Hotel Anonymous

[Blase]

Hello, ladies.

I was thinking of just writing this up as a story but decided to try it as an RPG because I want genuine input and interaction from the female character. In other words, I want to play with you.

So, what's the game? To start, please pretend that you're emailing an answer to the following adult personal ad. Let me just mention that although it may sound like a setup for a stereotypical BSDM scenario, this is not about whips, chains and spankings but about taking a nice girl and giving her the thrill of having her boundaries pushed and her sensibilities outraged.

Since this is not a group scene and since I'm not a fast writer I will, for now, accept the first lady who REALLY wants to play the girl and ask that everyone else just "watch" or PM me if you have thoughts or suggestions. Once I have a better idea how this will play out, I may open it up to other players. Please be patient for my responses as I cannot be online 24/7 and, again, I do not write with blazing speed.







"I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M DOING THIS!!"

You're the girl whose friends know her as "the shy one"; the "nice one"; the "good girl" - always in control, too reserved to let your hair down and be wild. They know you and that is just not you.

But what if the you who has tagged along with them all these years is not the you they think they know? What if they don't realize that you're just too smart to risk so much with the world watching?

And what if, suddenly, the world wasn't? Watching. And what if, just as suddenly, the control that you've held on to all your life... was just not there?


What if you knew in the back of your mind that there really were limits; that you had set them, but that here and now, someone was speaking and... you were doing what they said, as though you were a mind and body with no will?


"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Because good girls are always in control.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Because good girls have rules.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Because no one's ever seen...


But what if there was no one to see?


What if you were safe and it was only you and it was only him and it was only for you and it was only for him and there was no one else and suddenly you did not need rules? What if suddenly the girl standing there was not the one your friends always thought they knew, but the one you - only you - knew all along?



"Of course I'm not really doing this."

Because a good girl wouldn't think carefully about her limits and email them along with a safe word.

Of course you're not really doing this.




(OOC) My character: "Bill" (Characters are not giving each other their real names)

Age: 39
Height: 5'9"
Build: Athletic

 

[Mystical Avalon]

Arianne

I am writing in response to the online ad you have posted. Where to start, okey, I'm a petite brunette, a little on the shy side, interested in trying new things. I have enclosed the personal information you requested.

She read her response over and over. She could not even think of sending it yet here she was, sitting at her computer, responding to, of all things, am internet personal ad. Arianne knew better. Of course she did. This day and age you didnt just jump out there and say HEY LOOK AT ME. Her life was mundane. Not boring, just typical. Work and home Home and work. Since Todd had left she was single and not wanting anything else. Now she was doing the one thing she felt she shouldnt. Besides, it was all anonymous
right?

 

[Blase]

OOC: please check PM for a couple thoughts that perhaps I should have included in my initial post.

-------------------------------



He logged on to the ad site, telling himself not to get his hopes up but finding his mind racing, anyway, imagining possible responses. That lasted only until he found the most likely response: none at all.

Feeling deflated, he sat back in his chair, berating himself.

Foolish to think in these times that a girl might trust herself, body and soul, to an anonymous stranger. Foolish to think that someone could sense his heart through words on a computer screen.

Still, he knew there must be girls like he had described: girls who had always been "safe", always listened to the cautions of their parents and the voices of their own fears yet secretly longed to cast off their inhibitions and and stand, no, dance unafraid and unashamed - if only they could do it without possibly sacrificing their futures for just that one chance to say, in effect, "Here and now, for you, there are no barriers. There is no shame. Speak your desires and I will be poured out for you."

He laughed at the stilted language even as the thought came, yet it expressed what he so wanted to offer her, if she was out there: an embrace of vulnerability so profound that it was innocent. A chance to, in the midst of throwing away convention, modesty and even volition, be innocence personified.

He sighed. Perhaps tomorrow he would find that someone really had answered. Perhaps she would be sweet and shy, yet nervy enough to take her courage in hand and actually respond, expressing an interest in meeting and giving him some boundaries to work within if they did.

Then, if she really did come, he could show her how little she had anticipated for all her careful, blushing thought. He could be the storm-tossed surf that would not let her keep her feet but continually broke over her and swept her, tumbling head over heels, further and further from the safety of her old shore until she was washed up; spent, naked and newly born; on a new shore of her own that she had never seen before.

He could set them both free.

 

[Mystical Avalon]

She mulled over the simple response.

She knew all she had to do was insert a return email address and over the courses of the wonderful Internet it would be whisked away. Her mother would die, her best friend Bonnie would laugh and tell her what a ninny she was for even considering responding to an ad. Well, what the hell, there were times when you had to take that next step and again she reminded herself it was all anonymous. So she opened up the email page and responded like this:

I am writing in response to the personal ad you placed, I am a mid 20's brunette with brown eyes. On this slim side and petite at 5'4. I am shy and a bit reserved but am interested in trying new things with new pepople. You may return emails to this address. Arianne.

With that said she inserted her email address, suthrncumfrt004@yahoo.com and as her middle finger hovered over the send button, she absentmindedly began chewing her nails. What to do WHAT TO DO? and without another thought, hit send and within a second it disappeared. To late to take it back now.

She wondered how long it would take for the person to respond. Then slapping her forhead she told herself not to be a dope. Not everyone lived on the computer as she had found herself doing more and more after reading the ad. Now all she had to do was wait.

 

[MelancholyBaby]

Allison

OOC: I have been invited to join this thread, thanks for the invite

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For as much as I thought they were foolish I admired my roommates' determination to live out their fantasies everyday, especially on the weekends. More often than not I would be the one summoned at 3:30 in the morning to the door to let my drunken friend in as she had misplaced her key. And the one considerate enough to sit next to her and listen to her recall the evening's events (the ones she wasn't too drunk to remember, anyway.) For as much as I was disgusted and annoyed, there was a small, yet growing more insistent, part of me that was jealous.

