coquetterie

Dreams. 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.

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In school, I never found interest in an entire subject area. Today, it remains the same. My interest in science is neglible. Although, in one area it’s the new rising sun.

When I was a girl, my mother told women would pay to have hair as straight as mine. She regailed me with stories, and horror stories, of how women ironed their hair to straighten it to my silky fine texture.

Through school until college, I had boring, glossy straight hair. I couldn’t participate in the 80s game of ‘who has the biggest bangs’ or ‘who has the biggest hair.’ Thank god for it, as well.

Through my 20s, I tended leave my hair shortish, always straight. My 30s arrived and things changed. I went from being a one-orgasm-a-night girl to a creature that adapted over night to multiple orgasms. A few other changes occurred that are not so pleasant, so I shan’t mention them.

The last change noticed: my hair. In the pace of a few months, I noticed that my boring, straight hair changed into a mane of waves. Long rivulets of chocolate and caramel now pool at my shoulders and drip down my back. These waves and rivulets came out of nowhere.

I’ve asked a few hairdressers what could cause this change and they are unable to provide an answer. A friend, a science-geeks, indicated the change in my diet to one high in proteins might be the cause. I doubt that is the case, though.

I know the same change happened to my grandmother. She has rather wavy short hair. My mother’s hair isn’t long enough to determine if it would be wavy or not. She has a cut that’s a slightly longish pixie.

My question is this: can my body chemistry have changed in my 30s to cause this shift? Does anyone know definitively?

Now playing Goldfrapp: Happiness: Seventh Tree [4:16]

Technorati Tags: life, body chemistry, curls, waves, rivulets, hair dressers

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