Last night Master and I went to see Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. I will not discuss the plot or conclusion or the grossly obvious political stance to the movie, (that conversation is discussed elsewhere), but I do wish to reflect on my thoughts that came to fruition during the 2.5 hours sitting in the movie theatre.
The year was 1984. I was a mere 11 year old girl sitting before my television while my older brother picked what cartoon we were about to watch. Immediately I was miffed for I had wanted to watch the smurfs, still, I sat cross legged on the floor, listening to what would become a familiar tune and within minutes I was mesmerized by the large autobots. Frantically I would scan the television, tuning out my brother as he made gun noises and cheered when the Decepticons were killed, trying to figure out who was what, thinking how wonderful it must be to change into something completely different.
An entire year went by and every Saturday I found myself nestled on the sofa, eagerly awaiting new characters, new objects that would suddenly come to life. By this time, my brother thought he had the coolest younger sister ever for liking such a “boy” show but it was not the cartoon itself that kept my attention, rather it was the constant metamorphosis that occurred throughout those 30 minutes; a changing that stayed with me during the day and into my dreams.
Like all things, my desire to sit before the television waned and my weekends were filled with flipping through magazines, spending time with my girlfriends putting on make up, trying on different clothes, creating interesting hair styles and of course talking about boys. Although the company varied throughout the years, there was one continual element in my life – change.
The ability to change into something new, something different is still a skill I wish to obtain. Granted I do not desire to be a rather large titanium machine altering its appearance from robot to vehicle, (no matter how sporty the car is), I crave the ability to transform into many different compositions of myself all while maintaining true to who I am, all while not being worried about what others think, all while not being afraid of losing any other part of me.
And there are many parts. Inside my shell there lives a demure lady who thrives on being proper and grammatically correct at all times. She is eloquent and refined and is certain to say “please” and “thank you” when expected. She does not display any part of her body that is inappropriate, ensuring she is wearing a below the knee skirt and flowing blouse with respectable heels. Her hair is up, a delicate twist offering only her neck as a sign of her femininity and only her lashes are coated in a colour, giving just a hint of what lies behind them. Along with “the lady” resides a wild card; the vixen who flirts without hesitation, who dances ever so closely with the devil himself and who enjoys participating in the occasional head game. She is most certain to wear a skirt that exposes the tips of her stockings, whose blouse is practically bursting at the second to top button and who wears a slightly brighter bra that can just barely be seen and keeps a man starring right at her blooming assets. Her cheeks are flush from teasing arousal and her hair bounces in loose curls – curls which beckon a man to thread his fingers through them and give her a gentle tug. And her heels, strappy and laced around her ankles. Oh and I mustn’t forget, the slut and the whore. Yes, even inside me these two characters exist. The perverted plaything who wants to fuck; to be thrown down on the bed or over the table or on top of the rock and be taken, savagely so. This toy is carefree and is not ashamed to show the curve of her ass just peeking under her skirt, who wears the fish net stockings that may or may not have a tear in them; whose hair is naturally tousled and whose lips are swollen, pouty almost and painted far redder than so suited to her pale skin. Her feet are adorned in much higher patent heels, allowing her to strut her sexuality. Nestled right beside the two fucklings lives the bimbo. The dolly as she is most often called is the one character who has the most difficulty surfacing and who most often brings about great conflict to who I am. This beast is silly, careless with her words, often making up new ones and who simply obeys, does whatever she is told to. Her hair is always teased, hair sprayed and brings much attention. Her lips are painted soft frosty pink which in turn matches her awkward heels; heels which make her dependent on another person, needing to hold onto an arm to keep herself from falling over. Her outfit resembles that of a barbie doll, short and tight and full of rose coloured hues. She loves sex and is always willing to suck a cock, to giggle while being forced to devour a sweet girls cunt and who desires to be a muse, a toy, an object for anyone persons pleasure.
There is also a quieter persona, the one that I identify the most with; the good girl. This girl is playful and shy, awkward and unsure and becomes nervous when around those who are sexually confident. Her hair is relaxed, most often left to rest on her back, simple and soft. Her eyes are rarely painted but her lips shine with a clear gloss or lip balm almost all the time. She dresses conservatively, keeping herself covered, often in clothing that is usually baggy on her frame, trying not to bring attention to herself. The soles of her feet are often covered in a sandal or slight heel and allows her to walk inconspicuously throughout the city.
I might exude good girl qualities more than the others but each trait resides deep inside me and each of them wants a moment to shine, to play, to be seen. And after much thought, many internal debates, I have come to learn that I do not want to lose any part of who I am; that I want to be able to express everything inside me; however, I want to be able to transform from one to another, given the time and place, to be anyone of those characters knowing that I do not have to forfeit any part of me in return. When I first started to examine the many faces of me I thought in order to be one I had to give up the others. But that is not so. I can be the whore one day but the good girl the next. I can be the lady in the morning but the bimbo at night and vice versa. I do not have to sacrifice anything, on the contrary. By opening myself to all of who I am I gain more; I gain freedom.
There have been times that I stood before the mirror, watching as the dark artificial lashes blanket my eyelids. This act alone causes me to smile just a little brighter and without hesitation, my posture changes allowing my breasts to push out ever so slightly. Later that same evening, as I pull the black butterflies from my lids I once more witness a change; my lips are quieter now, paler in colour and my shoulders are not as strict, allowing my feminine form to ever so slightly fade. Looking back on moments such as that just described, to see that I am able to change in just mere hours, from the lady to the slut to the good girl never once losing my identity.
I have spoken of change, probably more than any other topic and there have been, on rare occasions, awe inspiring moments, for myself that is. I discussed one such moment almost a year ago and although I have struggled with the “Barbie” persona, it is very much a part of me, just not all of me. That reflection though has brought many thoughts and feelings to the surface and instead of ignoring them I am taking the time to understand who I truly am, what I really want.
The reality is, I have many different aspects to my personality, many sides to the box that surrounds me. They are far from perfect, far from completely understood but they are all of me. And once I fully embrace, without fear of what people are thinking, of my own internal judgments, I know I will be a happier person, a better person and most certainly a better slave. I also know that when I am finally at ease with my sexuality, confident with my sexuality, no longer fearful of my sexuality, I know I will metamorphize, without reservation, without hesitation and instead do so with lustful exuberance.
I am transforming and I am by far, more than meets the eye.
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Master,
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