I was kind of the mother hen of my three roommates, although I was the second youngest at barely 19. The one who discouraged drinking and gratutious sex. The one who urged my friends to respect themselves and not buy yet another slinky top to go clubbing in. Yet more and more I was feeling like a hypocrite. That's not to say I wanted to fit into their world. I wouldn't, no matter how much I wanted to.

My roommates were, not surprisingly, gone for the night. It was a Friday and to be expected. I would finally be able to study in peace without going to the library. Yet I couldn't concentrate. I heard the chatter and laughing from outside come in with the breeze through my windows, alerting me to the possibility that I could have a life outside of what I had now. I closed my calc text, deciding I would grant myself a few minutes to relax, play a game, anything. I checked my email, finding a funny message from my sister with a link to a personal ad that a friend of ours from high school had placed on the net.

I wondered what kind of people place these ads and began to browse. I adjusted the search criteria a bit, trying to see if there were any nice men who were my aunt Kathy's age. She was the sweetest lady and really deserved a nice guy. I did this for what seemed like an hour, trying different sites, determined to set up my aunt with a nice man. Some ads made me smile, some made me cringe. And then one I had an extremely uncomfortable reaction to. I wanted to write back. I fought with myself to keep from hitting the reply button. After all this guy was certainly older than me and that wouldn't go over well. Yet his words seemed to draw me, they were magnetic and seemed to speak to a part of me I wasn't aware of yet.

"Allie, you're crazy," I muttered under my breath. Yet I couldn't take my eyes off the ad, rereading it over and over, feeling a barren part of me become alive.

"Here and now, for you, there are no barriers. There is no shame. Speak your desires and I will be poured out for you."

And so I did. My three paragraph reply took me almost as much time to write as a three page essay. And then I stopped. Why was I doing this? What would ever result from my reply? I hadn't realized I was up so late until I heard a key turning in the front door and panicked. No one could see this, especially not my roommates. Without thinking I hit send.

It was only later that night after listening to their stories of the evening that I brought myself to look in my sent messages and see what I had sent. One particularly humiliating sentence caught my attention. "I am only writing because I wish to know why I felt compelled to write you."

 

[Blase]

Bill

Suddenly, it seemed to be working too well.

Bill had hoped against hope for a response from someone genuinely nice and genuinely new to the idea of exploring the kinds of thoughts and feelings he was offering the chance to explore. He didn't look down on the BSDM subculture, as he understood it, but the thing was that he didn't really understand it. Leather outfits and calling people "Master" or "Mistress" just seemed like theatre to him, and he had no real interest in causing people pain. Well, maybe just a little.


But Arianne's response made him wonder if she had somehow missed the fact the she was answering an ad in the "Adult" section. It was the kind of response that you made made to an ad that read Let's get together for coffee and to discuss good books, bad punchlines and maybe more.

For all that he was hoping for a certain naivete, the girl would also need a degree of self-possession that would allow her to blush and burn with embarrasment, tremble with shock at the sheer presumption of what was being asked... and, in the very midst of those feelings, to do just as she was bid without hesitation.

Arianne, Bill thought, sounded more likely to run screaming from the room.


Yes, the more he considered it, the more he became convinced that Arianne had innocently wandered into a place where she didn't know the customs.


And there was no question of deceiving her: It just wouldn't bring any kind of result that he wanted.



Still, there was the slightest hope. Perhaps she had seen something in the ad that really did want, on some level, only she wasn't yet ready to consciously admit it to herself.



He sighed, thinking that he was being as bad as the stereotypical guy who wouldn't take the hint; the guy who wouldn't stop calling until he had been not just brushed off but hung up on, cursed to his face and kneed in the groin.


But there it was. The only answer was a mix of honesty and something that Bill had never been particularly adept at: good old-fashioned seduction.


If you want somebody, set her free, he thought wryly, and began to type...




-----------------------------------------------------------------------



Hello, Arianne.

Thank you for your kind and sincere response to my personal ad. You sound like someone who would be well worth getting to know.

I do have some concern, however, that you may not have noticed every aspect of the ad. The very last thing I would want is for you to be unpleasantly surprised because of any interaction with me, therefore I feel I should suggest that you read my ad again.

It is actually directed toward ladies who wish to explore certain aspects of their psyches in an environment that is, but does not necessarily feel, safe. Almost everyone experiences a certain tension between who they are on the inside, and who they seem to be - the face that, for various reasons, they feel that they have to show to the world. Many, probably most people are pretty comfortable with this. After all, that dichotomy is essentially the basis of what we call civilization.

But there are some people for whom that disconnect becomes a question whose importance grows with time: One that finally will not let them rest until they at least seek an answer to it... Who am I, really? Am I good? What am I good for?

Admittedly, for some the question does not go that deep. Some people just want to know what they'd really be like if they could ever bring themselves to let their hair down.


So, Arianne, my sincere apologies if my ad seemed to be anything other that what it was. That was not my intent.

You are quite welcome to write me back, but I will certainly understand if you do not wish to.


Respectfully,

Bill

 

[Mystical Avalon]

When she opened her email she saw the response there. Slightly excited she opened it and read what it held. She was shocked. That was not the ad she has responded to was it? But ultimately she felt like and idiot at responding at all.

There was something in that simple paragraph. The ad she thought she responded to was an ad that simply asked who are you? Sighing, she wandered deep in her mind if there was some reason she had flubbed up. Hell, this went to prove that even taking a little risk was a bad thing for her. She threw up her hands and quickly hit the reply button.

Bill,
I was under the impression that the ad was for people to meet anonymously and explore the nature of relationshipsbetween men and women in a new way. My regrets if I did midunderstand.

