This week, my best friend W returned from his holidays at home in the U.S. and today we met for lunch and a long chat 🙂 I have missed him very much and there seemed so much to have happened since the last time we spoke to each other. Apart from John, he’s the one who understands me best (and knows me best as well) and I’m always keen to hear his opinions about things that bother me.
So today, after he burst out in laughter about this artificial nail adventure, we talked about my wish to become more gurlish, without giving up who I am. Actually, Blaubeermann and Ginny/Gina seem to mingle more and more, and I begin to understand that this “girly” part of me had always been there and actually is a very important part of my gay identity. I always knew I was different from the others and when I fell in love with a classmate and we had finally sex with each other, I knew I was feeling like the “girl”. Just without the urge to actually be a girl, physically. I wanted to be the “weak”, the “beautiful”, the “receiving”. I put that into quotation marks, because I feel it’s just a prejudice that women are weaker, drawn to beauty and considered the receiving part in a heterosexual relationship, but anyway. For me, it made and still makes sense. When I thought of myself in the far future, I did not see a man’s man, you know, like being the feeder of the family, telling others what to do or things like that. When I managed to see myself in the far future anyway, I saw myself as the “wife” of a (how I’d call it today) dominant man.
It’s a bit sad, but having had this close yet very painful relation to my father, I did not dare to show how girly I really felt. I knew that if I’d be more than just a toy, a stone or another lifeless thing, things would have gotten worse. There were times when I was convinced I’m in love with my father and that finally some day he would stop hurting me, when he’d see how much I strive to be a good boy/fuck toy, but I have never dared to behave girly or even gurlish.
When John and I met, it was clear from the beginning on, that I’m the serving, submissive part. Not long after we began playing chess in the café, he told me that he’d like to be served (although I presume he referred to tea and snacks at that point of time LOL). And yeah, I liked it, and I liked that thought of him as a hard-working man coming to me to get appreciated, even admired, served and taken care for. So, it all began to develop quite naturally. It was me to do the cooking and the dishes afterwards, to take care for his pleasure and convenience. He went and still goes to spas, sauna and massages regularly, and he encouraged me to take are of myself, too. I began using hair conditioner for example and tried to look the best I could for him. When we met, I still used to hurt myself regularly, but it wasn’t long until he told me that I am his and that he’d regard it as disobeience if I’d damage his property. Maybe it’s a bit weird, but starting to see myself as his property actually helped cutting down on injuring myself, and the pauses between each attack grew longer. Concerning what I did during our holidays, I’d say, it still isn’t over, but the pauses keep on getting longer.
When he came up with the wish (not sure whether it was really that innocent…) I should weare a lace panty, it seemed like relief, although I was scared and nervous about it. It turned me on, but it did more. And so, developing a more gurlish attitude was an evolution, not a real decision. I don’t even see myself as swishy, but somehow just like John’s wife/gurl/girl/slut/whore/Pferdchen/Schlampe. I just like him telling me over and over again “Du bist MEINE Schlampe” (you are MY slut), as it includes so much more than just sexual/kinky stuff. It says “you are mine and I’ll be your guard, but don’t you dare not taking good care of yourself”. I guess being his slut helps me coping with self-hatred and self-injury, with being abused and PTSD in general. Being his slut makes me accept my weird cravings and our kind of relationship more, as I don’t really seem to have a choice, as a slutty person, right? At least, that’s what I want to believe to make it all fit into my believes 😉
So, why am I writing all this down? Because W has convinced me to give artificial nails a go and live out my gurlish side even more. He said, at least anyone knows I’m gurlish, because I did not really manage to hide it like I thought I would LOL I’ll just try natural looking nails, just a little longer than I wear mine and only with a soft colour, if anyway. The artist said, I could remove the nails bathing them in a certain lotion (ace-I-dunno), so if it really goes wrong and I feel bad about them, I’ll just get rid of them. And, as W put out, I work in a space where a lot of handicaped/injured/really not normal people work, so that artificial nails might be the last thing to worry about LOL
Oh gosh, I’m nervous, but tomorrow will be the day. Wish me luck 🙂