Charlie Ch. 07

6 Justine

Justine's mom, Janet, was a nurse's aide at the Emergency room in Middleburg. Her father, Steve, was a personal banker at a small local credit union in town. The two met in high school, married young, and Justine was born, an only child, shortly thereafter. Her parents worked hard and never brought their jobs home.

Justine was always the little star of the family, putting on plays for mom and dad. She was daddy's little girl and sat on his lap as he caressed the resilient orange locks of her hair. She was the recipient of many gifts from daddy and he would frequently take her places on weekends, such as to the state fair, to the swimming pool, or on ski trips. Her father doted upon his daughter and this gave Justine a sense of entitlement throughout her life, but she always took into consideration the needs of others and thus always had many friends. Her mother taught her how to care for her pets, how to make friends, how to style her unruly hair and make the most of her uncommon beauty. Despite the grand gestures her father made, it was the hushed moments with her mom that made the grandest impression on Justine's character. It always seemed her mother had a quiet control over things.

Justine grew up as any girl might. She made friends with both boys and girls. Learned to share, to read, to paint, and eventually the intricacies of theater production were, as her choice, her calling. There were no clues in her childhood that she would grow up to be a Dominant woman, but there was one thing her parents were quite proud of. Something that translated very well both into her BDSM lifestyle and her teaching career. It was her manners. If she didn't display the utmost in poise and charm, she presented the best in perception of another individual. She was always able to feel out a situation, and create solutions with a casual grace.

She frequently saw a discrepancy between the simple solutions she found amongst her friends in the school yard and the hard Christian values her parents preached to her. For Justine, there was always an understanding that there was something more than what her parents were telling her. She respected them for what they gave her, and the genuineness they presented, but after a while, she stopped feeling guilty for living her own life. She became sexually active and aware at a young age. First playing "naked games" with her girlfriends. During those times everything was so obscure but she enjoyed the attention she received, despite her awareness of how uncommon her beauty was. Uncommon. That's what her mother called it. Theater, eyeliner, and corsets would come later as character crutches for Justine.

Even in high school, Justine had an air of sexuality about her, in the way she walked, in the way her hips swayed, in the way her shoulders pressed back. Her back arched slightly, she walked, rhythmically but with a slight hesitation at the fall of each step as if to draw attention to her perfectly formed feet. Her mouth seemed like a sexual organ, it formed itself as if only for sexual purposes, with pouty upper and lower lips, her hair curled and twisted wildly, almost uncontrollably, and seemed always to be moving. When she sat, she sat with her ass pushed outwards, invitingly and her breasts pushed forwards, sometimes resting on the table. Everything about Justine was sexual and men, and especially in the early years boys, fought each other over her. As we know, women soon took notice as well.

In her Junior year of high school Justine dated once a boy named Mark Song. He was the head lighting specialist for a play she was starring in and was one of those unusually well built geeks. Justine longed to sink her teeth into his well formed pictorials. He was a genius technician but had cursory understanding of the plays in which Justine starred. He seemed enchanted with Justine's charms but oblivious to all her social and sexual cues. He told her how he loved to light her. How the light hits her hair, her silhouette. "Blah blah blah," she thought. He took her to a Thai food restaurant, and Justine attempted to discuss the finer points of the play they were working on, the Taming of the Shrew, in which Justine played Katherina.

"I think the play is totally misogynistic," said Justine.

"Why? He's just courting the woman he loves. Trying to get her to love him, to respond to him," replied Mark.

"How can you see it that way? He's forcing her!" exclaimed Justine.

"No, it's just the natural back and forth of love," said Mark. Justine was in shock about Mark's massive oversight of the play's overtones. She'd apparently missed her own oversight. She'd made up her mind about Mark over dinner. Mark had made up his mind over dinner as well. Justine was his Katherina in a stubborn, twisted up, simplistic, and in his mind, sincere way. He walked her to the car, attempting to be chivalrous, but Justine knew her way and walked ahead of him. He opened the car door for her and Justine slipped into the seat, one perfectly arched foot at a time, adjusting herself, curving her back ever so naturally.

When Mark walked around the car and stepped into the driver's seat he pulled the seatbelt across his chest and hesitated to buckle it. He let go of it and threw himself at Justine who was already buckled in. He ran his fingers through her scalp, messing the perfect pin curls on which Justine spent so much time arranging each morning. He grabbed her thighs, her breasts, he sloppily pressed his tongue into her mouth, he moved one leg over her lap, as if to further restrain her into her seat. Justine was strong and was able to push the boy off of her.

"No!" she said, pushing him off of her the rest of the way, attempting to smooth her curls out and straighten her dress. "That is not how you touch me. Take me home." Mark, humiliated by being overpowered by his Katherina did as he was told and started the twenty minute drive to Justine's home. They shared an uncomfortable silence for what seemed like an eternity but was actually only about three minutes. Mark broke the silence.

"I'm sorry. I just really like you," said Mark.

"If you really liked me you would show me some respect. That is not how I like to be touched," replied Justine. Silence.

"How do you like to be touched?" asked Mark, boldly. He figured he had nothing more to lose.

"That's none of your goddamn business. Not anymore."

"No seriously. I fucked up. I'm sorry. But I really like you. You're different. You're special. I want to know you. When you step onto that stage... Tell me. How are you different?"

"Most guys like to pressure me," Justine said, sighing, "but I know myself. I know what I want. I know my body. They just want to use me, touch me, grope me for their own satisfaction, for their own pleasure, not for mine. Like your sorry ass just did. But those body parts were put there for my enjoyment." Mark looked as if his head was spinning. "I had this one encounter with a freshman last week. It was remarkable."

"You slept with a freshman?" Mark asked, shocked that Justine would stoop so low. For Justine it was just a question of being open minded.

"Yes. I was attracted to him because he was so eager, so ready to please. He was willing to do whatever I wanted. He brought me water on stage. He brought me my costume, was skilled in lacing a corset, zipped my boots. He waited on me hand and foot. I finally asked him to a party and he was so grateful. He stayed at my side the entire time. During conversations he always agreed with me and backed up my arguments. When we finally kissed in the hallway it was sloppy. I had to tell him exactly how to kiss me, but would you know it? He could do it. It was the best kiss I've had in a long time."

"Did you guys fuck at the party?"

"No. We went back to my parents' place. I knew they wouldn't be home. I knew we wouldn't be bothered. He was trembling with something. Fear. Excitement. Both. I don't know. But the boy was shaking. I told him how to take my clothes off, carefully, not leaving any details out. The more specific my directions were for him the better he performed. He unbuttoned my dress and let it drop to the floor. I told him to caress my curves as if he were to swallow them whole with his hands and he ran his fingers and palms along my body in a way that made me feel absolutely gorgeous."

"You are absolutely gorgeous," said Mark.

"Shut up. You're not getting anywhere with me. Where was I? Oh yes. Well. You can use your imagination for the rest."

"I don't want to use my imagination for the rest. Go on," Mark urged.

"We're just near my house anyway."

"Are your parents home?" Mark asked.

"No. Why? Do you want to try that disastrous move you tried twenty minutes ago?"

"No. I want to be like the freshman. I want you to tell me what to do. I want to be your perfect lover. I'll do anything you say," Mark was near panting. Justine could see the desperation in him. She knew he wouldn't be able to control himself, that she wouldn't be able to control him. She had a glimmer of her future.