I would like to offer my sincere apologies if I lacked the imagination you seek. Please allow me to offer another apologie as to taking up any of your time.

Regretfully,

Arianne.

And again she hit send and the magic of the net swept it off and into cyber space.

 

[Blase]

Bill

Nineteen.

Bills eyes kept going back to the telegraphic description in Allison's reply: 19/f/Humbert Junction. And the height and weight she listed would give her a girlish figure. Coltish, to use a word that only seemed to occur in novels rather than actual speech.

Allison. Allie. Allie the hottie.



Fool and fool again, he thought fiercely. Not just foolish but borderline insane to think that after a lifetime of disappointments, a lifetime of chimeras, someone so seemingly perfect would just pop into his mailbox.

But that ludicrous hope was about all that he had left...


God, 39 years old.


Thirty-nine years old.


In his teens and early twenties, with the wonder of what the sight of girls in jeans and t-shirts could do to a male still a fresh revelation, Bill had naturally known that it couldn't get any stronger than right then; in the full flow of youth and strength. And of course in the back of his mind he had known that in some far distant day, perhaps in his thirties when his wife and family and the trappings of a life well-lived surrounded him and inevitably took up time and energy, even though they were his natural reward; that flow would start to falter. Sex (not that he was actually getting it, yet) and even sexual feelings would become less intense; his relationship with his wife would become more about being comfortable together than passionate - and of course school-age girls would all look more or less like daughters to him: hardly objects of lust to a man who had done ok back in his day, thank you very much, and then gone on to get the house, the riding mower and the dog.




Now he knew better.


The feelings weren't less intense.


And now, they hurt.



Now, along with the lust that had been there from the start, his hormones had added a new message to be routed directly to his body before his brain ever got a crack at it: We're dying. She can restore us. She can save us.


The bitch of it was that it just might be true.




Not that Bill was literally dying, at least the way that was usually meant. But there had been some problems with those early dreams...




Socially inept, slow-to-fledge teenagers could be found in every neighborhood in America, but they mostly grew out of in their twenties, if not even sooner: College could do wonderful things for Daddy's girl or Momma's boy.

Unless you went to college and still kept to yourself.

Unless the shyness and just plain difference that had worked so well to keep you isolated in high school carried right over, because you didn't know how else to be, and no one was offering to show you.


Unless you were perhaps the only college student in the world who didn't know that half of college was about having sex. And definitely the only one who never had a clue what Spring Break was all about until years after you graduated, when "Girls Gone Wild" was suddenly in your living room every evening promptly at 12:30, for half an hour, to show you what you'd missed.




Bill shook himself to dispel the reverie. It could have been worse: He had eventually found a decent job; even blundered into losing his virginity.

But that short-lived, dysfunctional relationship, though it had taught him some very useful things and allowed him to finally stop feeling (completely) like the freak that no one wanted, had not taught him nearly enough.

In his younger days he'd just been stuck. Now, he was lopsided: A man just entering middle age; with a lively intellect, a kind manner, a wicked sense of humor - and a secret lust for every teenage and college-age girl he saw.


And it wasn't getting any better. Bill was terrified that, after another few years of reflexively shutting down his every impulse concerning the opposite sex, he'd one day wake up to find that he'd finally degenerated into one of those strange, rotund, mumbling little gnomes who had to get their thrills by putting their hands up girls' skirts on the subway.



Unless.

Unless he could find just one person. One girl. One special girl to be all the girls who he hadn't been able to get; all the girls who, through the combination of shyness, awkwardness, and just plain ineptness he had managed to scare away or keep from even coming close in the first place.

Someone who would not condemn him for his lust.

Someone who could could see that look in his eye, that male look that said nothing else but I'm going to work my will on you, and accept it; accept him.


Then perhaps he could finally be free. Free to grow into a whole person.


A whole man.



But no one would give him such a gift out of generosity, he knew. That was why he had to find someone who needed him as much as he needed her.


Bill did not need to hurt anyone but, God help him, he needed to take.


What he had to find was someone who needed to be taken from.






--------------------------------------------------------------------------------





Allison,

Never having met you, I can't tell you what it was about my ad you found compelling.

But let me describe someone; a girl; and see if she resembles anyone you know:


She wears sensible shoes. If she's still in school, she mostly gets good grades. If she has a job, she shows up on time and does it well. She's solid.

She's almost always safe because all of her risks are carefully calculated. She knows exactly where her limits are.


She knows exactly where she stops.


Except, now and again, she wonders exactly what it is that stops when she does. Does risk stop right there and safety catch her surely in its arms before she even jumps? Or could that safety be an illusion? Is it possible that it is just a crutch?

Yes, sometimes with her nose pressed to the glass, watching her friends, she wonders; and mixed metaphors be damned.


I cannot answer her questions either.

But I can suggest a place and a way for her to look.

The place is, in general terms, with me. I can be a little more specific if she really wants to know.

The way is to let go. Completely. Utterly.

Just DROP her hard-won control... into my hands.




Allison, I think you just may be that girl. I think your questions and hers may be all of a piece.



But now I have done about all I can for you through the magic of email.

Not much, I admit.

Not much at all, compared to the risk I'm asking you to take.


So let me make what little reparation I can. Let the first risk be mine.

Allison, I want you to write back to me. I want us to meet as two real people, in the way I've described.

I think we have a lot to offer each other.


But let me be frank. If one of us has much more to offer the other, it is you who have much more to offer me.

And now, believe it or not, something very important of mine is in your hands.


