From amartell Sat Jun 19 00:45:20 1993
From: amartell
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Subject: Laylah's youth, part 1: before meeting Alex
References: <9306150619.AA16446@camelot.com>
Status: OR


I'm writing here in my capacity as Laylah's slave... this post
started with an exchange between her and Corsair, my Lady writing:

>>narrate something of my very early lovelife (between 12 and 15)
>>which might be of some relevance to this, and to the age thread,
>>but it came out very long and only partly related to sex and to
>>bondage, really, so I don't know if to post it here (should I?
>>anybody interested?).

There were a few favourable replies by mail, no unfavourable ones, and
this answer by Corsair in her post <9306150619.AA16446@camelot.com>:

>i would be most curious to know more about makes you tick, and why you
>ended up with a wild and crazy guy like alex.  he is verbose in his praises
>of you, but i would certainly like to hear your version of what happened.

My Lady, being undecided whether to post here or privately mail what
she had written to Corsair and the few others who had bothered to
answer, deigned to ask my opinion on the matter.  My own belief is that
this post is really quite relevant to sex and BDSM, more than most
which appear on alt.sex.bondage, particularly in this first part; so,
having been asked for advice, I suggested posting it, and Lady Laylah
courteously agreed.

Here, then, is the first part, unedited, as she had written it before
leaving for the beach; the second part will also follow shortly.  The
third part is unfortunately delayed sine die, since the portable
computer which we were supposed to buy for her to have a writing
implement during her vacations has not been delivered (thank the
largest German manufacturer and retailer of PC's for screwing our
order up); so, I imagine, it will be written when she's back here.


	===


My body blossomed early, at 12 it was all ready and eager to fill
itself with babies. And it broadcasted that quite openly too. This
was good in a way, my parents and my grandmother helped a lot to
make me feel it as good and normal, not feel out of place though
I looked and was nubile so early. But also in a sense it made me
angry, worried, confused: males my ages were immature louts, looking
to ones a bit older I saw shrill posturing louts, much older men
had much more charm yet most of them overall SO loutish too! I
really didn't want anything to do with such brutes, did I? Yet my
belly so wanted to grow big and round it pulled me to them, but it
was so frightening when I found myself looked at with desire by
those... _men_!.

Yet I knew there were better men than those I saw around. Jesus on
the cross, half-naked, all wounded and bloody and broken, so sweet,
so strong, so holy. I knew he loved me, too, not just that desire
for my too beautiful young body which I read with fear in those
other male eyes, he loved my soul, too, he loved myself whole...

My eyes riveted to him, my heart beat faster, I dreamed crazy dreams
that I could take his pain away from him, soothe him, kneel at his
feet and wash them in my tears of pain! I read and reread the piece
of his anger in the temple, where he whips the money changers away,
I dreamed myself under that lash, burned by that fiery eyes...
Oh, I'm sure, but SURE, that many others like I was, little tender
Catholic virgin girls, burn of love and lust for Jesus like I did!

I thought to be a nun to give me to him, yet my body shouted no,
it wanted sons and daughters, how could I deny. And I read adventure
books and fell in love with pirates and redskins and most of all
one Indian prince, he always went around with a tiger who loved
him, I lusted for them all, I wanted to be that tiger. You probably
have never read those books, all by an Italian author of last
century, Emilio Salgari, still very much loved around here. Or you
may have seen the actor Kabir Bedi star in the movie "Sandokan"
that was made from one of those books years later. Anyway; so many
contradictions!

So I was consoled in the arms of a friend, another girl my age, a
wonderful friend since childhood. Not sex really, just tender
friendly intimacy; it was consensual and sweet and helped us both
a lot. In a sense it was just a continuation of childish play with
dolls, we were still children a bit though our breasts and pussies
and curves belied that, we became each other's real life doll...

She had her own problems but in the end the same crux, on one
side boys and men lusting for just her body, on another that dream
of TOTAL love, a love which makes whole the universe, but where
was the man who could make the dream a reality? There was none.
Yet there had to be - there HAD to be - had it not...?

When we were together those fears melted away. We snuggled and
talked dreamily of the men one day we would have, and we would
speak of how they would touch us, and touch each other's budding
breasts, and speak of how they would kiss us, and peck at each other
lips so tenderly, so inexpertly... oh, once again, it was all so
natural, so clean, so heart-rending sweet, how could there possibly
be anything wrong with it?

