Dress you up in my trash

My Master parks the car, we get out and I follow him down the street. I have no idea where we are going. We come up to a pretty boutique. I start veering instinctually toward it.

He keeps walking.

Another pretty boutique.

Uh unh. He keeps walking. I know what’s at the end of the street. I’m starting to clue in that this may be where we are headed.

We are. The Salvation Army thrift store.

He starts giving me instructions. “I want you to look for really small, sleazy kinds of things, like plastic skirts and little tops. Look for bright colors like red... show me what you find.”

We are heading to a play party next weekend. I recently told him how I was put off by someone’s “cheap hooker” look. So here we are, shopping for new outfits.

He’s even at the children’s section, looking for really tiny, tiny tight t-shirts. He pulls things out, holds them up to me and says, “Will this fit you?” I look at the neck hole. If my head looks like it will fit through, I say yes.

I take a stack of things into the dressing room. I take off my pretty dress, put down my designer sunglasses and bag and dump the pile of clothes onto the floor.

I’m trying on little denim shorts and mini-skirts, tight t-shirts, some leopard print thing. I open the door to show him each outfit and he nods yes or no. His eyes light up when I put on a little black t-shirt with a bull on it.

I also told him about a man who asked me out on a civilian date. I describe the guy, there’s some attraction there for me, but it’s not really strong. My Master tells me to accept the date. My date, let’s call him J, wants to pick me up on his motorcycle and take me out of the city for a serious hike up a mountain. Maybe dinner afterwards.

We take this stack of stuff up to the counter. Grand total: $14.95-.

We go back to his place and he wants me to try everything on again. I put on a little fashion show. He tells me to go look in the mirror after every outfit change.

“How do you feel?”

“Like trailer trash.”

“Good,” he smiles. “This is what you are wearing on your date.”

I’m half laughing, half horrified. I can’t imagine going out in public in this stuff, never mind a date.

“Do you have a belt, something cheap looking?” he asks. I have a glittery sequined belt to go with the very, very short denim mini skirt (no panties), the black bull t-shirt (no bra) and, um, running shoes. “Fantastic,” he says. “I’m giving you a break, eh? I’ll let you take the price tags off. But don’t wash these things.” He picks up a t-shirt and smells it and shakes his head. He looks at me and laughs.

Fast forward to date morning. I have to meet some friends before I head out to meet J. I decide to wear the outfit – it will save me changing again. Plus, it’s kind of growing on me.

A friend: “WHAT are you wearing? Where did you get that… outfit?”

Me: “What do you mean? Is there something wrong with it?”

Friend, looking stumped: “Well, where did you get it?”

I meet a few other friends on the way. All are staring at the bull. I’m really enjoying this now.

I meet up with J. The outfit doesn’t seem to faze him. At all. Aww. I guess he likes me just the way I am. How sweet.

So I climb onto the bike; I’m pretty sure it’s clear I’m not wearing panties. Still not fazed. I’m straddling him on the drive out, sometimes leaning forward to push my breasts against his back.

There’s a bit of tension, of crackle. We hike to the summit, me hopping over logs, jumping off rocks; I come alive in the forest, nymph that I am.

He’s packed a picnic lunch for us, and we actually manage to find a ledge that is completely secluded and shaded by a rogue tree on this rock face. I’m waiting for him to make his move. Here it comes. He picks up my hand and starts very deliberately massaging my fingers, in between my fingers even. It feels good. I let myself succumb for a little while until I feel my breath catching a bit, then I bring my attention back to my solar plexus. My pussy is fired up, I’m sitting with my legs open and he is lightly trailing my thighs, ever so close but not quite touching my swollen pussy.

I lean up higher against the rock wall, stopping the interaction. I’m in a heightened, sensuous space as we descend.

We stop at a cold, rushing creek. I want to swim so I strip down naked and plunge in. J keeps his shorts on. Another couple is there and the man looks at me and I look at him. This other man takes off his shorts and jumps in as well. I keep staring at him, his beautiful 60 year old body and bold spirit.

This is the moment when everything changes. I lay on a rock, letting the sun dry me. I open my legs so I can feel the sun on my pussy. (Ancient Taoist energy reviving technique). J. is trying to lie directly across from me, putting his leg between my legs somewhat. I get up and move to another rock to lie down, still naked, my breasts full and luminous in the sun, my pussy so happy to feel the heat and me just languorously, softly naked. After some time, I dress and climb past the rock J. is on. He pulls me to him for a hug, pressing me tight. He kisses me but I extract myself and we head out.

Excuse the obvious metaphors to follow, but it’s pretty much downhill from there. We get back to the bike and he’s actually left the keys in the ignition and the battery’s dead.

Later as I’m telling my Master about the day, he says: “I knew if you were in your truth, you would not have sex with him. He lost his power and you stayed in yours.” It’s this dynamic that I’m beginning to understand more and more. How I can still feel and connect with the other person, but stay in my own center, even if someone is trying to pull me off it.

P.S. The aforementioned outfit has since become my favorite.