Blossoming Rose Ch 01

Monday 12th

Dear Diary...

I've never written a diary before.

No, wait, that's not true. I think I did once. I seem to remember I filled in about two lines for a couple of days before giving up. I was only 14 at the time, a whole third of my life ago. Looking back, I don't really feel like I've changed that much, though I suppose I must have, because I've written over twice as much already. Still, I'm not so daft as to think that I'm going to write in this thing every day. I just feel I need someone to talk to, and there's no-one around at the moment I'm that close to.

I feel a little awkward writing like this. I mean, who am I writing to? Myself? Surely I know all this stuff already. A future me, perhaps? Maybe. But I don't know how much to record, in that case. How much would I remember? I have no way of knowing. I think I'm going to assume this journal is a counsellor, at least I know what's expected then. I ought to, anyway.

So. Introductions. My name is Diana Rose, and before you start with the jokes, yes, I know there is. My parents didn't know, or care, about the existence of such things as drag queens when I was born, but I seem to have heard about nothing else the last year. I was born and raised in Kent, in England, but I've been living over here in the states for the last year and a bit to finish my degree in psychology. Well, the year anyway, the bit has just been reluctance to return. I'm even more reluctant now.

What's my problem? Well... Sex, I suppose. In a word.

It's been on my mind a lot recently. First, just before I was due to go home for Christmas my parents split up, because apparently both my parents were having it away with other people, and they finally found out about each other. Then my boyfriend split up with me over the phone, during the course of a long conversation in which he accused me of being frigid.

Frigid!

I told him his immature fumblings would freeze up a nymphomaniac, and slammed the phone down on him. Trouble is, I know enough about psychology to know I only got mad because there was at least a grain of truth in what he said. I'm twenty-one, nearly twenty-two now, and I don't think I've ever had an orgasm. I've never really enjoyed the business of sex at all. I only ever had the one boyfriend, and whilst I was very fond of him, I can't say that he exactly filled me with lust. And I can't think of anything else that ever has, either.

God, that's depressing. I can't write anymore now. I'll come back to this tomorrow. It's 2am, need to sleep.

Tuesday 13th

Okay, make a list of your problems:

No money. Don't want to go home. Flatmate leaving (see 1) No job (see 1 again). Can't take a job here as no green card. Frigid?!

Money seems to be main immediate problem. And Marie's leaving doesn't make that any better. I'm going to have to find someone else to share the flat (sorry, apartment). I was just beginning to get to know Marie properly, too. Last year whenever I was in, she was out, and vice versa, as she works nights as a dancer somewhere. Apparently she started doing it to get herself through college, and then decided she liked it more than the job she was studying to do, so she quit college and did it full time.

I think she's a pole dancer or something, maybe even a stripper, but I haven't liked to ask. There probably was a right moment, but I think I missed it. After living with someone for six months, it's kind of embarrassing to have to ask questions like that that you ought to have been polite enough to ask. So I just act like I know.

I know Marie isn't frigid. I don't think it's quite a different guy every night, but it must be close. I never recognise the same voice twice through the bedroom wall, and I must have run into a couple of dozen strangers over the breakfast table. No business of mine, of course. Hey, I may be frigid, but I don't judge. You can't help but think about stuff like that this close, though.

One time there were two guys with her at breakfast, and I kept trying not to catch their eyes. Big guys, too, maybe bouncers or something. I had a dream about joining them the next night, and woke up with sopping wet pyjama bottoms. See, the stuff all works. I tried to masturbate, but... I've just never been able to do that. I get too self-conscious. I mean I know there's only me there, but...

Anyway, Marie announced last week she has to leave the apartment at the end of the month. Apparently she's going on this tour thing, and will be away for up to a year. It's all expenses paid, and if she doesn't keep the apartment on here she could save a small fortune. Fair enough, but it means I've pretty much got to go home at the same time. I can't see a way out of it. I'm down to little more than a thousand dollars or so and my return flight as it is. If I have to pay the whole rent myself, with no alternative income... Well, I just can't do it.

