(23 pics with this post....because I can...)
Thank god I got around to putting my teenage angst to bed when I did… there’s so much to enjoy about being a human being. We’re such wonderfully *quirky* creatures.
And we get the freedom to play around with such cool stuff, while sussing out our particular, individual quirks: our identity, our personal philosophies, our sexuality…
our imagination! Such a richly abundant, wonderfully wild and inexhaustible playground to explore! I’m getting all excited just thinking about it as my fingers dance over this keyboard.
Lady to blogosphere, Lady to blogosphere… do you read me? That’s just *stupid*. Over. But the truth of the matter is, if you, dear reader, suffer from this ailment to some extent, this gal can’t hold it against you. How can we possibly be entirely comfortable with an aspect of ourselves that we cannot openly speak and inquire of? Well a resounding round of applause for the internet: here we are, bouncing around a blog domain, free to discuss whatsoever we wish without any fear of judgment or directed aggression, safe in our anonymity.
Fasten your seatbelt...and for godsake, just relax and bear with me. The conclusion, when stripped of socio-sexual paranoia, is actually just lovely. Well, that’s to say, I’m happy with it. And I guess that’s all that really matters.
So-ho... Our man Freud describes, very ascertainingly, that dreams and fantasies are “the true powers of our psychic life”. My knowledge of psychoanalytic theory in its most cogent form gives me no reason to contest this…
It being the coldest autumn (now knee-deep in winter) we’ve had in a long time, I’ve been, er, indulging in a lot of fantasizing before tucking myself in for the night.
And I couldn’t help but notice that I’ve ended up sticking to a very, very particular one, one that’s helped keep me *warm* and *happy* since I hit my teens. And so I resolved to take a closer look at it, and at myself, to discern my psycho-sexual profile. The prize at the end of this post, is a description of Lady Lipstick’s *favourite fantasy* in detail, so don’t freak out when I tell you right now that it turns out that I’m carting around the “unconscious incestual fantasy” in my profile.
This does not mean I want to “get it on” with members of my family. Freud, and many psychoanalysts after him, make a very clear distinction between this fantasy and the actual, harmful act. Clinical analysis has proven that, rather than the detrimental reality of incest, this unconscious fantasy merely affects one’s sexuality…as regards the appearance of the people one is attracted to, the sexual play one indulges in with one’s partner, the behaviour one displays within a relationship, the ideal sexual self-portrait one aspires to... Nothing wrong with all that as far as I’m concerned. Now, there are many, many variations of the manifestation of this particular fantasy and for the sake of brevity and getting to the part of this post that I wish to, I’m avoiding the list (with accompanying descriptions) and somewhat unelegantly pronouncing that I veer toward this description, supplied by Kristeva, “There are some girls, scarcely nubile, who dream of being the spectacle, the plaything, the libertine masterpiece of a mature man.” Hi.
[If there are any girls reading this who match this profile, a quick word of advice from your Lady Lipstick: be very, very, very careful of whom you allow to be the “mature man” carving you. They can take you places that you won’t even realise are unhealthy and robbing your *play* of all jubilance until it’s too late. Don’t forget that]
So that’s me and here’s why; all the evidence. Exhibit A, a desire to maintain a young adolescent body-I’ve never liked having a single strand of pubic hair on my body, I’ve gotten so irate with it lately I’m paying a professional to wax hairs out of me where the sun don’t shine and my gaze doesn’t fall unless I indulge in some acrobatics and am assisted by a handheld mirror (I have never been in so much pain in my life). Also, I’ve always wished my boobs were smaller. And they’re not that big I assure you, 36B, but I never stopped wishing for a pert little, mouthful-vs-handful size. The “just-developing” look. Yeah, the girls look at me weird when I tell them that too.
Exhibit B- Girls aside (and I’ve secretly adopted zillions of sisters to make up for the fact that I don’t have a single one in my family of a bunch of older brothers) an incapacity to be interested in men my age or younger. Never. No sparks, no pull, no nothing. Perhaps this is why I’ve had more female partners than male- because I usually frequent establishments that attract people from my age group… hmmm…
Exhibit C- my *enjoyment* of a specific behavioral situation… wherein I receive concerned and caring, parental if you will, gestures. To which I respond as the “rebellious teenage daughter”- I put up a fight, because that’s what my role entails, but I’m compliant at the end of it because I enjoy receiving this treatment. Maybe it’s weird that I get a bit of a kick out of that and maybe it’s not. Hey. You’re all quirky human beings, just like your Lady Lipstick, so let’s be gracious with each other.
But, sweet, quirky little Lady…where does lipstick come into this equation?