Bill

 

[MelancholyBaby]

Allison

I had the strangest feeling about what I had just done. Sure it was anonymous. Sure no one I knew would know that I had sent it. There would be no knowing glances. He didn't know who I was. And I didn't know who he was. Yet he did know who I was, I felt that surely his advertisement had been written exclusively to me. He was probably inundated with emails now. He probably wouldn't notice the one from me, from meek little Allison. And he was probably old enough to be my dad, that would probably be the end of any chance I had. "No, Allie, give it up," I said to myself. "Find yourself someone nice. That boy from church, he was nice...what was his name, Alex, Alec, something like that. His parents know my parents and..." I trailed off, clearly having to convince myself too much for me to comfortable with the idea. Yet the email...despite my brain interfering with the words that seemed to flow from a part of me I wasn't familiar with...that took no convincing. Yet it wasn't right. It couldn't be. Because it alluded to something darker. Something unfamiliar. Something so unlike me.

I took one last look at the email I had sent before deleting it. There. Gone. I even went to the trash, deleting it out of there. No evidence. Nothing for me to obsess over any longer. I went back and deleted the bookmark I had placed on his ad. It would be as if I never read it , as if I never wondered what it could have meant, as if I never had to wonder what would have become of it. I turned off my computer and went to bed, praying that sleep would wash over me quickly and erase any vestiges of this night from my memory.

Well...I did fall asleep quickly. But I didn't forget. I sat up straight in bed, my eyes moving to my computer before I had even looked at my clock to see the time. "Allison stop it," I grumbled as I collapsed on the bed, "What is wrong with you?" What did I have to do to just put this out of my mind? I pushed the pink sheets off me and stepped out of bed, my feet slipping into the slippers which I had placed neatly by my bed the night before. They, of course, were pink and a match to my nightgown and robe. I could hear the faint sound of the television coming from the living room, my roommates must already be up.

I looked at my computer. Usually it was just a necessity of life. Checking emails, doing homework, chatting with friends and family...now it was becoming magnetic...pulling at me, finding the charged part of me that responded to it. And I hadn't even turned it on yet.

And I wouldn't. I had things to do. Studying to do. And I had wasted enough time on this.

So I began my day. Showering, breakfast, cleaning. My Saturday routine. And then I would go to the library. Saturdays were always busy at my apartment. I needed quiet to study. And then tomorrow would be church and my usual call to my family and more studying. Maybe I would have lunch with my roommates. We sometimes did that together.
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I didn't enjoy their company. They were sweet girls. I just didn't understand them. And maybe I was jealous of their carefree existence. Their pleasure-driven lifestyle. So unlike my own. I packed the last of my books into my backpack, preparing for the short walk to the library. And then I remembered. My biology professor was supposed to post an extra credit project on blackboard. I hadn't checked it. My hands a bit shaky I turned my computer on. It seemed to take hours to boot up.

He had written back. I read the message once..then again and again. I looked down at my sensible shoes to confirm he was indeed writing to me. He was. I was a little disturbed at all of the assumptions he made about me. Safety an illusion, a crutch? It was my way of life, they way I had been raised, the way it worked for me. Lots of people were safe. My parents. Their parents. Happily married and fulfilled. So why couldn't it work for me, too? He was completely wrong. Totally. What a jerk assuming that about me. He didn't even know me.

And then there was this little voice that said he did. The little voice of the little girl who stood with her face pressed against the glass, fascinated yet afraid of what is going on outside. And he wanted to take me outside. In person.

I closed the email in disgust. What if he was some kind of sicko? Ugly and fat and with no teeth and a criminal record. Or what if he was just like me? My matching puzzle piece? I buried my head in my hands, trying to think. Feeling my brain and another unidentified part of me argue with each other. And then I remembered.

It had been such a long time ago that I had almost forgotten. My grandpa and I had gone on a picnic. And he had told me about life. About love. And about regret. "Allie," he said, "You know your way. You have everything figured out. You'll know everything about school and about your job. Just don't forget to get so caught up with that learning that you forget to learn about yourself, like your gramps did." He had been a professor at a prestigious university, and an author; writing several books on early Christianity. Yet sometimes I felt that he had something buried. Something he wanted to forget about but couldn't. He was a little different from the rest of my family. Maybe that was why we got along so well together.

I could almost hear his voice in my ears. And so I wrote. It was simple, yet eloquent. I simply said "When?"

 

[Blase]

Bill

When?


Any fisherman would recognize the difference between Allison's first email and her second, Bill thought. It was the difference between a nibble and a solid bite.


What to do about it?


Part of Bill's concern was still his fear of getting his hopes up. But there was also the fact that Allison was 19 and had just agreed to meet him alone without setting any conditions of her own.

He wasn't sure she understood the rules. In fact, he knew that she didn't completely understand, yet.



Bill passed a hand over his face. Damn ethics, anyway.


But this wasn't about tricking an innocent girl into a darkened room and then assaulting her.

He wasn't about that.


No, as much as Bill needed Allison to be naive about specifics, her basic knowledge of the situation had to be the truth.


He had invited her. She would come only if she wanted to. Only because she wanted to. And she would stay for the same reason, or not at all.


And he would make sure, without being harsh, that she came understanding that this was a situation with one basic rule:

Conversation aside, he would speak, then she would act... because he had spoken and it was now time for her to act. Because that was the way it was, then and there.


Unless she said the word that would end everything immediately. The word that would mean Bill had to let her go.






--------------------------------------------------------------------------





Thank you for writing back, Allison.

I am looking forward to our meeting and will do everything I can to help you ease into a novel situation.


Let me start with a time and place. I trust you are familiar with the Hotel Baudelaire in the business district? You may not have actually stayed there, since it's pretty close to where you live, but chances are you know right where it is. The hotel itself is grand: One of those buildings that have a real "presence". And the people who run it do not skimp on the fine points. Every hotel trumpets their unparalleled service until you need something you don't already have after 10:00 pm.

If you will, come to the Baudelaire two nights from tonight, on Friday evening. If you come to Room 512 at 8:00 pm, you will find me waiting.



There are a just few things to mention.