I said as much to Marie, and she said I could go with her if I liked, they usually take on a couple of girls to help out backstage. That didn't sound too much like fun, hanging around a load of prima donnas and ironing their smalls, so I just smiled weakly and said I'd bear it in mind, as politely as I could.

I'd have to be desperate.

Thursday 15thh

Actually, that should be Friday, as it's about three in the morning. I can't sleep.

I just keep going over and over the evening in my mind. There's a little knot of nervous excitement in me that just won't unravel.

I guess the first thing was that I spent the afternoon getting a little... Unsteady. Not exactly drunk, but less than completely sober, I'll grant you that. I was trying to work up the courage to ring one of my parents to say I was coming home, but I really didn't want to. For a start, whoever I called, the other would be offended. They would just getting all bitter again, and I frankly thought that both of them had behaved terribly. I couldn't really put my heart into sympathising. But I guess I would have to.

I kept picking up the phone, and then putting it down again. Then Marie came in with some guy, actually someone I vaguely recognised, and I smiled at her and made off to go and sulk in my room. However I must have looked a state, because she asked me what was wrong, and then I burst into tears. God bless her, she sent the bloke packing and sat me down to talk.

Sorry, dear journal, but apparently I did need to talk to someone, a real, live someone. It all flooded out of me, how I felt about Kevin, how unattractive I felt, how ashamed and worried I was that he was right. I talked about how my parents were obviously alright, so it couldn't be genetic.

Marie said that I was talking rubbish. She said I just hadn't had what I needed yet, that I had to be more open. I'm sorry to say I said that that was easy for her to say, that she obviously had no problems with sex.

There was a silence, and then she laughed, long and hard, thankfully. I had been just about to apologise and run out. Marie said no, she had no problems at all. Then she asked me to wait, and came back a minute later with something behind her back.

She asked me if I thought I could get try being open-minded now. I said I may be frigid, but I'm not a prude. Then she held something out to me. 'Look at that', she said.

I looked, and I have to admit I was shocked. I didn't exactly run out screaming, though. I think I said 'Oh'.

It was a DVD, in a case which bore, unmistakeably, a picture of Marie in stockings and suspenders and not a stitch else. Even more, There were at least three, I think (I don't have it in front of me now, and I was in kind of a daze I'm not sure how much I'm remembering right), men standing behind her, also naked and... erect. Marie was smiling, with a penis in either hand, one almost to her lips, and another resting on one shoulder, I think. Forgive me, but the title escapes me.

I held it gingerly by a corner. 'Oh,' I said again. I couldn't think of what else to say. I was saved from saying it a third time by Marie saying that she'd been in others, but that was the only one with her on the cover. She was obviously quite proud of it. I felt like someone who has been introduced to an ugly baby. Then I checked myself for being so judgemental, and asked if this was her main work.

'No, I really am a dancer,' she said. 'I dance naked sometimes, and once a year I fly over to a place in Amsterdam where they do a kind of dance sex show, during a festival. That's quite fun. But mostly it's just dancing. This tour I'm going on is a bit of all of it, and it's the first time I've been eligible to go. I needed a starring movie, you see. It pays lots, and it should mean I get the chance to strike a lot.'

Now I had gone from shocked to bemused. Marie giggled, and ran off again. She came back with an exercise book, the kind you get in school. She handed it to me without a word, and I handed back the DVD.

I opened the exercise book and leafed through it. On each line, going through almost to the back of the book, were written lots of words and sentences I didn't understand. Occasionally one would be half intelligible, and then gibberish again. Some lines were crossed out, and most of those were crossed out. 'Fellatio', was the first entry in the book, and one of the few I recognised. I looked enquiringly at Marie. I was getting gradually more relaxed, because she was so obviously unashamed about it.

'They're all sex,' She said. I looked back at the book. All? 'I had to look some of them up, myself,' Marie went on. 'It was a personal challenge.'

