After having been to a lot of therapy on my own accord as a grown-up to try to figure out this dark side, my awesome therapist, Melissa, helped me see that it really doesn’t matter how I got here. It’s me now. I’m this person. So it can only bring shame and aggravation to try to un-kink myself or to judge my sexuality. In therapy it became crystal clear that I have no inklings of any type of abuse in my past. I was just a regular little girl.
In the “nature versus nurture argument” about what could have contributed to my desire for dark sex, I will tell you this: In my household, it was like Leave it To Beaver. There was never any room for any emotions other than bright and cheery smiles. There were never fights of any kind.
By contrast, whenever I would visit the home of my little friend Gianna Mastrogiavani (coolest name ever!), her family would have rip-roaring fights at the dinner table. Someone would end up crying. It scared me at first. But eventually I figured out that by the end of dinner, everyone had made up and they were laughing and hugging and having boisterous conversation together. Then, they may fight again, then back to the laughter. Even as a little girl, I found that to be more realistic. They were letting the emotions flow. They were having a range of feelings. I always wanted to be a Mastrogiavanni. I wanted to express the wild range of emotions that were never allowed in my Clever home.
Then there was “sex” in the Clever home. Well, actually not. The very idea of sex was verboten. It wasn’t that sex was bad; it’s just that it was non-existent, never spoken about. It was like sex was not real. My mom and dad would only peck kiss. They would give a formal hug upon greeting after work. That was the extent of human contact, just like with Jenna and Mark. But my parents sure had smiles all the time. So I guess if I was abused, it was abuse by happy facades.
When I was ten years old, I persuaded Jenna to pool her allowance with mine to buy my mom a 1 hour massage for Mother’s day. When she opened the card and saw the gift certificate, she seemed so happy. She served up several comments about how great that would be and how nice we were to think of her.
But with each passing weekend, I would say “Mom, maybe you could get your massage this Saturday?” But invariably, she was always “too busy” and would have to try another time. It wasn’t until I was about 16 that I overheard her boasting to a friend: “I would never have a massage. The idea of a stranger touching me is really creepy. Besides, I would worry about which gender was touching me. If it were a man, it would feel completely inappropriate because that kind of touching is reserved for marriage. If it were a woman touching me, that would present its own problems.” The Mother’s day massage coupon expired forever with her.
Here’s one for you, my entire childhood, I was never allowed in my parents’ bedroom. Never! It wasn’t until I grew up and found out that other kids would jump on their parents’ beds, open the Easter basket in there, get sick and go to the parents’ bed for love and comfort, sleep or watch TV in the parent’s bed when the other spouse was away on a trip. I know people now who tell me they would sit on their parents’ beds for any old reason, just like it was a sofa. But for me, it was this sterile place that was off limits. We could play hide and seek in the house, but the bedroom was way out of bounds.
It’s easy to see my parents’ bedroom as a perfect metaphor for the idea of sex. It doesn’t exist. Out of sight, out of mind. I had no role model for sex. At the Mastrogiavanni’s, I saw people hugging and kissing all the time. Sometimes a young couple would be there kissing and playing at the table and everyone would riff on it with jokes or push them to snuggle closer. Teenagers would smooch on the couch or “disappear” for a while and return later with that telltale satisfied look and a smirk to boot. The dad would playfully spank the mom on the butt with a wooden spoon while everyone laughed. I wanted to be a Mastrogiavanni.
But unlike my family, I have always found big pleasure in physical contact and my sexuality. I’ve always liked extreme sex. The funny thing is, most of it has always been in my own mind… with myself. For as kinky as I am, I need a solid relationship in order to share that side of me. So without any one-night-stands or quickie relationships, I’ve always had the most pleasure with myself.
Even my boot fetish is big part of my sexuality. They are always there for me like a teddy bear. Maybe they are my security blanket. It may sound crazy, but ever since I was little, I was drawn to boots. I always had boots. Every kind. To me, boots, especially high ones, are as sexy as lingerie. To feel super sexy and sexual, I would rather go boot shopping than lingerie shopping. I love the contrast of soft skin against coarse leather. Light skin against dark leather.