First - Please don't think I am patronizing you, but the ad you answered was not a general "dating" ad and I need to be sure that you understand the kind of situation that is being offered.

We talked about you having the chance to explore certain things by voluntarily giving up "control". Let me emphasize that this means in a safe environment. Which it is my job to provide.


The way that I can give you both the freedom and the safety to explore somewhat beyond what you may think of as your limits is through what might be called a modified version of Simon Says.



No, I'm not kidding.



If you've ever taken an acting class, you may be familiar with the "improv games" that actors use to explore, not just characters and scenes, but new emotions and physicalities. Many of these games involve the actors taking directions from each other: For example, in one called "I see you as...", one actor tells the other that he sees him as, say, a fish; and the second actor then has to find an action or a gesture to interpret that idea.

The game I'm talking about has elements of improv games and elements of Simon Says. It is simply a mutual agreement that, if I give you a direction, you will follow it to the best of your ability.


The biggest difference is the object of the game.

In Simon Says, of course, you're competing with other players while "Simon" is trying to trick you into making a mistake, thereby getting you "out".


You will not be competing with anyone, except perhaps yourself, in a certain sense.

I will not be trying to get you out.



My commitment to you within the game is threefold:


To keep you safe.

To help you move beyond your comfort zone.

To let go immediately if you indicate to me that the game has gone beyond what you consider acceptable.



To that last end, it's customary for the person taking direction to choose a signal, typically a word, that is easily given but not easily confused with anything else. If the signal is given, the director absolutely must let go of his "control" at once and make sure that the other person is comfortable and safe.

Since this ends the game, the ideal is for the signal never to be used, which is why it's important for both the director and the "subject" to be on the same wavelength. The best games do not end until both parties feel that they have gotten what they wanted from the game.



So, Allison, you need to have a good feeling both about the game... and about me.

To borrow a line from Shreck, my question to you is, "Really?"

And your answer needs to be, "Really, really(!)"



If it is, then we can start right now.


I promised that I would do as much as I could to help you step into this very new situation. I'll begin by making things simpler for you and helping you get into the spirit of the game -


I claim the right to choose the evening's theme.

I think that you will be surprised and, I hope, pleased by the theme I choose.


That theme is "Allison Meets the World at Her Boldest".


Are you surprised? The only way that "giving up control" means anything is if you do it from a position of strength.


Thus your first instructions are as follows:

When you get up on Friday morning, before you go and do anything else, stand beside your bed and s-t-r-e-t-c-h. Stand on your tiptoes, arch your back, spread your fingers and reach for the ceiling like a tree reaching for the sun.

Then go open the nearest window that you can and look out at the morning of the world.

Your world, Allison.

As you go through your day, keep your head up and a spring in your step. Think Boldness.


And remember your plans for that night.

A trip downtown. A grand hotel. Someone new to meet who thinks that you have something special.



My last instruction for now is a very simple yet elegant "Allison Meets the World at Her Boldest" outfit, which should be easily found among your wardrobe and consists of exactly and only the following:

Wristwatch, if you normally wear one.

Earrings, if you wish. If worn, they must be ones that make you feel confident and feminine.

A "party dress": This must be a dress that it makes you feel good to wear and in which you can move freely. Simple is fine, but again our watchwords are confident and feminine.

Er, any pair of panties which does not impede your movement and which you feel good wearing. *blushes*

Sensible shoes and socks. (Humor me on this one.)




A female friend of mine likes to say, "A woman knows."

I've done the best I can to share with you something that has grown on me through our brief correspondence: the feeling that each of us may just hold something that will make the other more complete. And that even in the giving we may make ourselves more whole.

"A woman knows."

So, again, Allison...


Really?

 

[MelancholyBaby]

Allison

With a bit of reluctance I turned my computer off and headed to the library. Despite all of its attractiveness on some level I couldn't let this interfere in the person I was. I still had class and family and responsibilities. I wouldn't abandon them to spend my day obsessively checking my email. I checked my watch, I was on right on time to catch the shuttle. I decided against it. The walk to and from campus was relatively brief but good exercise for a sunny and temperate day. And that is kinda what I needed right now. A chance to clear my mind. Get fresh air. Think.

Saying goodbye to my roommates I began the journey to campus. I looked down at the sidewalk when I was walking for a minute, catching a glimpse of my athletic shoes poking out of from underneath my jeans. Sensible. Bought for comfort, walking. Not for style. Besides my jeans hid most of them anyway. So what did it matter what they looked like? Did it matter that they were cute if they made my feet hurt or gave me blisters? And then I realized how stupid I sounded, justifying to myself why I bought this pair of shoes.

I looked up to the sky now, I admired its vastness. Its freedom. The way the clouds danced and morphed into infinite shapes; changing, dynamic. The way they could look so many different ways, be so many colors and yet always maintain their identity as clouds. I guess people could do that to an extent. I guess I just envied it so much because I couldn't. I was Allison now, I had been the same Allison forever.

After spending a couple of hours in the library, daydreaming more than studying, it was time for my econ class. It was one of my favorite classes, actually. It was self-evident. Yes, of course, so many things were driven by consumers and their whims...but at the same time the behavior had the potential to be explained, to be modeled and understood. Consumers choose a product based on factors x, y, z, etc. I liked that. Their preferences were explainable. But MY preferences were not explainable in this case. Such as why I had responded to the letter. Why I had agreed, at least initially, to meet.

I took the shuttle back to my apartment, impatient with thinking. I was thinking too much. We would watch movies tonight, I decided. Clueless. Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion. We would watch movies and order pizza and we would not think of anything except why we love these movies so much.

My roommates were not back from class yet. I checked my email, hoping there would be something, hoping there would be nothing.

There was something.

