Thursday, July 29, 2010
Every two weeks, Master allows me one chance to win back my PS3 from him. I'm usually a better gamer than he is, and in a fair game I'd kick his butt. But this isn't a fair fight. Why not? Well, controllers aren't really made for 2 inch nails. Games don't account for one eye being totally blocked by your hair. Or for getting glitter in your eyes in the middle of a match. Of from your charm bracelet getting entangled with your skirt while you're trying to pull off a difficult combo.
Guess it's Fashion Designer on the DS for me...
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
I nodded mutely – I didn't want any eyebrows raised by a conversation in a men's room – talking in male bathrooms just isn't done.
"Give me your jacket." I shed my light rain jacket completely, and he hung it on the hook on the bathroom door. "Do you want a passing grade, Ashlee?"
I nodded fearfully.
"Are you sure? Do you have what it takes?"
I nodded, with a soupcon of fear. Master shrugged. "Good, so this is what you have to do. You're going to reach into this bag and take the first thing you touch. There's clothing, accessories, all sorts of things. Whatever you take, you have to put on. Grab three things and we'll call it even, understand?"
I had no problem modeling for him – this was easier that I had worried. I reached in, and pulled out the first thing I grabbed – a baseball cap. Black vented sides and back, with a white front and bill. Printed on the front, graffiti-style, was the oversized word "angel" in pink and blue tagging style. Master just watched as I put the cap on, brim toward the front.
"Two more" I thought, as my fingers closed around a chain. I pulled out a light silver chain with an oversized heart glittering with rhinestones. I put it around my neck, and the pendant fell below my neck. With the tightness of the shirt's cut, it almost looked like I had cleavage.
Finally, I pulled out a purse. One of those purses with a strap five inches long – either it slides off your shoulder or you carry it in your hand. The purse itself was yellow, with gold snaps and zippers. I slipped on the purse, and stood before him. All in all, not too bad. No makeup, no skirts.
Master looked at me for a second. "I like obedient girls. I do have to adjust this, though, my girls don't wear hats like the way you are. Wearing it with the bill in front is for guys. Girls wear it to the side…they think it makes them look 'gangsta.'" My head was a little squashed, and now I felt even more ridiculous.
"Sir, I'm glad that I was able to pass your test. I hope this shows how…" Master started laughing.
"This? This is nothing. No sweetie, this isn't the test. Walking back to the car like this, through the mall, that is the test."
I was agog. Granted, I was wearing male shoes and all, but like this in public?
"Come on, Master, we never talked about public stuff before."
"This is the way it is Ash. Complain any more and I'm sure I can find a skirt in this bag…"
I swallowed hard, and just nodded. "I'll do it."
Master smiled. "Good girl. Put your cell phone in the purse. Just in case it rings." Just what I would need. After I complied, Master nodded. "Give me a ten-second head start. I'll be watching, but act like you don’t know me, clear? I'm parked near Macy's." The furthest exit, of course. With that, Master left – taking my jacket naturally. My jacket which, I would soon realize, had my wallet in it.
He got more than ten seconds because I needed a minute to work up the courage. Swallowing hard, I strode to the stall, and rushed through, banging out – without washing my hands! – startling the Subway's sandwich artist who was extending his bathroom break as far as it would go. I built up a good head of steam along the sinks, and walked out into the food court. Now, a flash of pink my size I'm sure attracted attention, but I was moving too fast for anything to happen. By the time people had an idea what was going on, I had passed him. That's when my purse started ringing.
It took me a second to open the clasp, but without breaking stride, I opened it to find a cell phone, my cell phone. It was Master on the line.
"Sweetie, why the hurry? You'll get your wallet and jacket back in time. I want you to slow down and keep on this call. You need to be punished for walking in such an unladylike manner."
I did slow a little, cursing in my head. Of course he was going to call me. Watching a man fumble to open a purse had attracted some idle curiosity, and the mall security guard in particular was amused. He caught my eye and laughed quietly. Those crazy kids!
"Ashlee, see that group of girls ahead?"
There was a knot of about five girls about fifty feet ahead, lounging in the massage chairs, sprawled out in a way to make Mo'Nique shudder. They looked just old enough to have maybe one license between them, and five "I hate the world" attitudes. They were in front of Hot Topic, naturally.
"Now look toward the right." I glanced to the right, onto the other pathway across the opening, and saw Master looking at me, talking into his cell.
"If you want that wallet back, I want you to repeat what I say exactly – loud enough for me to hear. Or things will get worse."
I licked my lips and nodded. Then, feeling rather stupid, I said "Yes sir."
Master had a laugh in his voice, saying "Good girl. Right now, I want you to say this – 'o m g, I can't believed she dumped him. He's SO cute."
My heart fluttered, but I closed my eyes, and in a tone well above conversation level to reach the fifteen feet to Master, said into the phone "o m g, I can't believe she dumped him. He's SO cute." I had barely gotten out the "o m g" – teen shorthand for "Oh my God" – when the kids in the loungers started laughing uncontrollably. I heard one girl shout "like totally girl!" and collapse in hysterics.
I barely heard, as the blood was singing in my ears from the embarrassment of the experience. Master had me say a couple more awkward lines for mallgoers' amusement on the way out the door, commenting on the cuteness of purses and my parents killing me because of the time, before I escaped the mall.
Master stood there smiling. "Good job, Ashlee. Maybe we can have some fun after all. Here's your jacket, and wallet." I grasped at the two items, still trembling in some combination of humiliation and elation.
