Archive-name: Bondage/njlist13.txt

Archive-author: Nurse Jones

Archive-title: The List - 13 of 20





From Nurse Jones:



     Okay, okay. Here is some of Column Two. I wrote it while still

lurking. But it's all wrong because a lot has changed since then. For

one thing, I know some of you through E-mail now, and I'm more than a

little embarrassed to send it out, for reasons I explained in a recent

post. And it's getting more difficult as time goes on. For some

reason, I didn't care so much if strangers read about my innermost

thoughts, so long as no one I KNEW found out this stuff. But I've just

realized that I am getting to know "you people." Anonymously, sure,

but what does that matter? You've formed a mental image of me, just

like I have of some of you. Now if I shock and disappoint you, I care.

Now it matters what you think of me. In fact, I just turned beet red

thinking about the end of Column One. Well, not BEET red, maybe

fuchsia. Which has got to be the most carefully spelled color in the

midwest, possibly the world. I could NEVER confront anyone that had

read Column One and knew all that about me. Except Jay.

     But here it is, the beginning at least, almost unedited:





The List

      Column Two



     I'm back. (in a deep, Schwartzenegger-esque voice, with sunglass-

es)

     S.F. is a pretty neat place. Almost worth chucking it all for.

I'm surprised everyone doesn't want to live there. I could probably

get a job there easier than J could, given what I do. Maybe someday

I'll go there and help them do the offbeat things they get away with

while even managing to act as if it were all perfectly normal. Start

an all-night yoga clinic or something. You laugh. There would be

competition.

     I'm NOT going back to Indiana. My home town is proof that Hell is

full and the dead walk the earth. Besides, it's easier to be kinky a

long way from home. Hmph. It's easier to be liberal when you're a long

way from my home. You know how the Jaycees put a little sign outside

their town to encourage tourism? Like "Whisk Broom Capital of the

World" or whatever. Our town motto would have to be something like:

          "Not as bad as you might have imagined,"

or maybe

          "Preferable to Gary."

How about:

          "Leave it in drive"

     Even Chicago was better. At least there was something happening

all the time. Most of it unsolved.

     Anyway, I like the South almost as much as SF and a lot more than

Chicago. You don't have to shovel water. And I like J a lot more than

I thought I did when I left.

     So anyway, I'm a top now. Sort of. I got my feet back on the

ground over the last month, and decided that J wasn't so gawdawful

weird after all. He's still adamant about me having a shot at topping,

and I still don't really feel constitutionally suited to it, but I'm

going to do it. When I decided to go back to J I called and told him I

needed some money if I was going to top him. For toys. He sent me a

bundle, so I'm back, and loaded for bear. As they say. In fact, we got

started on Column Two when I got back, but we had to stop when I

pulled a groin muscle, even though it wasn't mine.

     I mailed the first part of this document to a couple of ASB'ers

at their home addresses just before I got back to J. It was titled The

List, and added up to near 500k in 6 files, "chapters" (items) 1-21. I

don't know if it ever got posted. There's no indication that it did on

the net...



       [Note from The Present: It ended up getting posted after

       all, thanks to wizvax and some very nice wizpeople, but

       I'll leave this stuff in anyway, out of date though it

       is.]



... If it didn't, then this will seem like an extended non-sequitur to

you. I'd better explain a little. To be very brief, I was a bottom for

the very first time last Spring. Not that I had ever been a top. It

lasted a month by prior agreement with J, and the things he did to me

we also agreed upon by way of a negotiated two-column list (The List)

broken down into paired items. If he did to me something listed in

column one, I could do the corresponding thing in column two to him

and vice versa. So I guess this is about to become an account of

column two. Except that this time, I can write it my own way. He

proofed, edited, and controlled what I wrote--or should I say what he

had me write--for column one.

     I left J because I thought he had gotten too weird; the things he

was doing to me. Since then, I've thought about it a lot and decided I

was just a little slow to adapt. He's okay, really. I hope I wasn't

too hard on him when I left. I really do care about him.

     So anyway, I went to San Francisco for a few months. We midwest-

erners don't change our attitudes very readily, but I can certainly

say that I got my prejudices rearranged.

     A lot has changed on the net since those days. Saltgirl seems to

be gone for good and STella is the new netqueen. I'm still a lurker,

but maybe not for long: it looks like there is anonymous posting now,

if all this wizvax stuff is what it appears to be. I guess I'll be

posting that way some day if I can figure it out. I have a lot to

learn about using the net, I guess. There are a lot of new folks out

there now. Some of them sound about as tolerant as the hyperbaptists

in the main office of J's department. They're everywhere, like the

roaches. They tried to get the usenet feed canceled--specifically

because of ASB and AS. Except that the hyperbaptists are intolerant of

ALL perverts, not just amateurs like me. Maybe I'd better stay in the

closet a bit longer. Coming out to some of you might not be the thrill

I'd originally thought. I don't relish being forgiven for having once

been a lurker. The attitude seems a bit smug to me. I would have

thought that the people who post on ASB (ESPECIALLY there) would

     hold tolerance in such

       profound reverence

          that beside it all the other

             virtues would seem like

                sins.



