Vitavie's Vignette No. 03: Dirty

Dirty

Vitavie's Vignette No. 3

by Vitavie

Do you like to play? I mean, sexual games... You know, like playing Master and slave, or slave and Mistress. Dares? Showing off your nudity in inappropriate places and conditions? Have him do things he doesn't want to do, or have him do that to yourself? To tie up or be tied up? A bit of spanking? Play dog, or pig, or cat on all fours, ass high? Him having you eat from a bowl without hands? Inspect him or have him inspect you? Have him entertain visitors, a friend or friends, naked? Post a nude picture of yourself online - under pseudonym of course?

Do I like to play? I do. Or I liked to, I am not sure.

I have been burnt.

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I once had a boyfriend whom I was used to playing such games with, games to spice up, to stimulate our love. We were twenty. It was fun for quite a while. A lot of fun. Challenges, discovery, excitement, excitation. Finally, however, he exceeded the realm of games and played me a dirty trick.

This is what happened.

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We were spending a holiday in a small Italian town, in the heat of the summer. We had rented a small house along one of the quaint, old, sloping and winding cobblestone streets. Not a traditional holiday home, but one of many similar houses, all in a row, the rest occupied by true locals. We were poorly behaved tourists, not getting up at the crack of dawn for healthy hiking or scenic sightseeing. As a rule, we'd stay in our house until after noon - in the bedroom, sleeping in, I have to admit. Well, not just sleeping... we were twenty! We'd then go out, drink our coffees and have a bite in a café at the town square. Mid-afternoon, we might then take a bracing walk and return to the square, have our dinner there, meet the village people in the bars and toast to them and their Lambrusco. Wine was cheap, so we gave rounds, got rounds and mingled very nicely.

Finally, we'd retire, around midnight time. Back inside, we'd be naked and never wear any clothes. The following episode happened after two weeks of this fine routine.

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We were shavers, full body shavers, but had decided to not shave for a few weeks prior to our coming here.

(We sat and watched the hairs grow.)

He and I were young and both blessed with smooth, soft skins, normally. We fully shaved our bodies every week, but the pubes every other day, in weekends every day, and each and every time paid great attention to the aftercare, carefully oiling every bit of shaved skin. We believed this was paramount to keeping the skin smooth.

The smoothness, the softness we felt was key to the way we liked our sex, which included a lot of massaging and stroking, brushing, feathering - by hand, by feet, by any body part or indeed a feather duster or similar. Soft sensuous sex was our way, not rough and hard. Pain was not our game. To each, his or her taste, of course!

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The idea was to create a big occasion. Now, here in Italy, the night was right. For our standards, we looked decidedly scruffy, unclean. We were both naturally fairly hairy, he for a man, I for a woman - OK, not monsters. I have not had guys walk out on me, ever, because of the hair on my arms, armpits, legs, belly and crotch, I have strong but acceptable eyebrows and no moustache to speak of! His chest, his cheeks were pretty hairy now, like his legs, armpits, forearms, the top of his back, well pretty much all over... Our bodies and pubic areas were normally virginally clean and our beautiful genitals clearly visible and clean. Not now.

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We first had baths, each in isolation, as if meditating in preparation for the event. (The scruffiness did not wash off.) I was first. Of course, I was kind to myself, but took care to stay away from masturbation. Held my horses! He will have done the same, he had to, as a man (?)

Back together, we massaged the body of the other with musky massage-oil, so as to prepare the skin in the areas to be shaved. We took our time, taking care that we'd stay aroused but in control. So good!! I was first to be oiled, he was next. Both the one administering the oil and the recipient were blindfolded. We found that this heightened the feelings of both participants, the latter floating, the former concentrated on the touch... We were One this way. Perfect Union!

For the shaving afterwards, the passive party of the pair was tied to the four-poster bed with silk scarves. The active party could see, naturally. (Alas, but safety first!) I did him first and was next to receive. Every hair but the eyebrows and scalp went, very deliberately, but very slowly. I took close to an hour to do him. He was so hairy! When my turn came, he gently tied up me up and kissed me all over, before he smiled and blindfolded me. As he proceeded to shave me, being tied up I felt so vulnerable. Yes, in spite of my trusting him with my life, I could not help a faint, rising sense of fear, as he cut and cut, close to the bone, every hair away and then shaved me.