But BX didn’t get it, far from it. He always made me feel shame about wanting to wear boots: “A woman’s leg’s are her best feature and it makes no sense to cover them up”. What the hell? That’s like saying a French, lacey bra isn’t sexy because it covers up part of the boobs. And trust me, self, you will not find a single pair of boots in Jenna’s closet. I don’t even need to check. She would never own a pair because they can carry such a sexual charge. Why do you think hookers always wear boots? But saying tall boots are only for hookers is like saying guys on Wall Street should never wear suits because pimps wear them; the difference is huge, quality of fabric, accessories, attitude, and colors.
Prissy clothes are fine too. I wear prissy sometimes. The right shoe for the right mood. Jenna can never switch it up. She’s all about the safety robot voice: “Must – protect – emotions – at – all – times. Passion – does – not – compute.” Every woman, every person has to reconcile their childhood issues with their sexuality somehow. Some women do this by extremely punishing workouts, running marathons, etc. Other people over eat. Some take to substance. We all have to cope. The thing about me is that I feel super content with my sexuality. It feels healthy. Maybe it’s dark. Maybe it’s compartmentalized and a little different. But I own it.
Jenna wasn’t so lucky. As the big sister, she somehow was too overcome with the smiley environment to ever see another perspective. It’s living in a fishbowl, all your life and not knowing there is anything beyond the glass. But my own fish bowl was placed on the windowsill looking over the San Francisco Bay. There was an exciting world out there… and it wasn’t all smiles. Like my emotions, some days were cloudy. Some were bright. I learned to embrace each one for its best qualities. I love rain and fog and nasty thunderstorms. I love summer heat.
My sister only likes cheery days. I feel like repressing expression and appreciation of life’s peaks and valleys will take its toll later in life in some form or another. It’s the Dutch boy and the dyke. You can hold back some water with your finger plugging a hole, but that only creates more pressure to do damage elsewhere. My family, and especially Jenna, has repressed their sexuality forever. It’s going to either blow or rot in them some how.
Jenna would be mortified if she heard any of this! Doesn’t she ever get horny? Geez. I have to masturbate at least once each day!! I bet Jenna doesn’t even own a vibrator. It would scare the crap out of her. In the old movies, I used to hear the word “frigid.” I never really knew what it meant. But seeing Jenna and Mark, it’s pretty frigid all right.
Wow, after just re-reading this entry, it seems like I’m way more judgmental then her. I don’t mean to be that way. I guess it’s just a reaction to always feeling shut down whenever I let my real self shine, good, bad, or crazy. Sorry, Jen. I don’t mean to judge you.
--- MONDAY MARCH 12 --- Star power
My boss let me drive Nicole Kidman to the commercial shoot today. She was really nice. Everybody thought we were best buds or something because, even after arriving, she kind of leaned on me for stuff and felt comfortable hanging out with me during the shoot. We get celebs from time to time, but this was the best. Gotta love her!
I’m starting to like writing this diary. I guess I’m secretly writing it for eventual release into the public. Maybe when I die, someone will find it in my nightstand and publish
it. It will be like Franz Kafka who wasn’t famous until he died when they found his writings. Only when they find mine, they’ll be like… “Breaking news: Nicole Kidman once had a secret lesbian affair with production coordinator from a shoot she was on.”
--- TUESDAY MARCH 13 --- Prospect number one
There was a cute guy eyeing me at the farmers’ market this morning. He had this amazing swimmer’s body and could pass for a model. We had immediate chemistry. After he bumped into me and knocked my smoothie over, I flirted with him. Joking around, I told him that I would have to punish him for that. And he flirted back with “Or I’ll have to punish you for being so adorable.” He gave me his email address. Who knows, this entry could be the first of many in a bright future with him. We’ll see. I’ll wait a couple days before emailing.
