b3ta.com user wanderlust
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» The nicest thing someone's ever done for me

For a lovely lady.
I was mercilessly bullied at school. Graffiti about me adorned the girl's toilet walls, taunts followed me around the corridors, I was spat at and everyday people would shout at me that they hated me. I had very few friends and felt very much alone when I attempted to take my own life for the second time at 15 years old.

Dosed up to the eyeballs on antidepressants, I left hospital a few weeks later.
In a bid to cheer me up a few friends took me to a gig at a local sports club.
I'm sure many of you have been to something similar, drinking illicit cans of cider and having a crafty fag at the back of the hall while 17 year old boys with shaggy hair and bum fluff saunter about trying to impress the girls.
Everything was going well and for the first time in months I was actually having a good time.

I met a boy a few years older than me. He was funny, charming, engaging, well liked and good looking. Everything I was not.

I didn't resist when he tried to kiss me.

When it was time for me to leave he became slightly more forceful and then progressively more agressive. I tried to get away but he was stronger than me. He pulled me down an alley way, hit me, muffled my cries with his hand and raped me.

I was in counselling at the time of the attack at it lasted for a few months afterwards. It didn't help though, I was overwhelmed by everything and was sick of talking about my feelings all of the time.

Not a day has gone by without me thinking about that night. I was so vulnerable at that time and just as I thought things might be getting better for me something happened that very nearly destroyed me. I sometimes even now still have nightmares.

I was going through a really rough patch a few months ago, everything caught up with me and I was pretty close to the edge. I was so desperate for someone to talk to but so scared of being a burden on my friends and family.

Then, I saw two posts on the 'This book changed my life' QOTW written by two women who had been in similar situations.

I contacted one and have since met her.
She is an amazingly strong, brave, caring and truly wonderful person.

I really hope she doesn't mind me posting this but I wanted to say. Without her I wouldn't have had the courage to go to my GP and rape crisis and ask for the help I needed.

She made me realise I don't have to be alone.

That is without a doubt, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.
(Tue 7th Oct 2008, 16:40, More)

» Faking it

I'd always meet them at their hotel bars, more for my own safety than anything else. Every time I met someone new I'd be filled with that familiar nervous energy. A glass of wine would usually help calm me down, just the one and maybe a shot. I didn't want to be drunk, being drunk isn't attractive, it also clouds your judgement and leaves you vulnerable. Being vulnerable and showing fear were not acceptable.

I'd worry about being watched, or being spotted by someone I knew. I'd get the occasional knowing look from hotel staff, or women would glance over at me and whisper to their friends.
It didn't surprise me, I knew what they were thinking, a young woman barely in her early 20s with a much older man in a hotel bar. She must be a prostitute.

They were wrong though, I wasn't being paid to have sex with these men. They were paying to be my slaves.

Sometimes it would be tame. We'd go up to their room and I'd tell them to strip. I'd start messing up the room while they changed into the little apron I had for such occasions, then I'd get them to clean up. All the while I'd be calling them worthless, barking orders, never asking, always telling.

Other times gags, whips and paddles would be involved. I disliked the whipping. Inflicting pain on anyone, regardless of if they were paying for it is something I've always struggled to do. I don't like hurting people. I couldn't let them know that though. I had to be the authority figure. If they knew how awkward and self conscious I felt. It would ruin the illusion.
You know that feeling you get when you're at a club and not quite drunk enough to stop caring what people think so you do that awkward sideways shuffle on the dance floor, have a sip of your drink and try and look as nonchalant as possible? Well, that's what I felt like most of the time.

I found it easier when I was dressed up. Every client had their own personal preference though usually nothing out of the ordinary, sometimes I'd be a head mistress, or a bossy nurse, one client had a thing for ninjas. All of the characters I played were strong disciplinarians. My favourite was the classic dominatrix look. It was the one so far removed from myself I found it was the one I could really exaggerate . Also, there's just something about wearing thigh high boots that makes you feel powerful.

