. And when I knew she wouldn’t come too my sadness felt no bounds.
I
I can still remember the first time I saw her picture in the newspaper
And read the story of the film that would not be released
I don’t think I’d ever seen a girl so exquisite as Corinne
And I had to find the book and read the story
I was entranced. I wanted to be O so much
Well almost. My first few frantic tumbles with boys
Revealed in their clumsiness that some things weren’t for me
But O felt that way sometimes too
I yearned to feel her pride and shame
To feel her body not her own
Taken, abused and used. A plaything for others
Most of all, I longed to feel the lash
I envied her beautiful leather collar, how it hung over
Her sweetly swelling breasts
Her wrists bound and chained. Sometimes raised above
And hung from high to where her gaze rose too
I dreamed of touching those two pillars
And standing on the little stage
While lovers, some cruel, some fearful
Whipped my perfect back
I wanted to be there. Smiling, cruelly marked
As you came in the door
And ran away in horror at the sight
My body raw with welts the tail had left
I kissed the iron before the fire was heated
And embraced the surge of hurt right to my heart
The rings that on my labia were mounted
That showed the world that I was someone else
I waited for the day when this would end
And, here’s the thing, I wanted more than O
For Pauline’s choice was soft and not enough
To simply fade her out into a life
I knew what choice that I would make for sure
For my O sensed her road would have to stop
And I would take the knife and drive it deep
The blade kissing soul in sweetest pain
II
A dull grey English October day. The golden stone looking more like grey putty.
I’d signed up in my College for crew and now headed to the Exam Schools for the Freshers’ Fair
Dodging past the political societies and the environmentalists and heading to the group I had to join
Smiling faces welcomed me. We were young and free and we could at last be ourselves now all those awkward days of school had run their course
I’d hated it. The pretty girl who fumbled when she kissed. Who felt aroused but not at the same time. Then slowly working out things for myself.
And now, at last, girls who felt just the same as me. And after lectures coffee, talk and tea, we’d tumble in our tiny attic rooms and laugh as boys looked on with envy as we strolled together in the quad.
But something still was missing and I knew what. A longing, burning passion for something more.
I begged her just the once to play my game. She tried and tied the ropes above my head. But in her eyes the tears welled and she grew sad. I pleaded for the whip but it was hard.
She sobbed and one lash fell, but then no more. We kissed and rolled and pretended it was just a game.
But I knew that sometimes games just have no end. They aren’t bounded by a clock or finish line. You have to keep on playing and playing deeper. And when I knew she wouldn’t come too my sadness felt no bounds.
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