--- WEDNESDAY MARCH 14 --- Yoga class
I love yoga! It always makes me feel so connected. Even today when I’m starting my period, it helps ease my cramps. When my body feels yoga, I get really optimistic about life and start eating healthily. Then when I get away from it for too long, I start eating worse and getting blue. Oh, and when I go to yoga for a long stretch in a row, I seem to get a bigger libido, which for me, is like saying I go from a high level to a stratospheric level. I’ve been going there regularly for about 6 weeks now and I love it.
There was this woman there that I see some times. She has a bright energy and looks in her late 30’s. She started talking with me and we had an easy time in conversation. You know how with some people it’s really hard to click? It wasn’t like there with her. She invited me to coffee after class next time. It would be nice to have a friend besides Victoria. I mean, I love Victoria, but this girl just seemed nice too… and not as flighty.
--- FRIDAY MARCH 16 --- Maybe a new friend
Had another awesome yoga class. After class, I went to coffee with the woman in class who seemed really cool. Regina. That’s her name. It’s kind of a cool name and it matches her. She’s super skinny and has a great vibe. She’s 38, the kind of girl who sundresses are made for. Her brown hair was up today, but usually, she wears it down. It looks like a loose perm, but it’s natural. She’s really healthy-looking and is a vegetarian. She has a spirit that feels light, but there is something very intense within her. She is the opposite of Jenna. Regina clearly has stuff going on besides a joyous facade. I like that. I like the idea that people can have contrast… and depth.
We went to coffee and it was actually awkward. It was like I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and have her reject me. Not that it mattered, but I wanted to be liked by her. Stupid as it sounds, it felt like going on a job interview to find a new friend. I was so nervous. I even refrained from my usual potty speak and tried to be a somewhat flatter version of myself. But she saw right though it. She busted me with “You can be yourself with me.” And we both laughed because she totally called me on my facade. Fine.
So I proceeded to grill her about her life’s details in hopes of finding common ground for a friendship. She really intrigued me. Turns out that the dark intensity I saw mixed in with her bright chi was accurate.
Two years ago, she had a nasty divorce and has been a single mom since then. Well, kind of single. The dad, Alex, fought for 50-50 custody and the judge granted it. Alex is a trust-fund guy who doesn’t have to work for a living. He’s a Scorpio and really erratic. Regina and Alex have a 9-year-old boy named Tucker, who lives with her Monday through Wednesday and every other weekend. She showed me a few photos; He’s adorable.
She said she lives a tale of two lives. When she’s with Tucker, she is mommy of the year and throws herself at him. She’s the super mom, bringing cupcakes to school, volunteering at the fundraisers when she can, and making home baked meals. He is her everything.
When Tucker is away at the dad’s, she is lost. She does yoga, gardens, and works as a 5 grade teacher. She has worked in the same school for years. She loves San Francisco and uses it to full advantage. She says guys always try to hit on her, but she is not in the frame of mind to engage. There is something very substantial about her. When she smiles, a soul comes through.
Anyway, I bring all of this up because she hit me out of the blue with: “So why do you always wear boots?” — piercing into me with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Huh?” I feigned. “Most people wear flip-flops or clogs to yoga. You always wear high boots and then change into your yoga pants in the bathroom once you get there.” Then I figured (even though it was my very first time with this stranger, Regina), if I wasn’t going to be honest, I wasn’t going to ever develop a friendship worth having. So I came clean with: “You know what? My whole life I have been fascinated by boots. (I actually started to blush). In fact, I have a really strong fetish for boots. I feel sexy in them. I’m always secretly hoping some guy will see me somewhere and think the same thing.”
“What size shoe are you?” she asked. When I told her I’m a seven, she continued, “Hey, me too! Can I try yours on?” she asked very bluntly. My eyes widened. I felt naked. From my view, it felt as personal as asking if she could try on my bra. “You mean, right now?” I stammered. “Sure” she said in a steady, matter-of-fact tone. It was a really an odd request. I mean, has that ever happened to anyone on the planet? But Regina made it seem like “pass the salt.”