I thought about their wives, did they know that their husbands were paying to be humiliated? Did they think their husbands were having affairs? I'm pretty sure none of them ever noticed that their husband was spending a lot of money on his business trip to London. I was always paid in cash and some of these men were disgustingly rich.
Every now and then they'd talk about their families. Most of them were happy generally, they just had needs their wives couldn't fulfil. This was usually due to the fact that they hadn't told their spouses about their desires to be dominated as they were apprehensive about being branded a pervert. I often wondered what would happen if they just communicated with them. Would their fears be justified? Or sometimes, is it just easier to pretend you don't like young women in hotels to put their high heels in places they shouldn't be, whilst you call them mistress and wank yourself into a gormless frenzy, for the sake of saving face?

The majority of my clients were actually pretty decent men. They worked extremely hard in very high pressure jobs. I'm sure they were perceived as control freaks and they spent a huge amount of time away from their home and loved ones. That's possibly why they came to me. I was an escape from the loneliness. They didn't have to pretend to be able to cope with me, they didn't have someone sucking up to them, they didn't have to be the one in control of the situation. But most importantly, they got a bit of escapism by living out a fantasy.

Eventually my double life took its toll. As far as friends and family were concerned I was working in a pub and just happened to like going out a lot. I had to lie about where I was going and who I'd be seeing, I had to cover my lies with more lies. I found maintaining my "mistress" person drained me. Having to act like a heartless bitch when all I really wanted to do was sit down and have a cup of tea became tiresome.

So there you have it, I was a complete fake. From the outfits, to the shouting, to the spanking. Although the praise I received was flattering, being treated like a queen a few times a week made me feel special and I knew I was making these men happy. It wasn't me.
I just don't like being mean.
(Wed 16th Jul 2008, 16:58, More)

» My most gullible moment

I believed him.
I believed him when he said he loved me.

I believed him when he said they were just friends.

I believed him when he said he'd never cheat on me.

I believed him when he said he was going to the pub with his friends when he was actually fucking his ex girlfriend in the back of his car.

I believed him when he said it was my fault.

I believed him when he said he was sorry and it wouldn't happen again.

I believed him when he cried.

He hit me and I never believed in him again.
(Wed 27th Aug 2008, 13:19, More)

» Customers from Hell

Preparations for the Friday evening rush
at the pub I worked in were taking place. Glasses were being washed, tables cleaned and the odd bit of banter passed between customers and staff.
I only had an hour left of my shift, all was well with the world.

A young couple were sat occupying one of the booths opposite the bar. They had been drinking most of the afternoon and had progressed from slight touchy-feelyness to full on 'heavy petting.'
I stopped perving went to serve a customer and upon my return noticed the girl had vanished. Well, I thought she had until I noticed her leg sticking out from under the table. Her boyfriend was sitting there however, with his eyes closed and his head tipped back. He let out quite an audible sigh, the sigh of a man in fellatio heaven.

My fellow colleagues and I exchanged somewhat shocked glances, a few even laughed nervously before Neil spoke up.
Neil was famed for being a lovely, polite man who also had a tendency for stating the bleeding obvious.
"She's giving him a blow job!" He exclaimed.

It was thus decided that Neil would be the one to go over and ask them to stop. He calmy walked over to the booth and said "Excuse me chaps, but that thing you're doing, well, could you not? It's not very nice."

Our young gentleman friend obviously didn't agree though for it was at that moment he pushed his girlfriend's head away before liberally spurting a quite frankly impressive amount of hot, sticky jizz all over his jeans and her hair and face.

They were asked to clean up and leave.
(Tue 9th Sep 2008, 16:26, More)

» Celebrities part II

There's only a certain amount of times you can shout
"Oi Kate Nash! Show us yer gash!" Before she'll turn around and tell you to fuck off.

It's four times.
(Fri 9th Oct 2009, 2:04, More)
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