Archive-name: Bondage/njlist13.txt
Archive-author: Nurse Jones
Archive-title: The List - 13 of 20
From Nurse Jones:
Okay, okay. Here is some of Column Two. I wrote it while still
lurking. But it's all wrong because a lot has changed since then. For
one thing, I know some of you through E-mail now, and I'm more than a
little embarrassed to send it out, for reasons I explained in a recent
post. And it's getting more difficult as time goes on. For some
reason, I didn't care so much if strangers read about my innermost
thoughts, so long as no one I KNEW found out this stuff. But I've just
realized that I am getting to know "you people." Anonymously, sure,
but what does that matter? You've formed a mental image of me, just
like I have of some of you. Now if I shock and disappoint you, I care.
Now it matters what you think of me. In fact, I just turned beet red
thinking about the end of Column One. Well, not BEET red, maybe
fuchsia. Which has got to be the most carefully spelled color in the
midwest, possibly the world. I could NEVER confront anyone that had
read Column One and knew all that about me. Except Jay.
But here it is, the beginning at least, almost unedited:
The List
Column Two
I'm back. (in a deep, Schwartzenegger-esque voice, with sunglass-
es)
S.F. is a pretty neat place. Almost worth chucking it all for.
I'm surprised everyone doesn't want to live there. I could probably
get a job there easier than J could, given what I do. Maybe someday
I'll go there and help them do the offbeat things they get away with
while even managing to act as if it were all perfectly normal. Start
an all-night yoga clinic or something. You laugh. There would be
competition.
I'm NOT going back to Indiana. My home town is proof that Hell is
full and the dead walk the earth. Besides, it's easier to be kinky a
long way from home. Hmph. It's easier to be liberal when you're a long
way from my home. You know how the Jaycees put a little sign outside
their town to encourage tourism? Like "Whisk Broom Capital of the
World" or whatever. Our town motto would have to be something like:
"Not as bad as you might have imagined,"
or maybe
"Preferable to Gary."
How about:
"Leave it in drive"
Even Chicago was better. At least there was something happening
all the time. Most of it unsolved.
Anyway, I like the South almost as much as SF and a lot more than
Chicago. You don't have to shovel water. And I like J a lot more than
I thought I did when I left.
So anyway, I'm a top now. Sort of. I got my feet back on the
ground over the last month, and decided that J wasn't so gawdawful
weird after all. He's still adamant about me having a shot at topping,
and I still don't really feel constitutionally suited to it, but I'm
going to do it. When I decided to go back to J I called and told him I
needed some money if I was going to top him. For toys. He sent me a
bundle, so I'm back, and loaded for bear. As they say. In fact, we got
started on Column Two when I got back, but we had to stop when I
pulled a groin muscle, even though it wasn't mine.
I mailed the first part of this document to a couple of ASB'ers
at their home addresses just before I got back to J. It was titled The
List, and added up to near 500k in 6 files, "chapters" (items) 1-21. I
don't know if it ever got posted. There's no indication that it did on
the net...
[Note from The Present: It ended up getting posted after
all, thanks to wizvax and some very nice wizpeople, but
I'll leave this stuff in anyway, out of date though it
is.]
... If it didn't, then this will seem like an extended non-sequitur to
you. I'd better explain a little. To be very brief, I was a bottom for
the very first time last Spring. Not that I had ever been a top. It
lasted a month by prior agreement with J, and the things he did to me
we also agreed upon by way of a negotiated two-column list (The List)
broken down into paired items. If he did to me something listed in
column one, I could do the corresponding thing in column two to him
and vice versa. So I guess this is about to become an account of
column two. Except that this time, I can write it my own way. He
proofed, edited, and controlled what I wrote--or should I say what he
had me write--for column one.
I left J because I thought he had gotten too weird; the things he
was doing to me. Since then, I've thought about it a lot and decided I
was just a little slow to adapt. He's okay, really. I hope I wasn't
too hard on him when I left. I really do care about him.
So anyway, I went to San Francisco for a few months. We midwest-
erners don't change our attitudes very readily, but I can certainly
say that I got my prejudices rearranged.
A lot has changed on the net since those days. Saltgirl seems to
be gone for good and STella is the new netqueen. I'm still a lurker,
but maybe not for long: it looks like there is anonymous posting now,
if all this wizvax stuff is what it appears to be. I guess I'll be
posting that way some day if I can figure it out. I have a lot to
learn about using the net, I guess. There are a lot of new folks out
there now. Some of them sound about as tolerant as the hyperbaptists
in the main office of J's department. They're everywhere, like the
roaches. They tried to get the usenet feed canceled--specifically
because of ASB and AS. Except that the hyperbaptists are intolerant of
ALL perverts, not just amateurs like me. Maybe I'd better stay in the
closet a bit longer. Coming out to some of you might not be the thrill
I'd originally thought. I don't relish being forgiven for having once
been a lurker. The attitude seems a bit smug to me. I would have
thought that the people who post on ASB (ESPECIALLY there) would
hold tolerance in such
profound reverence
that beside it all the other
virtues would seem like
sins.