"Check your e-mail, sweetie. I'm going to have some assignments for you."
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
On the right is a palette of nail polish choices for a
famous nail polish maker. Identify the location of the sample
of these three colors within the grid:
2-I Think in Pink
3-It's a Girl!
Answers will be revealed on the 27th.
Friday, July 16, 2010
I gotta say that I was pretty nervous as I slid into the chair at the food court. The mall is eighty minutes away, so there wasn't much chance of seeing anyone I knew. Other than that, there was nothing particularly unique about it. It had the same stores and same crowd as any other mall, and at 8 pm on a weeknight was fairly quiet. Which is why I'd picked it.
What was unique about this mall was this is where I would meet Master. We'd been interacting for about a month now. Chatting online and eventually by phone confirmed that we each offered what the other was looking for. We'd exchanged (male) photos, but that was it. He knew what I longed to be. A younger girl, just starting her teen years – precocious and shallow, airheaded. Someone who thinks she's the center of the universe, and would rather see an earthquake in
So to hear that this guy wasn't just looking to rush into something explicit, and respected my love for the psychological, behavioral aspects of the whole exercise was awesome.
In case you're some random person, I'm about 5-9, medium build. My brown hair is short, and my eyes – my best, perhaps only good feature – are hazel. Master is about my height, but clearly tougher, not in a muscular way but just comes across as tougher – a wiry guy who would be rough in a fight. The guys in UFC aren't bulked up, but they look dangerous just in their eyes. Master is like that.
We shook hands, the last time I felt his equal. There was a small tremor in my voice as I said "nice to meet you face to face. This is the first time I've ever done this."
"Well, relax," Master smiled, clearly at ease. "Just enjoy it, and we'll see where this takes us." There was a largish Macy's bag next to Master. Apparently he'd used the time to catch up on shopping. One thing I learned tonight was that Master isn't big on small talk. Nothing about the drive over, or if I was hungry. "Did you follow my instructions?"
One of the many things Master and I apparently shared was an interest in modern fashion – neither one of us was into dressing as a girl circa 1960s (really, who wears a garter in the twenty-first century?). We’d talked about how demeaning and feminine were many outfits being made today, particularly for teenage girls. I had told him about my collection, and he had insisted that I wear a feminine t-shirt under my jacket. He wouldn't name a specific one, and only requested "something clearly feminine, but not too outrageous."
"Of course, Sir." I'd learned that the "Sir" always pleased him.
"Let me see. Unzip your jacket."
I looked around the sparsely attended food court, but who cares about two youngish guys sitting in conversation? Do you watch other people talk in a food court? No, you have other things to worry about. So I unzipped by jacket (still damp from the rain), and opened it a bit. I had chosen a retro Junk Food t-shirt, a pale pink one with a "Princess Sparkle" logo replete with a rainbow right on the chest.
Master leaned closer, and smiled. "Well done, Ashlee. I'm glad to see that you come here with good intentions. I'm glad to see that your top is pink…that will be helpful."
I smiled weakly, "Yes sir, I take what you said – "
"Let's see how good your intentions are," he continued, airily interrupting me. "If we're going to do this on an ongoing basis, I need to see that you're serious about this. You tell me how much you want to be feminized in this role as a teenage girl. Well, either you'll be feminized up here" – he pointed to his head – "or there," he said pointing to my body. "Soon it'll be both."
At that line, my heart leapt a little. I'd gotten tired of guys whose idea of feminizing was having you put on a bra and then take it off so they could have gay sex with you.
Master took out a piece of paper, saying "I have a little quiz for you."
With that, he proceeded to rattle off ten questions about actors and actresses I'd never heard of. Shows that I was only barely aware of such as The Hills on MTV or the slop they serve on CW. Despite the multiple choice, I only got four out of ten.
"A forty, Ashlee. That's failing. Your first test, and you've failed. I should leave right now." Master made to pack up his things.
Okay, I wasn't sure he was actually going to leave, but I was sure I wasn't going to take that chance.
"Master, please, Sir. I can make it up to you. Can I do something for extra credit, show you how serious I am?"
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Restaurant orders. Even at McDonald's. One thing Master enjoys doing is ordering for me. Fast food. Subs. Even restaurants. Even in male, or semi-male clothing, do you know how humiliating it is as a grown man not to pick out your own food?
I've lost count of the number of times a cute waitress at Chili's will ask for our orders, and Master will order himself a bacon cheeseburger, go through all the sides and whatnot, and then finish -- just as the waitress is turning to me -- with "and a small salad and diet soda for my friend here".
The worst part is when a waitress will quizzically look at me for confirmation. There's heat in my face...my heart pounds against my somewhat-hidden bra, my pink toes curl in nervousness, and I muster a weak smile, nod, and say -- in words I am required to use -- "I'll have what he ordered for me."
It's not necessarily feminizing, though the meals are always small vegetarian plates, but it is on that line from awkward to humiliating...
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Part and parcel is the fact that I'm not allowed to be seriously mad for being fooled, or even embarrassed for being taken so easily. Because that naive nature is something that makes people want to be around girls like me, so all I can do is giggle at my own silliness. I have the wide-eyed surprise down, but the giggle still needs work...
Sunday, July 4, 2010
This time of year, I'd like to be a girl in a July 4th Parade, marching with my baton. A tank top, shorts like these, sneakers, as I twirl my baton, nails a shocking red and blue...a glittery patriette. I'd stop in front of the judges' stand and do my routine, ponytail trailing my head, wave to all the little kids in the parade route, beg for money for ice cream when it's all over....