       [Note from the Present: This only applies to Little

       Retchid, now. But you knew that after yesterday's post.]



     Besides, I'm afraid. I remember what happened to Elf way back

when. And you should have heard the things the hyperbaptists had to

say about ASB'ers. They are genuinely awful people. They make me

afraid, and not just for my career. The way their jowls quiver with

righteous indignation when they act on behalf of the Lord God Al-

mighty. They seem to believe they are doing what He would do if only

He knew the facts of the case.

     If you've read The List, Column One, you'll understand why I'm

pleased to report that I don't have to wear a wig any more in polite

society. My hair hasn't grown back completely yet, but I dressed a

little punk for a while (although I'm really a little too old to carry

it off. Okay, okay, I'm 28. But I read at the 35 year old level.)

     And I didn't look too out of place in the better parts of San

Francisco. Now I have enough hair to look like Brigitte Nielsen from

the hair up. I'll get a job any day now.

     My pubic hair is a problem, though.



IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP: If you want your pubic hair to look normal,

     don't use depilatory. I used it regularly for that month, and it

     didn't grow back right. I almost might as well have had electrol-

     ysis. It was weeks before it started to grow back at all, and

     nearly three months later it is still so sparse you have to look

     twice to be sure I have any at all. If this is permanent, my next

     gynecologist is in for a treat.



     Seriously. After three months. I have about 15 hairs down there,

and they are thin and only 1/2 inch long. Thank God J didn't let me

use it on my head.

     I kept the nipple rings, though, and got a nostril pierced. So

tell me: Am I an exhibitionist? I like the way I look, but I've been

hit on a lot by guys lately. Is there something about a pierced nose

that says, "Hey! Guys! Available broad here! Loose morals! Nymphomani-

ac!" or what? Men seem to think that it means I will automatically

sleep with them or something. And I didn't. I couldn't, even if I were

attracted. Have you ever seen the inside of an AIDS ward? Trust me. It

takes more guts than I have to work in one.

     So what changed? Is it the nose ring? Or do all men insist on

treating the mons veneris as though it were Mount Everest, just

because it's there? I lost some baby fat while I was traveling; maybe

I look better thinner, (read more attractive to men), even with short

hair. Although my tits lost weight, too, I'm gaining it back.



     Meet The New Me:



     So anyway, I'm back. That's what I said to him. I got back on a

Saturday afternoon, and he came to the door when I knocked. I dropped

my pack on the ground and just stood there for a minute in the sun,

looking at him. It was dry and hot as hell and I had left Houston the

previous morning in my unairconditioned beat-up VW. The car was dusty,

I was dusty, my jeans were dusty. I was wearing a dirty white tank top

and some very beat up down-at heel boots with duct tape on one. I'd

lost weight and had developed some muscle definition in my arms.

Haircut like a man, pierced nostril, sunglasses, suntan, and an

attitude.

     "I'm back," I said. He told me I looked pretty good. I did. "You

my bottom now?" He nodded. "Run a bath," I said.

     He looked at me for a second longer, picked up my pack. "Now," I

said. He gave me a sharp glance, nodded, and turned to go into the

house. That was as long as the Nouvelle Moi lasted. I screeched and

jumped on him piggy-back and wrapped my legs around him and bit his

ear.

     I had planned on being a proper top, at least for a while,

playing the same game with him that he had played with me, distant and

aloof and tough. One minute. That's how long it lasted. But I was

really hot for one minute. Then pfft. But I made him sit at the tap

end of the tub.



     -*-



     When we made up the List, J had commented that one unfulfillable

fantasy he had was to know what it felt like to be me during that

month. To be a woman, I mean. Actually, I would like to know what it's

like to have a male body, what the male orgasm is like, too. He has

this idea that the female orgasm is something mystical and special,

much more profound than the male's. I don't know how anyone can ever

prove that to be true, but it's an idee fixee with him.

       [Note from the present: this is as far as I go without

       help from my friends. I'm feeling squirrelly at the

       moment, and I don't feel comfortable talking about it.

       You already know we are experimenting with hypnosis. I

       have to let it rest here.]



-*-



     Nurse Jones, who, if she were really Arnold Schwartzenegger would

still give free medical advice:

          Exercise daily,

          Eat wisely,

          Die anyway.



--