escapism: the perfect mini-break
October 27, 2008 // Posted by: la coquette // Category: fantasyDreams. Fantasies. Escape plans.
We all have them. It’s natural. When we want to diverge from our stressed-out existence, we drift into this nether-world; this world of shadows, dreams and escapes. They act as a natural anti-anxiety medicine. For a few minutes or hours, you escape your worries into a carefree land.
My fantasies range from elaborately dressed and choreographed costumes dramas set in impossible locals to what I perceive as the embodiment of stripped-down, basic carnal lust. Both evoke ideas, plots and plans that revolve around needs being satisfied. Right now, I lean towards a costume drama.
I miss the formality of dressing from my childhood. I remember the hats, white gloves, shined black patent-leather shoes worn to look presentable. I wish I had experienced the art of dressing from two and half centuries ago.
Even though I know it was not meant to be a sensual experience, it evokes those feelings in me. I crave the feeling of a corset being fitted around my form. The thought of supple yet rough hands brushing against my skin as the ribbon is laced up.
Two pretty, young, lady’s maids assisting me into the corset. Big eyes fill their faces and curls drip from beneath their caps and the flush of youth stains their cheeks. They cosset me. They assist my bath, they poured the oil into the hot, steaming water. They assist me in and out, wrapping me in a large towel and dry me.
Wrapped in a dressing gown, they brush and dry my hair. I smell of garden flowers as I watch large flakes of snow drift past the window. They pull gowns from the armoire for my review. I select one and then direct the selection of lingerie and accoutrements. I slide my legs into stockings; they tie the be-ribboned garters.
Layers of clothing, made of stiff, luxurious fabrics wrap around me. Their hands touch flashes of flesh. These light, exacting touches send shivers through me. They hold my hands as I slide my feet into my shoes.
Holding a powderpuff in their hands. They dust a fine layer of powder over the expanse of decolletage exposed in the deep cut of the dress. A fringe of lace decorates the necklace, serving only to draw the eye’s attention to the ample curves displayed.
The corset nips my waist in, contrasting the lush curves of my bosom, by appearing unnaturally small in this dress. The skirt brushes against the floor, rustling as I move slowly, unaccustomed to the weight of the dress. My hair has been teased into curls and piled atop my head.
A long, lone, chocolaty curl unwinds along the creamy skin of my neck and then rests against my bosom. It draws attention to my neck, wrapped with a wide ribbon decorated with a cameo. Earrings that sparkle and shimmer in the light adorn my ears, whilst gloves hide the flesh of my hands.
Finally, a wide-brimmed hat is perched at a jaunty angle on my upswept hair. Long, bejeweled hat pins secure it into place. A confection of ribbon, flowers and feathers. It serves to highlight my features: my dark eyes and hair, pretty button of plum mouth.
Inside this amazing costume, I’d seethe. The little touches served only to stoke the fires of my desire higher. I need. I want. I ache. Yet, as these feelings toss around, I know what I want. And, I am not willing to settle.
I want a darkly dressed man. Not just any man, though. I want to see the leer in his gaze and the smirk upon his lips. I want him to think that he can read my thoughts and, perhaps, he can.
I want him to seduce me with words and actions. Perhaps, beyond the perfunctory greeting, he doesn’t touch me at all until our kiss. A kiss that finalizes the negotiations in the seduction.