The Hotel Baudelaire. My parents had taken me to brunch in their restaurant one Saturday when they visited. It was beautiful. A little more ornate than I was used to, I was happy at the Holiday Inn. What a wonderful, elegant place for a first meeting. I furrowed my brow a bit. “No, Allie, it isn‘t. It’s a hotel. And we’re not on vacation. You don’t go meet a guy in his hotel room, an innocent “Hi, how are you” meeting. You meet a guy in a hotel room to do something related to sex. And whether you want to admit it yourself, Allie, you knew when you responded with a simple “When” where this was going.” My inner voice was firm and unforgiving..

I felt so…bad. So slutty. I felt like Hester from the Scarlet Letter only I had an “S” on instead of an “A.” But I doubted that even with that shame; that guilt over having desired something sexual would stop me from continuing things with him. I felt like such a hypocrite, here I was Little Miss Abstinence, chastising my roommates for their liasons when I was about to go meet a guy in a hotel for the first time ever and probably end up sleeping with him. But I also felt like a woman, too. Like I had finally aged and instead of a little girl looking out the window wistfully I finally find the door and let myself out into the world as a woman.

I almost wish a bit he hadn’t elaborated on the game. It would have been one thing to go on for the next few days with the secret knowledge that I will be with someone on Friday. Instead I figured I would be experiencing a whole lot more than that. And that curiosity exacerbated my anticipation which was already becoming a burden to me.

As I read more I felt my sensibilities oscillate back and forth. I found the kindness and understanding in his words. Yet I also detected something a bit darker. Likening our meeting to a game. And then instructing me in what to wear. I may have not been the trendiest girl but I could dress myself well and I did. Every last item of clothes. "Next thing he will be telling me what kind of underwear and bra to wear," I mused. And, to my surprise, my prediction came true. He was telling me what panties to wear.

Most of the time the boys I knew wouldn’t have noticed anything I was wearing unless it was a leather bustier with a red mini skirt and stiletto heels. Oh, and if they got close enough they may have been excited by the single thong I had bought once a dare from a friend. But no one had ever specifically asked me dress nicely, in a somewhat modest, if not suggestive manner. I became a little embarrassed as I felt the tiny beginnings of a wet spot in my panties. Why for this?

While I was certainly not a virgin sex was not something I was particularly enthused about, that is until now. I more or less was curious and wanted to try it and had with two of my steady boyfriends. It didn’t thrill me. It was, in fact, painful some of the time. But there was a little part of me that held out hope that more pleasurable experiences would be on the horizon. I just didn’t expect them to come at the hands of anonymous person I knew nothing about who I would meet in three days.

I hit the reply button and paused, trying to calm the chaotic waves of emotions that washed over me, trying to cool the small fire which his words had kindled deep within my womanhood. A part of me, so barren and arid before, now felt like an ideal place for an abundant, vibrant garden. And so at this moment I had to decide what to do. Do I simply go about cultivating my small, neat garden as I did now…or do I take a chance with a new garden; one whose lush growth would leave me breathless and satisfied. I moved my hands to the keyboard knowing full well what I planned to do.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Bill,

I, too, am looking forward to our meeting. I appreciate your candor in letting me know in more detail what I am to expect should I decide to meet you. I believe I understand now, as completely as I can without being physically in the room with you, what you expect of me and what I can expect of you.

And….

Really, Bill, really!

Allison

PS: I would like my signal/word to be spider. I hate bugs.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hit send and felt a sense of calm about my decision. Maybe not exactly in what my decision…but the fact that I had made a decision, period. I printed out the email and quickly grabbed it from the paper tray as I heard my roommate’s chatter from the other room. I tucked it away into my assignment book, waiting to reread it until later.

I tried to put it out of my mind then. Reading the already well worn paper just made my anticipation too great to bear. I would just have to put it from my mind and fill my mind up with other things. But finally Thursday night I decided to give the next day’s events the attention they deserved.

I slipped into my pajamas and slippers and walked to my closet, one hand rifling through the garments while the other held the email. I needed to make sure I had something appropriate to wear, and if I did I had to make sure it was clean. Sometimes my roommates were in the habit of borrowing my clothes. I didn’t mind this, but sometimes they didn’t get them back to me in a timely manner. I skimmed over my dresses, my eyes finally coming to rest upon the dress I would wear tomorrow. I nodded my head silently, checking the dress of the list. Having the right dress was perhaps my greatest worry.

I climbed into bed then, relaxing, feeling the cool air from my open window caress my skin. It was quite early for me to go to bed but the sooner I ended today the sooner tomorrow would begin. Tomorrow. Just what would happen tomorrow? What could happen? What would happen? What did I want to happen? I didn’t speculate now. I would never get to sleep if I speculated now. But I would need to think about it tomorrow.

The sun’s gentle rays awoke me the next morning. Pushing back the covers I stepped out of my bed. Neglecting my slippers I stood on my tiptoes and reached for the heavens; my back arched, my fingers stretched as far as I could. I marveled at the way it made me feel. Not just the usual effects of stretching…the little buzz you get from that…but the fact that it had caused me to be…wet. I shivered at the sensation. I wasn’t used to feeling that way. Especially from doing something so blatantly nonsexual. But I did. I was doing as he asked. That had to be the catalyst to my unusual reaction. I walked the few short steps to my window and peered out…noticing the blue sky, the sounds of the birds, the life that existed. “Soon I’ll be with you,” I whispered to the dynamic, alive earth.

The day managed to pass by rather quickly, despite the fact that I only had two classes on Fridays, but I had plenty to do in the library to be caught up so that I could go out and play tonight. I convinced myself that I must, at least, do that. You can play so long as you don’t mess up any other area of your life. I decided to head home at 4:30 to begin preparations for the evening’s events. To my delight, my roommates weren't at the apartment when I arrived home. I didn't need the whole "And who are YOU seeing tonight" business from them.

