Awhile back, i opened the forum up for readers to ask questions either through my comments or privately through e-mail. Frankly, i was quite touched and overwhelmed by the number of questions that landed in my deviant inbox. Because they took the route of personally reaching out, i personally replied to their inquiries through private e-mail conversations. Some of the questions made me smile over the bashfulness in the questioner. Others stunned me for their sheer bluntness. And still a select few touched me for the amount of thought and reflection they caused me to undergo in order to properly address the inquiry. I present the following as the initial entry into a series of posts i hope to author that exhibit the stimulation i experienced from those of you who were curious enough to send me a list of questions (and if there are those of you who still would like to ask me something, please don't be shy, the window is still open).
"When did you realize that you had a desire to both adore and reduce a female?"
Oh boy, that was an early one. I remember having the biggest infatuation with this daughter of a family friend, and we would often play privately together. Off on our own, she would try to direct the narrative of our play, and i would firmly take it back in my hand. Many times, she would pout, and i would scold her for pouting, and even withhold my attention until she did what i wanted her to do. Lord, that seems so long ago. I think i'll expand on this in a post.
I've written about Muffy before. But i don't think i've ever thought about my attraction to her in such a duality as the gal who asked me this question phrased it. To both adore AND reduce. Is that what i was doing with her? I most certainly adored her. I remember when i first developed a crush on her, i was all of the age of seven, and after we'd returned from one of our visits to Muffy's family cabin in the mountains, i just sat for hours on the edge of my bed thinking of her. I couldn't bring myself to do anything else (including eating - i famously went three days without a single visit from my appetite after one of those visits), i absolutely had to consume every inch of her visage in my head. From the way she looked up at me through her arsenal of fluttery eyelashes, to the statement her bouncy pigtails made - everything about her was greater than the biggest bowl of ice cream or newest toy.
But, with all of my evident infatuation, it would be expected that when we found ourselves in eachother's company again, that i would spend all of my time pawing over her gentle flavor. As i dipped deeper into my memory cache to satisfy this reader's commission, i realized that was not the case. In fact, the currency i chose to demonstrate my attachment was cruelty, persecution and sadism. I pulled on her glorious pigtails, to the point of her wailing that summoned each of our parents. I would thoughtlessly knock over her tea set that she had so delicately prepared for us, snickering as she scattered to gather the fallen decolletage. Many a times, i held her favorite stuffed, yellow kitten hostage promising to do untold tortures to it only to watch her beg and plead that i release her plush friend. I was a terror. And yet, what made me so much more infatuated with her is that she took everything i dealt. We greeted eachother with equal amounts of glee and excitement, even though she knew what was to happen during our playtime.
It didn't occur to me what magical being i'd found until one day, after once again tossing her baby blue plastic china set to the floor, i had grown bored with her immediately responding by picking up the cups and saucers, and instead of watching, i lept to the floor and pressed my body onto her. I didn't want her to pick up my detritus. We struggled for a few minutes, her writhing under me as i reached for each of her arms in order to hold them still. After a moment or so, we looked at eachother - me on top, her beneath me - breathing heavily from the skirmish, and for whatever reason, we remained in that position. It felt so perfectly wonderful, yet odd and foreign as well, as if we'd glimpsed for a moment our mutual destinies. Excited that we might've seen where we'd end up, but also awkward in the moment of its newness.
Subsequent visits found us expanding on what we discovered that afternoon. She assumed the role of my puppet, i the puppeteer. And we flourished in this dynamic. Ask anyone outside of our relationship, and Muffy was the bossy, pushy girl who told others what to do and had wildly boundless ambitions. But in our little space that we safely discovered together, she relished the idea of me manipulating her limbs, restricting her speech and even withholding my attention only to give it back in tiny, delicious morsels.
As we grew up, that clumsy bigot known as puberty interrupted our fun. She became quite self-conscious of her reaction to our interaction, and i began to recognize the uncomfortable lower erotic undertone that it alluded to. Sadly, in order to preserve ourselves, we turned our once harmonic energy into an unhealthy competition where our scholastic and athletic achievements supplanted the acreage that our secretive choreography once occupied. What once existed between us would disappear by our teens, fluttering away like the last smoldering fumes of an extinguished campfire in the morning following.