Sometimes we played together at "love scenes", we called them, but
then one had to play a man; we did not think of each other, we
weren't, lesbians, or lovers, just friends, the very best friends
on earth. I always pushed her to play the man, as much as I could
I asked for strength and dominance of her in those scenes, I wanted
her to be that hazy figure which I dreamed, and already called my
Lord, my Master - Jesus and those adventure heroes and sweetness
and mastership all rolled in one... he, that is, she, would grab
me, slap my face long and hard for punishment of some imagined
slight, throw me on the floor and pull me by the arms from one
room to another as I cried for mercy...

My daydreams were heavier and harsher and sweeter and more powerful
yet, than those scenes. I visualized myself, distinctly, at some
later indeterminate age but still youthful in shape and beauty, in
thrall to my loving Lord: me with my belly big with his baby; me
covered and adorned in golden jewels, chained spreadeagled, standing
my arms upwards and my legs wide, open and offered to his view and
his touch for his pleasure; me in his harem, surrounded by his many
other slaves, us all in love with him as he with us, talking and
dreaming of him in his absence; me knelt at his feet, my head
lowered, my long hair tumbling over his feet, his collar on me as
he leisurely read and answered his correspondence sitting in an
armchair at an oaken desk; me dancing for him, sensual, alluring,
slow and graceful in my moves, yet my heart pulsing wild with
desire; me bloodied by his cruel whiplashes, at the same time
enwrapped in love by his tenderest eyes; me kissing his powerful
hands after such a harsh beating, my tears flowing freely...

My friend did not really understand this all.  We stayed friends
(still are) but gradually ceased such plays.  And I felt alone and
every day was so long, and yet, years passed. How long is a year
for a 12-year girl; do you remember? And where were men sweet and
strong together, ones that I could feel yearning for my soul, not
just my body...? Then it was that I wrote the poem I once posted
here at Roo's sweet invitation, in a dream of my Lord.

My teacher of Italian and Latin was a wonderful woman, and she
often would tell anecdotes of her husband and her son which made
either of them sound an answer to girlish dreams... oh, but of
course both were much too old for me, and I would probably never
meet either anyway... so, I soon dismissed such thoughts.

At 14 I entered Lyceum and found another girl to love. She was also
a poet, but boyish in appearance and demeanour, and she thought of
herself as lesbian, wrote me love poems, conquered my heart. She
wanted me to call myself a lesbian as well, but I would not, though
I loved her: my belly still beckoned, it wanted to swell... so it
needed a male cock, although that, too, was such a frightening
thought. Also I shuddered to think of just my body so desiring
a man's, so physically, was I no better than those louts then?

But when I spoke to her of it she would get angry, and so it happened
that I discovered something... she was angry and looking at me so I
started to cry, and I knelt and embraced her legs and lowered my eyes
and I begged her to hit me, punish me, anything but spear me through
with that hate. She grasped my hair, already very long, pulled my
face up, asked if I really meant what I had said, holding my eyes
with her gaze. I nodded, a lump in my throat would not let me speak.
She slapped my face, not really very very hard, but enough to hurt
plenty, once, twice, three times, and again... all the time looking
at me with hard eyes, but not any hate any more. My heart melted
and the tears that filled my eyes were more of love than of pain,
when she let my hair go in the end I crushed my face on her lower
legs and would have wanted to kiss her feet but did not dare ask.

So we entered into a D/S relation, not much pain or discipline in
it but clear, lucid roles - and it felt wonderful, so much of my
doubts just evaporated into the sweet safety of knowing I was hers,
I obeyed her, I adored her. I stopped talking about men, almost
stopped thinking of them too - except my belly would still remind
me, time and time again. She was very possessive and I was very
monogamous, desiring anybody else was I felt a sin, I suppressed it.

Despite the overall wonderful aspects of that relation, in hindsight
I see worrying aspects in it, early signs of abusive aspects creeping
in or almost. Dear topazzz once praised me for knowing the difference
between dominance and abuse, but the line was not so clear to me then,
nor to my lover. And never could I cut up my life into separate facets,
say I was hers in so and so aspects up to so and so limits, I really
always wanted to be one, to be whole, give my sometime frightening
intensity full play... I think it's an American poet who wrote
about candles burning at both ends, giving off a lovely light, but
who may not last the night; I see a large aspect of myself in this
beautiful imagery.

So I guess I egged her on in her dominance of me, and never was good at
saying "NO" to her in anything. In retrospect I can see how this could
develop badly with time, had our love lasted much more than the year or
so it did, I can see the similarities with what happened much later
with Alex too. Not JUST my fault of course, she (and later Alex) also
had half of it, maybe that "heart of darkness" pulsing deep within was
also part of while I loved her and later him...


(to be continued)

Blessed be,
    Laylah

	===

In honor and obeisance to my Lady,
Alex