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I went to the toilet and peed. Then I came back and said to him, 'I have gone to the toilet, Woody! All my pee is on its way to the ocean and you won't be getting any of it!' We had to cut the booking short because he irritated and repulsed me. Woody was the exception. But half the time I don't know who I am, when I'm prancing around like a girl. Once I'm out of that room, I forget who I was to begin with. I can't even remember the next day. It took me forever to remember that I'd had the butcher shop owner from Stuart Park. I don't need stockings with my hard little heart on. I don't know whether my heart is hard or soft, it just shocks me. But the girls I know seem to keep a close eye on themselves. Anyway, what I'm saying is, I understand why people do the kinky stuff, although I wouldn't go as far as cat food or diving equipment. A little bit goes a long way.
Roxanne speaks: I understand why he liked to wear suits. It was a way of avoiding any kind of intimacy. A few years ago I couldn't have imagined having sex with no clothes on. Even Sharlena still kept her stockings on. She said, 'It's the way I avoid giving all of myself to them, honey. I retain something for me. In a way,' she said, 'I trick my mind into thinking that I'm not really fucking them, just as long as I keep my stockings on.' Whereas I used to like it when the guys I dated were fully dressed in business suits and me with nothing on. The good quality cotton trousers between my legs and paisley tie slipping down between my breasts really turned me on. It had to do with the fact that I felt so vulnerable. I didn't care what they were thinking. I enjoyed my nakedness against their power dressing. I liked to sit on their laps in the seat behind the big desk, facing them in all their office clothing. In a way I was free to be myself and they were constricted and controlled. Their true natures were concealed by their codes of dress, so that they didn't become too boring to me. I liked to sit with my legs really widely apart in front of them, so that my shaven pussy was exposed, but only if they touched me gently with their eyes, those flickering tongues. Any roughness or signs of stupidity and my thighs scissored shut like diamond cutters. I couldn't understand it when one of my girlfriends thought the best thing in the world was simply two naked bodies together. I said, 'You must leave some of your clothes on, surely?' I loved the feeling of some material somewhere on my body. I just found two naked bodies a completely boring concept. There seemed to be nothing more to discover after that. I wanted the little parcel of the sex gift wrapped up in material of some kind. It had to be something mysterious and not revealed. Two naked bodies annoyed me a bit and turned me off if revealed too quickly.
I also associated sex with death. When I was eighteen I was out on a date with this antique jeweller and we ended up going back to his house. We started kissing each other in his loungeroom. But we were both pretty dehydrated after drinking and dancing all night, so he went out into the kitchen to get a glass of cold water for us both. The situation was very intense and we needed a break. I was feeling scared. At the same time I just didn't know what to do with all this excess emotion, like how to hold it steady. So I don't know why I did this, but I just picked up a knife from the coffee table and ran it across my own throat. It seems extreme, but I didn't know what else to do. I was trying to express something important to me that wouldn't come out right. It seemed like the easiest option for self-expression. Then I suddenly felt really confused, whilst believing what I had done was right. It was the only thing I knew how to do, as I awaited his return. He came back into the loungeroom. I was sitting amongst all the dishevelled cushions with a blunt knife in one hand and my neck red but unharmed. Not surprisingly, he completely changed. He got really angry and turned off. He said, 'What did you do that for?' It really frightened the Hell outa him, although I hadn't meant to. I knew I had lost him. He drove me home and I never saw him again. As for me, I was okay. The abrasion wasn't that bad. It was kind of a blunt pink necklace cut into the natural crease of my neck. There wouldn't be a scar, at least not on the outside. |