I undressed and stepped into the shower, thinking about all the things I would need to do to prepare for tonight. The requisite shaving, of course, but there was one area I wasn’t sure about. I kept myself neatly trimmed, not for a sexual purpose but I did like to go swimming and that made wearing a swimsuit all the more comfortable. But I knew some girls shaved there…but I couldn’t. I would look too obvious. Too overly slutty. If it really mattered he would have mentioned it. And besides, as I reminded myself, he may not be seeing it anyway. I hadn’t decided that yet.

I went about getting ready. Content with the way my face and hair looked I smiled at myself in the mirror and made my way to my dresser. Opening my underwear draw I looked longingly at my bras, folded neatly in the drawer, then looked toward the other side where I kept my panties. I rummaged through them a bit, trying to find the special pair I had in mind. My favorite ones. Even if he didn’t end up seeing them…I would know they were there and they were so cute I couldn’t help but feel pretty when wearing them. I finally saw the little pink bow peeking from between the others and pulled them out,. They were extremely feminine, baby pink, almost like a string bikini. Modest except around the hips where only a thin pink strap held them together. Pink bows were on the end of the strap toward the front. I just adored them. So cute. So me. I closed the drawer before I had any second thoughts about following his directions about not wearing a bra by virtue of exclusion.

I slid them on moved to my closet, where I carefully removed the dress from its hanger and then put it on. It had short sleeves, a gentle empire waist and a full skirt that cascaded down to about the level of my knees. It was my favorite color, pink, with tiny little flowers on it. The dress, while not as sophisticated as some others I have, was fun and comfortable to me. The style attracted attention to my breasts which were also attracting *my* attention. While I was used to not wearing a bra to bed I was absolutely not used to wearing a bra with real clothes. Pajama tops were so different, much softer, gentler; less stiff against your nipples. I prayed that no one would see the way they protruded against the fabric of my dress. I prayed they would quit protruding. “Calm down, Allie,“ I whispered. “No one will see as long as it’s not cold or you don’t get excited.“ I wasn’t very good at lying to myself, though.

I paired the dress with a pair of pink anklets I had and mary-jane style black flats. The look was overall quite youthful but, then again, I was still young and could get away with it. I found the pair of pearl studs in my jewelry box and placed them in my ears. Next I took out special gold watch and clasped it around my wrist, myself complete. Ready to meet. Allison at her boldest.

I, of course, had budgeted way too much time on getting ready, being late the most horrifying prospect , so I had some time to sit down before leaving. I slid off my dress as not to wrinkle it and pulled my robe on, sitting on my bed, unfolding the little piece of paper that was his email, reading it once again. I felt an unfamiliar stirring between my legs, a warmth that I wasn’t comfortable with. “Allison, stop it, you’re going to mess up your panties. C’mon.” My words did nothing to cool the beginnings of the flame.

I wondered what would be happening…an hour from now, two hours from now. Would I have reinforced what I had learned from every other sexual encounter I’ve had in my life? That feeling of this “Is this all there is?” Or would it be different? Would he allow me to explore all of the hidden things that I didn’t know about yet? He could lead me down this path that others could not. I wouldn’t and couldn’t do it myself.

I tried to close my eyes and imagine. I couldn’t give into him at first. What kind of girl would he take me for? But yet…playing coy would waste precious time. It was given that something would happen. I looked at the clock one last time. It was time to go. I gave myself one last approving glance in the mirror before leaving for the Hotel Baudelaire.

The business district was suprisingly easy to get to and quite lively at this time on a Friday night. The Hotel Baudelaire seemed to be at its heart and when I arrived I just stood outside it for a moment, admiring the fountain near the entrance, the architecture...its boldness. I looked at my watch. It was 7:52. I hurried in the large glass doors, oblivious to the staff that greeted me, my attention solely focused on finding the elevator. I finally did.

The elevator seemed to stop at every floor until it reached the fifth. And then I was there. The anticipation and the apprehension and the awakening…all rolled into this minute. I found the room and stood in front of the door, wishing my eyes could see through it…could see into the man who was on the other side. I took a deep breath, collected myself, remembered the confident Allison I was supposed to be. And then I knocked on the door. I am ready. Really, really.

 

[Blase]

Bill (Flashback to Thursday Night)

Really, Bill, really!

Bill read the words for the 20th time and snorted, thinking And how lame was that?

But he wasn't thinking about Allison's email.

What he thought was lame was that he had been desperate enough to reference an animated movie in an attempt to seduce a teenager.



God, what if she's just too young?

What if she just doesn't get it?



He had imagined that, if he ever actually got to the point of sending a final instruction email to a girl, she would be someone who was responding strongly to the idea of the game.

Allison, however, seemed to be responding mostly to him.

That was why, instead of the dark, seductive tone that he'd had in mind all along, he'd wound up talking about acting classes, morning stretches and loveable ogres.


He had a bad feeling about just who might soon wind up playing the role of Donkey.


But there was really no choice, anymore. He had to play out the scene he'd written for himself and hope that Allison really was the girl he was looking for: one who was making some of the same mistakes that he had, at an earlier age, and needed a push.

Because it was all he had to offer.


Bill was good at control. When he'd been young, too much control had helped to shape him into what he'd become.

Now, with the perspective of experience, he hoped that he saw a way to use his facility with control both to exorcise his personal demons and to show a young girl how to leave the safety of her self-made walls and learn to embrace life before her heart became calcified and hardened.


Sometimes, a person needed the permission of being unequivocally ordered to do...exactly what they wished to do, if only they could admit it to themselves.

He hoped that Allison would understand.

 

[Blase]

Allison

The sound of Allison's knock died away.

A two-second eternity passed.

Then there was a male voice from the other side of the door:

"Allison?"

"Yes!"

"The door's open! Just please leave your shoes and socks outside in the hall!"