So I unzipped my boots and passed them over to her. She slipped off her cool, chunky, leather clogs, then pulled on my boots, zipping them over her dark tights. These particular boots were black riding boots with a 3-inch wedged heel. She got up from the table and did a deliberate strut around the cafe, giggling and showing off. A few of the other customers watched her but didn’t seem to think anything of it.
Now I saw why I always loved boots. She looked fantastic!!!!! They literally transformed her energy to this more sexual vibe. Anybody, fetish or not, would say she looked spectacularly alluring.
Good thing I’m not into women or I would have jumped on that thing.
After her little tour du cafe, she sat back down and leaned into me. “I don’t own a single pair of boots. Unless wellies count,” she said. “I’m going to buy some!” But then something fucked up happened. Somehow, some strange force took over my mouth and made me blurt out in a dry tone, “Wear them home tonight.”
You would have thought I had given Regina a ten thousand dollar bill. She was stunned. She lit up like a spotlight was inside her. “You know what…” and she thought for a moment. “I will.” She was beaming. “And you have to wear my clogs.”
The whole thing had the strangest energy to it. It was like some kind of sexual metaphor innuendo. Or whatever. I don’t know what it was. All I know is that she kept my boots on when we got up to leave. As we walked out, I said goodbye and watched her walk to her car in my boots. For whatever reason, I was oddly turned on. And she had this playful, sexy energy thing going. I was wearing her shoes! Crazy. I’m still wearing them!! I’m so not into girls, but I must get my vibrator. But first, I’m going to email the farmers market guy now to get that ball rolling.
--- SATURDAY MARCH 17 --- The dating game
Too bad there is no yoga tonight!
The farmer’s market guy wrote back last night within a half hour. His name is Marcel. He works as a sales guy for high-end wine. He seemed really cool. But, my inner naysayer says the luster usually wears off with a second encounter. We’re going to meet for a drink at 8pm. I told him I only have 30 minutes, so that I can bail if I have to.
--- Later ---
Ok. I met Marcel. He’s an incredible catch. There’s just one thing… Me, in my usual blunt self… pushed him on a couple comments he made once the alcohol had kicked in a little. Turns out, he is amazing and, by the way, he likes to cross dress. So that’s pretty kinky. I could go with that. It’s kind of perverted and cool. NOT! This sucks that I am so judgmental, but nothing turns me off more than a cross-dressing guy. I don’t know why I have such a visceral reaction to it. But it’s really strong.
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br /> It’s ironic that I judge cross-dressing, but hate my own sexual kink being judged. I don’t know what to say about that other than… I don’t judge him, but just don’t want that in a relationship. It would be the same as if he smoked. I’m not judging the smoking, I just don’t need that in my life. I admire him for coming clean early on and not playing games until he hooks me on his best qualities. But still, I just can’t go there. Oh, and guess what I wore to the date? Regina’s clogs!
--- MONDAY MARCH 19 --- Yoga Friend
How stupid is this? I was actually excited to go to yoga tonight, not because of the yoga itself, but to see my new friend. But by the time class started, Regina wasn’t there. And like some 7 year old, I kept checking the clock every 5 minutes and then checking the door. My mind wasn’t on yoga at all.
She never came. Then I remembered that it was Monday night. She must be on mommy duty with her kid, Tucker. What’s funny is I don’t even have any contact info for her, just the yoga class. Guess I gotta wait until Wednesday when she shows up again. I feel dumb for being so excited for a friendship.
--- TUESDAY MARCH 20 --- Lunch with my parents
Met my parents for lunch. They are really proud of me for landing and keeping such a great job. They looked good, but sure are getting older. For the first time, my dad, who was a career pilot with perfect vision, finally has to have reading glasses for the menu. My mom put on some weight. Not much, but just enough to show me that I want to always workout and stay healthy my whole life. We only get one body. We need to use it or lose it.
Owning Regina: Diary of my unxpected passion for another woman Page 2