Frightful, pleasant. Frightfully pleasant.

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I was as naked as I ever was. The slight irritation of the skin made me constantly conscious of my denuded body. Still blindfolded, still tied up, fearfully aroused I was when he made love to me. I could have died from pleasure.

When we recovered, it was five a.m., in the still of the night, with daybreak just around the corner. We decided to go out into the little garden at the back of the house. To commune with the universe. Naked, since the atmosphere was mild and soothing. I elected to remain blindfolded, as I wished to concentrate on the sounds of the night and the soft breeze on my body. He took me by the arm and silently led me down the steep stairway and then outside. He released his grip and we spoke not a word. Again, I felt I was floating. I forgot time and space. Me, eternity and the universe.

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Later, much later, when I allowed myself to become conscious, I softly called out to my boyfriend. He did not answer. Was he in his own universe? I made repeat calls, fruitlessly. Had he gone inside? (Had he gone and left me?) I sobered up, removed my blindfold and found that he was not with me. The moon was full.

I saw that he had closed the backdoor of house and the shutters of the windows. I knocked on the door for him to let me in, but no answer came. I knocked on the door, lightly at first, so as to leave the neighbours out of these strange proceedings. No answer. With my fist, I beat harder and harder, until it hurt.

Here I was, more than stark naked, a freak, in a garden in the middle of an Italian town. Under the full moon, the whole world was covered under a silvery spell. In addition, the morning light was slowly beginning to displace the dark of the night... What was I to do? Wait an hour and watch the sun rise? Before long, the first neighbour would look out of his bedroom window to greet the morning and would see me there, a pretty sight maybe, but chances were she, or he, would be in a second mind.

I didn't know... I felt I had to get inside before then! I had to risk it, walk round the back of the houses to an alley and back along the street to our front door. Perhaps it was open, perhaps he would answer the doorbell. Perhaps I would not meet anyone. I felt vulnerable and remained as close to the houses as I could. I climbed garden fences, scraped by hedges, silently, not without incurring numerous crazes and cuts, but keeping silent. I think I made it to the street and back to the front of the house unseen.

The front door was locked. I rang the bell (in my ears, a siren shredding the silence), but he did not answer. 'Bastard, bastard,' I hissed, 'enough is enough.' I banged the door... No answer... no answer! Then I heard footsteps approaching... A man, a woman? I would be shooed away like a dog.

I was vulnerable. I would be raped. I would be ridiculed. My God, let the ground open underneath my feet. Pressing my back against the door, I held my breath...

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It was him, my boyfriend, fully dressed and with a smile on his face. I embraced him and asked him - no, begged him! - to let me in. He looked at me but did not speak a word. Instead, he shook himself free from me and rang our neighbours' bell, loudly, and that of their neighbour and that of several other houses nearby. A window opened and another. Seeing my dismal, super-naked, scratched shape in the early morning light, a woman called to the Virgin Mother. A man, and another, was shocked, but strangely spellbound and certainly interested to see me in my silvery-moon bareness.

He? He just laughed and laughed. And - without precedent - extended both hands, pinched both of my nipples and pulled on them. Hard!

And he just laughed. One of the neighbours laughed with him.

'Does it hurt? What, the embarrassment or the pain, I gave you a choice. Don't be embarrassed. Let the whole world have your beauty and see your vulnerability. It becomes you,' said he, before he finally opened the door. Shocked, with smarting nipples and shuddering, I went inside and felt violated. I was paralysed and speechless, would have killed him, but did not have the strength.

Inside, I refused his attentions and locked myself in the bedroom. I sat there, head in hands, for some time. He had violated limits I didn't know I had - I had considered myself an exhibitionist. Then I rose, dressed, packed my case and left the room. Barging past him, insensitive to his pleas ('I am so sorry. It was just a game. Don't go!'), I left the house, the town and saw him no more.

Never, nowhere.

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I have not shaved since. It has been two months. I am dirty.