nylon

I should never have dressed up as the French maid.

I should’ve chosen to be a bumble bee or a clown or a big brown bear with a fluffy suit and a nose with loose thread dangling from it, a tail that people tripped over.

I was thirteen years old. With innocent thirteen year old desires.

You were older.

You had older, experienced desires.

Desires that my thirteen year old being hadn’t experienced yet.

Although, my costume pretended to be all knowing and sexy and so in tune with itself. It didn’t know the girl that was within it.

I remember the stockings were cold and felt too slutty but I wore them anyway with white high heeled court shoes. The stilettos I had stolen from my mothers wardrobe were too high and I couldn’t walk in those. I would’ve worn them otherwise. I knew that white shoes and black stockings didn’t really match very well, but I didn’t have any black high heels. Anyway, maids didn’t normally wear heels – so it didn’t have to make perfect sense.

I don’t remember how you and I met, what we talked about or why we went for a walk but I do remember lying in the grass of the paddock behind the state school and I remember saying no, no, no I have to go and o.k. please stop now I don’t like that so I really have to go.

But you kept pushing at me and putting yourself in places you shouldn’t and it didn’t feel like I thought it would.

You were heavy on top of me and I remember thinking that you weren’t cute anymore.

You were breathing weirdly and a bead of your sweat dropped onto me and almost rolled into my eye and I remember wanting to vomit.

I thought about biting you on the neck but I didn’t want to taste you. I was afraid that I might have pieces of you within my mouth and then would need to spit you out. I knew I couldn’t cope with that.

I screamed and told you a lie about my father being a policeman and you stopped and stood up and called me a bitch and a tease and fucking frigid mole.

I cried and pulled my stockings and pants up, they were twisted and dug into me to remind me that you had been there.

I found my two white whore shoes and stood up, running through the paddock, toward the surf club but I couldn’t go inside the building.

The bottoms of my stockings were ripped and I’d suddenly wished I were a punk.

I would have jumped on your head and stomped on you again and again and again.

I sat on the beach against the blue stone wall and stuck my fingers into the holes in my stockings and I tugged and pulled at them, ripping larger holes. I wanted to take them off and strangle myself with them for being so stupid and naive and easy.

I was such a dumb girl.

Young and dumb.

In a stupid French maid outfit, thinking I was sexy or even knew what sexy was.

I don’t even remember what your costume was.

I don’t think you wore one.

Unless it was the one that made you appear to be a nice, caring boy.

Yes, that must’ve been it.

© ari

• Favorite
• Report Concern
• Share This
  • Facebook
  • Twitter

Add your comment

You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.

Tags:

ari, costume, french, maid and sex