She explained. Apparently she had considered herself a bit of a closet rebel, and although she had done very well, and gone to college with high grades and expectations, her real hobby was sex, and she was trying to work her way through all the male students and staff (I think she was exaggerating here, but I can't be sure). She'd done all there was to do, and quantity was the only challenge. But then she'd got chatting to a psychology professor (again my naivety ashamed me) who started talking to her about fetishes. She'd looked them up and there were hundreds.

'I decided I had to do them all, or at least as many as wouldn't get me physically maimed. I figured it out that, assuming even that I want to finish by the time I'm fifty, I have to do at least fifteen a year. And I'm falling behind. I keep finding out about new ones, too. And I can't resist going back to some of the favourites. Sometimes I manage two at once, but most are pretty obscure. I write to people through the internet, though, and I have meets set up at the places we're passing through. I reckon I might be able to knock off most of the harder ones in one year.' She sat back and looked smug.

It had just begun to strike me that, a little like Marie, I simply hadn't realised how little I knew. I tried to give Kevin a blow job once, and it just hurt my jaw, and made him sore. I had thought that was being daring. But this... I mean, just what the hell is Harpaxophilia? Or Plushies? Or Bukkake? For all I knew some of these meant having tea with a maiden aunt.

'I envy you,' I said. I don't know where that came from. She said there was no need, that anyone could open up.

'You just need to find someone to press the right button,' She said. I said I wasn't even sure if I had a button. I admitted I'd never even had an orgasm.

'What, never? Not even on your own?'

'I find it a little... Icky,' I admitted. 'I'm not even sure what to do.'

'Oh. Would you like me to show you?'

I had to restrain an urge to say no too quickly, and loudly. I can't recall exactly what I did say, but she gave no sign of offence. She said 'Wait,' and for the third time disappeared into her room. She handed me a carrier bag. 'A present.'

I looked inside, and there was a rather intimidatingly large vibrator, all pink and black, and with a see-through section with lots of little beads in it. It was, thankfully, still shrink-wrapped. I didn't know what to say.

'I bought it for someone because she liked the sound of mine,' she said, 'but then it turned out she'd bought one herself. You can have it.'

I mumbled a thank you, and put it aside. We talked for about another couple of hours, and Marie told me about some of the things she'd done that had gone wrong. She could have done stand-up, and I simply screamed with laughter. She made it all seem so... Normal.

I guess, without even knowing it, I'd been brought up to think sex was dirty, and here I was chatting to a girl who'd slept with, according to one story, at least seven men at once. And it seemed like me that was odd.

Eventually Marie made her excuses and left, and I followed to my own room soon after. I still felt I ought to call some parent or other, but I also still didn't want to. I wasn't tired, lazing about with very little to do will do that to you, so I watched some TV for a while, I don't know what, I wasn't really paying attention.

I couldn't stop thinking about Marie. What was it like, to enjoy sex that much? To make it the central feature of your life? I couldn't be unique in not understanding that. I felt like for Marie I was like someone who never opened her eyes, for fear of... What? What held me back? Was I shy? Ugly? Disabled from enjoying what she revelled in in some way?

I stripped off and marched over to the mirror, and studied myself. Flat stomach, the gym was paid for in advance. Decent size breasts, and pert enough not to need a bra, though I usually did because I was conscious of my nipples, which were often quite hard. Maybe that was a message from my body. I tried to look back over my shoulder at my bottom. What I could see of it seemed okay. And I was certain my legs were fine, I had always thought they were my best feature. Face I wasn't sure about, I have never felt the same way about it two days running. Some days I think I look gorgeous, other days I wish I had a yashmak to cover my troll-like features. I couldn't see anything obviously wrong though, even without make-up. And blondes are supposed to have more fun, right?

Overall, I decided my self-image was fine. In fact if anything, looking at my naked body just made me all the more, well, turned on, I suppose. I was turned on, by myself. I wonder if that was in the list?

Tentatively, I reached down and ran my hands over myself. I was wet, and any pleasure I might feel from the sensation was switched off by the general ickiness. Wiped my hand on the eiderdown. Euw.

Dammit, what was wrong with me? Why couldn't I get over this? It wasn't like I was going to jump out of a plane or anything. I sat down on the bed, staring into my sparse pubic hair. Then I jumped up again with a fresh determination.