It comes in twice. Now…and in my retelling of my oldest, favourite self-pleasuring imagining. So I’ll not waste any more time ;-)
A symptom of youth is the desire to explore adult terrain. That wistful longing to stay up to the hours they do. To be able to buy that cocktail over the bar with a confident smile like they do, unhesitantly get into a car and drive to wherever you please, walk into that club, that theatre to see that movie…
To summarise, to do whatsoever you want at whatever hour you so please and being mistaken as one of them wherever it is your desire takes you.
And it would seem I’m utterly incapable of casually putting on lipstick.
For most women, it’s part of the procedure of “putting on their face”; an apt expression. It’s worn for the same reason one puts on clothes before going out in public: it’s part of the public appearance, the socially-approved apparel. And, try as I might, however often I’ll slick on a thick, creamy coat before going for coffee, getting ready for a Girls Night, while alone in the house before doing chores, prior to *warming* up these currently cold sheets…whatever the occasion, I just can’t wear it like that, I can’t put it on like I do my skirt- because I should.
I’m still that girl that snuck at mom’s tubes while she was out grocery shopping so I could indulge in some moistening *play* in the hallway. I’m the girl wishing I could get up to all those weird and wonderful things the big people get up to, daydreaming about what that reality might be like. Slicking on that colour in secret because it feels wonderful, like savouring that chocolate plucked from the “restricted cupboard” on the sly because it feels good to have that restricted treat melting in your mouth.
And, most of all, I wear lipstick in public because I don’t feel like an "adult" at all. The lipstick means this insatiably-curious little girl gets to walk among the big people and pretend to herself she is one of them, getting to get away with indulging in the things they do. So far so good.
So Ms Lipstick... what colour and shape does your favourite, blissful, private imagining take when informed by your psycho-sexual profile and lust for lipstick?
Variations on *this* theme...
I'm a schoolgirl with a crush. On her older and wiser teacher. And needing and wanting to be educated in my dawning sexuality. I know about it. I'm curious about it. I'm daydreaming about it all the time... and burning to know the reality of it.
Lady stops in the girl's bathrooms on the way to her Maths class. Mr S's class...her heart is racing as she takes the tube of lipstick out of her pencil case. Her friend, Angel, calls to her as she passes the door "Don't take too long again! Mr S's gonna hit you with DT if you keep arriving late for his class!"
"Yeah, yeah! Just a second! And make sure no-one takes my desk!"
She always slicks a coat on before going to his class. Siren's have their songs, she's got her lipstick. It makes her feel like she's irresistable. Maybe if that's how she feels...that's what she'll be. But she's getting tired of the same drill without any results she's been able to notice. And she's just *burning* for a private tutorial on how to deal with the ever-increasing melting she feels between her thighs. She's played around enough solo, she's dying to move to another playground.
And this is why she can't hesitate, she needs to get to "her" desk, right infront of the class, right infront of the teacher's desk. Because *this* time she's not just putting lipstick on those lips... An adrenaline-fuelled glance over her shoulder. No-one's coming in. She slicks on the creamy colour (not too brash because that's not allowed, just a sweet and juicy girly pink), presses her lips together (perfect, she thinks) then hastily slips off her panties from underneath her plaid school skirt (quickly stuffs them in her satchel) and reaches to where they had been with her tube of silken delight. She bolts to her Maths class...
Quadriatic equations sit well with her. But the blood hotly racing in her veins is drowning out any other sound right now.
"Ms L, seeing as you look so engrossed, perhaps you can offer a solution to problem 6..."
Oh god, he's looking right at me. It's now or never...
She pouts and casts her eyes down, hoping he might follow her line of sight, and spreads her legs underneath her desk... "I'm sorry Mr S... I've been thinking about another problem..."
As she glances back up she just manages to glimpse her teacher's eyes, ever-so momentarily, go wider. "Ms L," he says surprisingly sternly, "you will see me after class".
Ohmigod! I've offended him! How am I going to explain myself! Oh Jesus, what if he sends me to a disciplinary hearing! Oh god, I'm in so much trouble...
But her concerns do nothing to subside the throbbing glow between her legs, under the creamy coat she can feel whenever she even slightly shifts in her seat.
And the next thing you know, the lesson's over. She looks up from her feverish blush and realises she's all alone in the classroom, everyone's rushed out to breaktime.
"Ms L," he says "You clearly have a serious problem"
Oh god, here it comes, she thinks...
"Please come to my desk"
She gets ups and goes over, biting her blushingly-coloured lips.
"You know it is my moral duty as your teacher to see to your proper education..."
She pauses, flicks her tongue over her lips, looks him directly in the eye.
"Mr S, I think I just want to be a good student...but I get so distracted most of the time. I think... I think I'm in need of some hard discipline. Could you help me out...?"
"Over and over and over..."
And she's on her desk and that's just what they do....