[Note from the Present: This only applies to Little
Retchid, now. But you knew that after yesterday's post.]
Besides, I'm afraid. I remember what happened to Elf way back
when. And you should have heard the things the hyperbaptists had to
say about ASB'ers. They are genuinely awful people. They make me
afraid, and not just for my career. The way their jowls quiver with
righteous indignation when they act on behalf of the Lord God Al-
mighty. They seem to believe they are doing what He would do if only
He knew the facts of the case.
If you've read The List, Column One, you'll understand why I'm
pleased to report that I don't have to wear a wig any more in polite
society. My hair hasn't grown back completely yet, but I dressed a
little punk for a while (although I'm really a little too old to carry
it off. Okay, okay, I'm 28. But I read at the 35 year old level.)
And I didn't look too out of place in the better parts of San
Francisco. Now I have enough hair to look like Brigitte Nielsen from
the hair up. I'll get a job any day now.
My pubic hair is a problem, though.
IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP: If you want your pubic hair to look normal,
don't use depilatory. I used it regularly for that month, and it
didn't grow back right. I almost might as well have had electrol-
ysis. It was weeks before it started to grow back at all, and
nearly three months later it is still so sparse you have to look
twice to be sure I have any at all. If this is permanent, my next
gynecologist is in for a treat.
Seriously. After three months. I have about 15 hairs down there,
and they are thin and only 1/2 inch long. Thank God J didn't let me
use it on my head.
I kept the nipple rings, though, and got a nostril pierced. So
tell me: Am I an exhibitionist? I like the way I look, but I've been
hit on a lot by guys lately. Is there something about a pierced nose
that says, "Hey! Guys! Available broad here! Loose morals! Nymphomani-
ac!" or what? Men seem to think that it means I will automatically
sleep with them or something. And I didn't. I couldn't, even if I were
attracted. Have you ever seen the inside of an AIDS ward? Trust me. It
takes more guts than I have to work in one.
So what changed? Is it the nose ring? Or do all men insist on
treating the mons veneris as though it were Mount Everest, just
because it's there? I lost some baby fat while I was traveling; maybe
I look better thinner, (read more attractive to men), even with short
hair. Although my tits lost weight, too, I'm gaining it back.
Meet The New Me:
So anyway, I'm back. That's what I said to him. I got back on a
Saturday afternoon, and he came to the door when I knocked. I dropped
my pack on the ground and just stood there for a minute in the sun,
looking at him. It was dry and hot as hell and I had left Houston the
previous morning in my unairconditioned beat-up VW. The car was dusty,
I was dusty, my jeans were dusty. I was wearing a dirty white tank top
and some very beat up down-at heel boots with duct tape on one. I'd
lost weight and had developed some muscle definition in my arms.
Haircut like a man, pierced nostril, sunglasses, suntan, and an
attitude.
"I'm back," I said. He told me I looked pretty good. I did. "You
my bottom now?" He nodded. "Run a bath," I said.
He looked at me for a second longer, picked up my pack. "Now," I
said. He gave me a sharp glance, nodded, and turned to go into the
house. That was as long as the Nouvelle Moi lasted. I screeched and
jumped on him piggy-back and wrapped my legs around him and bit his
ear.
I had planned on being a proper top, at least for a while,
playing the same game with him that he had played with me, distant and
aloof and tough. One minute. That's how long it lasted. But I was
really hot for one minute. Then pfft. But I made him sit at the tap
end of the tub.
-*-
When we made up the List, J had commented that one unfulfillable
fantasy he had was to know what it felt like to be me during that
month. To be a woman, I mean. Actually, I would like to know what it's
like to have a male body, what the male orgasm is like, too. He has
this idea that the female orgasm is something mystical and special,
much more profound than the male's. I don't know how anyone can ever
prove that to be true, but it's an idee fixee with him.
[Note from the present: this is as far as I go without
help from my friends. I'm feeling squirrelly at the
moment, and I don't feel comfortable talking about it.
You already know we are experimenting with hypnosis. I
have to let it rest here.]
-*-
Nurse Jones, who, if she were really Arnold Schwartzenegger would
still give free medical advice:
Exercise daily,
Eat wisely,
Die anyway.
--
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