I peeped round the door of my room. The living room was still in darkness. Heart pounding, and still naked, I ran over to the couch and grabbed the carrier bag, and then back into my room, closing the door swiftly and silently behind me. I sat down on the bed again and opened up the bag. If I didn't have the right kind of batteries I could at least use it to play with myself without touching myself, if you see what I mean...

To my surprise, though, the thing didn't take batteries. Taped to the bottom was a cord, and a plug.

That scared me a little. Suppose the thing went mad? I could just see myself as tabloid fodder. I plugged it in and switched on. Nothing. There were no instructions, so I didn't know what to do. I examined the thing carefully, and found a dial on the bottom. I turned it up, and the thing juddered and shook in my hand. I suppressed a shriek and dropped it. Then I picked it up again, washed it in my sink, and plugged it back in.

It was oddly organic, the way it quivered, like an eel with epilepsy. It was quite pleasant, when I held it to my breasts, like having them gently stroked and teased. I tried it on the back of my neck, and that was quite pleasant too, a gentle massage. I turned it down lower and examined it. It is pliant from hallway along, and bent like one of those poseable toys. I even tried putting it in my mouth, and I found that strangely comforting, like a huge pacifier. I sucked my thumb 'till quite late, I seem to remember.

I was just putting off the moment. Slowly, still turned down low, I placed it to my clitoris. I felt a slight tingling, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, like somebody was blowing on them. I curved it around into almost a U-shape, and slightly into my vagina. Pleasant, and not too intrusive. And I didn't feel too inhibited either, which was good. I felt pleased with myself, and turned it up.

That was nice. I wasn't exactly panting on the floor, but it was already the best sex I had ever had. How sad is that? The best lay I've had was this damn rubber thing? Anyway.

I carried on like that for a few minutes, and then kind of on a whim, I tried pressing down on y clit just that little bit harder. I shuddered as a strange sensation flowed through me. Woah. I had no idea my body could feel like that. I did that for another few minutes, quite happily. It was like snuggling up in a really comfortable bed, you know? That doesn't really cover it, but I don't know how else to describe it. That was nice, but I was already beginning to want more, so I turned the thing up a couple of notches.

Man, I must have ridden that thing for an hour. I lay there, on the edge of the bed, just panting. Images were going through my head, I don't know where from, my subconscious I suppose. Sucking some guy's cock whilst someone else fucked me. Having people there, watching me do this, and that just turned me on more. Kissing Marie, I dwelt on that one quite a long time. I ran a hand over my breasts, imagining they were hers, oh, and being fucked, being fucked, being fucked so damn hard, oh...

I think I screamed when I came the first time, but I'm not really sure. I lay there, out of breath afterwards, waiting for Marie to come and see if I was being murdered. She never came, so I assumed I was okay (either that or she just could tell why I was screaming).

After a few minutes, I did it all over again. Then, and I'm really proud of myself for this one, I stuck the thing inside me and made myself come with my hands. By this point the moisture just made me feel horny. In fact I even dared myself to taste it; didn't taste like how I thought it would, but don't ask me what that was.

After that I decided three times was enough for a first time, and that I might wear myself out or something. I put the thing away in my knicker draw and tried to go to sleep.

Thing is, I've been lying here trying to sleep now for well over two hours, and I'm still wide awake. I keep thinking about the tour Marie's going on, and what she'll get up to. I can't bear the thought of maybe never knowing. And if I go back home, I'll never see her again. The more I think about it, the job she mentioned sounded ideal. All expenses paid, she said. Maybe I could tag along even without a green card. My visa was good for another three months. No rent and meals paid for, and my thousand dollars would last a long time.

Maybe I would just mention it, kind of in passing, over breakfast.

And since I've put the light on anyway to write this, and I'm all awake anyway, one more time couldn't hurt, could it?

We need more authors for this chain story to work. If you're interested in joining this chain, you can read the following thread, and then jump in-- --

New Chain Story... Blossoming Rose

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