deborah777
Executioner
I am a good girl.
No, it's true.
I still remember the church services. The serene Christ on the Cross best two lowly thieves.
I still remember that funny feeling beneath my dress, between my legs as I learned about crucifixion and sin.
A Korean girl in Seoul in a Christian, upper middle class family.
Through most of the 28 years I have been alive I have harbored this feeling.
A lazy afternoon, my mother's sewing room. I always had nice gowns and dresses, always had pretty undergarments. Yet here I was-sneaking some of mother's extra black nylon to make a loincloth for my imaginary Passion after bedtime...I would wear it under my dress to school, to church... I don't know how I was never caught.
Stretched out in the sun on our deck, wearing only that-for my parents and older sister were not going to be home for a couple more hours.
Summertime again...
I eagerly participate in the girls' Christian camp Passion Play...not as "Jesus" but a thief.
I am not sure what Jesus would think of my fantasy but I instinctively know that it would be viewed as sinful, odd, and shameful.
I feel like I would make a good thief as they were sinful like me.
I am a girl. I don't even know what sex is, not truly.
All I know is the thought of being whipped, crucified, and suffering gives me good strange feelings.
In modest swim shorts and shirt I portray the "good thief."
"Remember me when you come into your kingdom!" I plead to the girl on the centre cross, similarly attired.
If only they knew.
All they know is my acting was superb.
Years go by and the more this girl would learn the more she would desperately want it...need it...every picture she stared at, every erotic story she would write or read...again she would strip down in private. She would wrap again a satin loincloth her only garment.
...and she would once again in her mind suffer the shame and agony...the beautiful ecstatic pain-of the Roman cross.
Only then does she feel like a woman to be desires like the very light of the sun that burns her bare skin; only then is she a queen, albeit a thorn crowned, degrading ruse of one.
The good girl during the day would be a cheap, low, sultry, pathetic slaveslut writhing like a worm on her stipes at night, in the privacy of her room at night...
No, it's true.
I still remember the church services. The serene Christ on the Cross best two lowly thieves.
I still remember that funny feeling beneath my dress, between my legs as I learned about crucifixion and sin.
A Korean girl in Seoul in a Christian, upper middle class family.
Through most of the 28 years I have been alive I have harbored this feeling.
A lazy afternoon, my mother's sewing room. I always had nice gowns and dresses, always had pretty undergarments. Yet here I was-sneaking some of mother's extra black nylon to make a loincloth for my imaginary Passion after bedtime...I would wear it under my dress to school, to church... I don't know how I was never caught.
Stretched out in the sun on our deck, wearing only that-for my parents and older sister were not going to be home for a couple more hours.
Summertime again...
I eagerly participate in the girls' Christian camp Passion Play...not as "Jesus" but a thief.
I am not sure what Jesus would think of my fantasy but I instinctively know that it would be viewed as sinful, odd, and shameful.
I feel like I would make a good thief as they were sinful like me.
I am a girl. I don't even know what sex is, not truly.
All I know is the thought of being whipped, crucified, and suffering gives me good strange feelings.
In modest swim shorts and shirt I portray the "good thief."
"Remember me when you come into your kingdom!" I plead to the girl on the centre cross, similarly attired.
If only they knew.
All they know is my acting was superb.
Years go by and the more this girl would learn the more she would desperately want it...need it...every picture she stared at, every erotic story she would write or read...again she would strip down in private. She would wrap again a satin loincloth her only garment.
...and she would once again in her mind suffer the shame and agony...the beautiful ecstatic pain-of the Roman cross.
Only then does she feel like a woman to be desires like the very light of the sun that burns her bare skin; only then is she a queen, albeit a thorn crowned, degrading ruse of one.
The good girl during the day would be a cheap, low, sultry, pathetic slaveslut writhing like a worm on her stipes at night, in the privacy of her room at night...
