Becoming poor and menial

The descent of a fashion-conscious middle-class woman into shabby poverty, all at the behest of another woman, fifteen years her junior.

Monday, March 06, 2006

A thing of shreds and patches

Because I am naturally vain, with a taste for nice things, the Princess decided, last week, that this self-indulgence had to be reined in. She ordered me to fetch my most expensive dress: Donna Karan, much prized. Then, when I was kneeling before her, she ordered me to cut it into five pieces. I could not believe that I would obey such an order: everything in me made me cry out in outrage. And yet even as I shuddered with horror at the thought of shredding my beautiful dress, I felt myself shudder as well with something else, with PLEASURE, so that the horror and the desire melted and comingled, and I knew that I would do it. And so I did – and then, once I had done it, I was given permission to orgasm. By now I was weeping – weeping over my ruined dress – and as I orgasmed, so the tears were flowing down my face.

I decided there and then that I would give up the Princess again – not only because I was APPALLED with myself for what I had done, and dreaded having to repeat it, but also because I didn’t want to start finding my own unhappiness erotic – I didn’t want to become turned on by my own tears. Who knows how wretched that might make me? And yet – sigh – AND YET – here I am again – and as you can tell, by the fact that I am writing this blog, I HAVE come back – and yes, I do have to dispose of another item of clothing. Tomorrow I will take another dress – Ghost, this time – to a charity shop. When I do it, I will be wearing my cheapest, drabbest clothes. Will I really do this? I don’t know – and yet I know, even as I type that, in my heart of hearts, that I will.

What have I got myself into? I feel myself sinking, sinking, sinking…


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