Some of you may remember that, apart from this blog and doing other things, I (try to)find time to reread all of Christopher Pike’s books that I read aged 9-12, by buying them for a pound or two off Ebay.
Tonight I reread the Starlight Crystal, about a girl who voyages on a spaceship travelling at near lightspeed and so doesn’t age. She lives till the end of the universe and watches it begin anew. She lives for two Creations, the last part in the body of her clone who has inherited her memories, and works to fulfil her destiny by making everything come true that happened to her in the first creation – including creating an alien race that will nearly wipe out humanity. In the end she attains a sort of enlightenment and becomes Creation, able to finally spend eternity with the man she has repeatedly loved and lost.
I can see why these rather fanciful books, full of philosophy, metapysics, astronomy, murder, whodunnit, violence, science fiction, horror and the supernatural were able to appeal to my young and curious mind.
There is, I feel, a certain significance in rereading these books at the time that my wish is being fulfilled. I did reread two of Pike’s books a couple years ago – The Last Vampire 1, Remember Me, and Remember Me 2: The Return. But rereading the rest of them now, it is nostalgic and honestly I could cry for the nine year old with such powerful desires, such vivid fantasies; I could weep for her knowing of the long barren years that lie ahead when she will lay panting under the covers, lost in the world of the Village whee every day brings spanking, pants pooping/wetting, forced nappies and torture. And public humiliation. True, she never believed her fantasies would be fulfilled, that someday a version of her stronger and taller than she’d imagined her Asian genes were able to grow her, would stand in a man’s house while she caned him. And that he would allow her willingly, without the use of blackmail or bribing needed (which my nine year old self assumed would provide an opportunity for her to spank boys of her age.) Little Kali didn’t know why she wanted a man to spank her so badly, yet felt both desire and extreme embarassment, anger and disgust at the thought of her mother spanking her. But now I know the answer – my younger self was instinctively not incestuous, and perhaps also not bisexual.
Sometimes, reading those books, I feel like I’ve travelled back to that point as Little Kali; I’m still virginal, still filled with lust, still endlessly waiting. The only difference is, I have more hope that these fantasies will be fulfilled and I know I’m not the only one with them.
Lost years, wasted chances for losing my virginity. So many wasted chances. But I knew those men weren’t the one. That I would save myself for something special, for a kinky night of untamed lust and wild depravity. For that special someone. And now my God has given me to him. I have been rewarded for my chastity with £8,000.
I believe that some things are meant to happen; some people are meant for us to meet. That some ideas or goals we have are not from ourselves, but we have them so we can fulfil particular goals and what’s meant to happen can happen. Say you’re meant to meet your future partner in Mexico. But how can you meet them without having an idea or wish to travel, or to go on an exchange, or become an international student at a Mexican univesity, or to accept a job in Mexico?
Yeah, I know that belief is flawed from the ground up and I can think of two objections right off the bat; there are obviously many more objections on grounds of logic and the desirability – indeed, the risks – of such a belief system. But it’s what I think, and I make no pretensions as to its acceptibility.
So, although I thank the Universe for granting my wish to sell virginity and giving me the greatest gift I culd recieve, the only thing I have ever really wanted, and certainly the most meaningful thing I have desired; even as I thank the Universe, I wonder if, really, I should – if the fact that I wanted to sell my virginity wasn’t a predestined wish so that I eventually would sell my virginity. Perhaps before we’re born we know the main things that will happen in our lives. Maybe that’s why we have those wishes, because we know that’s what we’re meant to do. (Though obviously some wishes just come from our experiences, upbringing or culture. They’re the ones that don’t come true).
My belief gives me comfort, of course; I know that if I’m outed by a journo or Roland is violent to me that it was all meant to happen. I believe Brooke was meant to be forced to reveal her identity, and that her books were meant to be published. This means that laws are meant to be, too; if journalists were subject to better human rights laws they may not have been able to stalk Brooke enough that they’d find out her identity; or even if they did, they might not have been able to reveal her identity. You see why I’m not a fan of popularising this “it was all meant to be” belief – because you could justify any law, political action or crime by saying “it was meant to be.” (Though if all society believed everything was predestined, and justified laws accordingly, this disaster would, of course, be meant to be…) Heh heh.
Still, I thank the universe almost every day.
I feel even more fulfilled and happy since I began my prostitution. It gives even more meaning to my life, as does this blog. I feel at peace, and that is a new feeling. I also experience feelings of validation, self-love, great strength and power, as well as feelings of accomplishment and self-actualisation. It is incredible, and brings me joy and feelings of what I can only describe as honour or ‘glory’, though I’m not sure why. I am no good at analysing my own feelings, nor those of others; I can very easily pick up on what someone else is feeling but I’ll be at a loss to say why they’re feeling it. As for why I feel the way I do, that’s even more of a mystery. Emotions are inconveniences – at least that’s what I was taught as a child.
As for Little Kali, her kinks and fetishes are no different from mine. My sexuality was fully developed as a nine year old, a fact which matches the experiences of gay and trans people who typically claim to have felt that way since a very young age, often much younger than I was. Some parents also claim to have known their children were lesbian or gay from when they were toddlers.
At the age of 12 or 13, I casually picked up a teen fiction book – one of a series, this book was called ‘The Apprentice’, I think -in WH Smith at Glasgow Queen Street Station. The blurb on the back was about an imprisoned serial killer who, at night in bed, senses the presence of one of his own kind running around killing. He calls to me. He is one of my own kind. The killer decides to break out to join the other killer. Lying there in the dark, [imagining or dreaming of killing and the blood] and wake up, my cold imbs suffused in the sweat of sexual excitement… I put the book back. That last sentence – which may actually have been the first sentence I read – had described me perfectly. At age 12 or 13, I understood that my murder fantasies were sexual – I just knew, though I didn’t think spanking or pants-pooping was sexual. Was I destined to become a serial killer? I did sometimes fantasise about prowling the streets at night as a huntress, spanking, beating and murdering men, seeing them bleed, their mouths open. Making my blade dance over their bodies, punching their faces. Stabbing them in the heart. Slashing their throat. And drinking their blood of course. But now I know that being kinky isn’t the same as being sadistic. I am not doomed to be a killer. And serial killers are never kinky; they do not do BDSM with their partners. I don’t worry about murdering Roland in a fit of lust. I just worry about accidentally hurting his delicate, fragile body through overexcitement. But I won’t; I value him too much (£6,000) to put a scratch on Magda’s most prized piece of ass.
Back then, I was reading these books and fantasising about boys getting spanked, and about myself being spanked by a man and spanking boys. And now I’m reading them again and I’m still a virgin, but experiencing all this spanking at long last. If I was 11 when I read this particular book, another 11 years has now elapsed. Time goes full circle and then after much struggle there is a happy ending. Like The Starlight Crystal.