Allison had a quick mind: The thought that flashed through it now was Leaving my sensible shoes outside...

But before the thought was complete she found herself moving to kick off her shoes and shuck her socks, balling the latter up and placing them inside the sensible shoes, leaving all by the door.


The door appeared to have an old-fashioned lock, rather than the keycard mechanism that modern hotels all seemed to use for security's sake. There was a handle instead of a knob: she pushed it down easily, the latch clicked and the door swung inward at the slightest pressure from her hand.



She took a step into the room and, suddenly, found herself dazzled by a camera's flash.


"Allison."

"Hi. I'm Bill."

 

[Blase]

Bill

Allison blinked a couple times, said "Hi" uncertainly.

Behind her, the door softly clicked shut.



"Pardon the unexpected photography", Bill began, "but I wanted to catch you in the moment of stepping over the threshold, so to speak. I'll see that you have a copy of that and any other pictures before you leave."

"Oh."

She still sounded uncertain.

"Thanks."



The camera work was very much a test. Bill was positive that it had never entered Allison's mind that she might be photographed, and even surer that she'd immediately wonder what would be done with the images. Her unpreparedness and lack of control of the situation, aside from the ability to end things by using her safeword, were exactly what Bill needed Allison to realize.


The game required that Allison be vulnerable, of course, but in saying yes to Bill without any qualifications, she'd left herself even more open than he'd expected.

The possibilities were exquisite, but the question was, once it really hit home that she stood before a stranger, an older man who intended not to court her, but simply to inform her of what she would do and expect her to immediately act on his instructions, just how far her instinctive trust of Bill would extend.

If she couldn't trust him enough to accept the situation and embrace the profound submission that was being asked, it was better that her nerve break now rather than later.



"So, first things first", Bill said briskly. "Are you comfortable? Is there anything you need? The bathroom, maybe?"


"I think I'm alright."


Allison's tone belied her words, but Bill didn't comment on it.



"Well, let's take a look at you, Miss Allison in her party dress. Can you turn around for me?"

Bill's index finger made a small circle in the air, indicating a complete turn. Allison obliged with a slow twirl while he watched.



It was worth watching. Bill had noted Allison's girl-next-door pretty face and dark, shoulder-length hair as soon as she'd entered the room. And her dress, though hardly immodest, fit quite well enough to show that it covered a slender, feminine form.


Actually, neither the dress not Allison could help themselves, because Allison was at that time in her life when whatever she wore could only show the simple truth of a womanhood just coming into flower.

At times, Allison would secretly hope, or wish, that she were sexy; not realizing that the truth was much more basic. She was sex.


She spun now, her dress clinging enough to give Bill a good view of her figure in profile, then continued the turn while the dress flared, the hem lifting just enough to flash a bit of thigh, the top of the skirt showing the curve of her rear. A second later she was facing Bill again.


"Very nice."

Bill snapped another picture.




"So, Miss Allison, who just stepped barefoot into a new world, let's have a look at things, shall we?"


Allsion's eyes grew a bit bigger at the ambiguous phrasing. Bill had noticed those eyes, too. Brown, complimenting her dark hair, they appeared a little large and wonderfully expressive.


Just at the moment, they were starting to look a bit frightened.


"Let me give you the thirty-second tour."


Bill gestured for Allison to join him where he stood. She took two and a half steps, stopping about three feet away.


Bill stepped to within arm's reach of her and started pointing out the room's blend of modern features with old-fashioned touches; a huge window in the far wall that was currently curtained against the night, a high-end stereo system in a cherrywood cabinet, a kitchenette partitioned off to one side, a couple small tables and upholstered chairs in convenient places, a king-sized fourposter bed.


Allison's eyes darted around, trying to take things in as Bill pointed them out, but seeming to have trouble following everything.



Bill suddenly reached out and caught Allison's wrist. She started at the unexpected contact and her eyes became almost wild.


"Allison, you're trembling."

Bill waited a moment for an answer that didn't come.

"Here, let's sit down for a minute."


He lead her to the bed, since that was the only piece of furniture in the room with space for both of them, sat her down and then sat himself, no longer touching her.

Allison still looked frightened. Bill watched her expression and spoke gently:

"Can you tell me what's wrong, Allison?"


She started trembling even harder and didn't answer right away. Bill almost spoke again, but then she started stammering:

"I- I thought I- This is stupid- I'm sorry, I-"


"Allison."


The use of her name as an imperative stopped her; got her to look at him.

"Will you let me hold you?"



Bill was careful not to move towards her, but just when he thought she wouldn't, she scooted up against him and let him put his arms around her.


Bill held Allison and felt her shaking like a leaf. She wasn't crying, so he didn't try to shush her, but he did let one hand carefully stroke her long hair.


Feeling Allison's fear against his body, Bill knew what he had to do.



It was wrong. He had been wrong. He had brought an innocent girl here, and now she was afraid.

It was Bill's turn to stumble over his words:

"Allison, I didn't... You can't be here if you're scared. Look, I'm the one who's sorry, I..."



In his mind he was already hearing her apologize again before she fled from him; seeing her turn the corner of the hall as she headed for the elevator and then the front entrance; the doorway to the street and out of his life. He started to silently bid goodbye to his hopes and dreams as well as the girl in his arms.


It hardly registered when she drew back from him a little, until he felt the slight pressure of her grip and realized that she had not completely broken contact but instead had placed her small hands within his own.


He looked back at her, then, and found those brown eyes regarding him. The fear that he had seen in them so recently was either gone or hidden. In place of that raw emotion, there were now two distinct expressions readable in her gaze; both of them looks that could really only be given by a woman to a man.

One meant That's enough of that. The other meant There are things that I don't know, yet. I want to learn about them now.


"You", she said, "are going to be so surprised."