As a Bad Girl

I've never considered myself a "good girl," and neither would anyone else who's known me in any sort of depth. My father might have when he was alive, but honestly, for growing up in his house, he knew very little about the real me. It was partly that I wasn't terribly open - after all, coming out to your father at the age of 16 can be a bit daunting - and partly that he spent almost all of his time in an oblivious, alcohol-induced stupor. I was the apple of his eye, as they say, and that was fine with me. I had no need to tell him anything that might ruin his image of me.

But back to the point. Thought I'd never call myself a good girl, I would in many respects call myself a good person. It's funny that, while a girl is certainly a person, those two words imply such different things in the context. A good girl is someone who behaves politely; a good person is someone whose morals are on relatively straight.

I would call myself a good person because I never intentionally hurt others, and in fact, I rather like to help them. My friends have always come to me for a listening ear and advice on their problems, and I've always been more than happy to give those things. I may put up with a certain amount of shit from someone on my own behalf, but I will defend my friends against anything, to the death if need be. Once you can call me a friend, you can also call me a bodyguard.

While I was with the ex I mentioned in the previous post, another man waltzed smoothly into my life and proceeded to completely take over my mind. I was smitten beyond all sense, and when I finally woke up, I realized just how much of my sense had really been set aside in the intervening time. I don't wish to go into detail, but suffice it to say that I proved the adage that we see what we want to see in people. Despite all of that, though, I made a promise never to cheat on the ex, and I never did. There were moments when I had the opportunity, and certainly the urge was overwhelming, but I kept my hands to myself, though I can't say the same for my thoughts. Thinking, however, is not unfaithful, but simply a sign that one is in fact still alive.

Eventually the ex and I went our separate ways, after the relationship had crashed and burned and I had wasted inordinate amounts of time and energy trying to save what was already long dead. I had a quick fling with the waltzer, but by then he had been distracted by another girl, and in the long run that was a good thing for me. Kevin was the one who finally distracted me from him and woke me to the realization of just how bad he was for me. And for that, once again, I must thank him.

I have always been proud of the fact that I never touched the waltzer until I was relationally free to do so, and have loudly and proudly promised that I am faithful and not a cheater, that I am someone who can be trusted to the ends of the earth and back. The other thing I point out about myself to anyone who will listen is that I make few promises, because when I do make one, I bind myself to it. That's not to say I'm perfect; I've broken a couple of promises, but for the most part, I have strived with everything in me to keep them, and for the most part, it's worked.

Now excuse me for a moment while I break the topic; I promise (you can hold me to this one) to return to it momentarily. When I said that I work an hourly job, I didn't specify the type, but now is the moment to do so. I'm a diner waitress, one of the most common and most physically demanding jobs a twenty-something woman often finds herself in. It's not bad, honestly. Your feet go numb after a while, and not every customer in the world is a stiffer. Many of them are, but that's beside the point.

Returning to my topic, the point is this: one of my co-workers is another waltzer. He sauntered into my life at the diner, at a time when I'll admit that I was somewhat desperate for friends, and I was thrilled to make a new one. We hit it off immediately, practically best friends after only a few hours together. It did occur to me later that night that no one I've ever hit it off with that fast has not caused some kind of trouble for me. Like a firework and a match, it may seem calm at first, but then there's an explosion.

The fuse was lit, but I wasn't worried. Aiden was married, I had to assume happily, and I figured I'd have no problem and was just letting my past make me paranoid. It was one of our earliest shifts together, however, that he started complaining to me about his wife, and every time after that he had something worse to say about her. What was it I mentioned earlier about being everyone's shoulder? Maybe sometimes it is a bit of a burden, though the reasons vary in some cases.

Given the work schedule that week, we spent every day together for seven days in a row, and then two more after that. It didn't take very many of those days for me to notice that the firework at the end of the fuse was much larger than I had first thought, and the fuse was burning at an alarming rate. I couldn't put it out, and I couldn't back away...perhaps there is something else I could or should have done, but I was too stunned by the impending explosion to think of what it might be, no less execute it. I understand now what a deer goes through as it stops in the middle of the road and stares down an oncoming car with those huge eyes.

Anyway, it was last Thursday night that the bomb finally exploded. Aiden and I worked a closing shift together and were the last two people to leave, getting out at almost two o'clock in the morning. We headed out to the parking lot together, both tired and wanting to go home, but I put on a jacket and waited, shivering, while he had a cigarrette. I was desperate to be warm, but sometimes you'll run into that person or situation that you can't walk away from, no matter where else you may need to be for whatever reason, and that moment was then. The tension had been building all day, and I've finally learned to trust my instincts about when it's going to break.

Aiden dropped his cigarrette on the ground, stomped it out, then fished in his pocket and brought out a tin of mints. He popped one, then held it out to me, but I shook my head, and it was returned to his pocket.

"All right," he said finally, and held out his arms for our nightly hug. I rested my head on his shoulder, shivering and yawning but not wanting to be anywhere else. I really wasn't surprised when he started nibbling my ear, and I smiled and started licking his in return. He pulled away, brushing his cheek against mine and tilting his head slightly, and I returned his kiss without surprise or hesitation, because I really had known this was coming.

"I really shouldn't be doing this," he murmered in my ear, sounding guilty but not regretful. It was the sort of guilt that doesn't make you feel as bad as it should. I've been very familiar with it lately.

"Just like I shouldn't either," I answered, and kissed him again.

"I think I'm going to talk to you on my way home," he said as he got in his car. I had to laugh, because we had already done that every night.

"Okay."

I was so distracted I drove right into a huge pothole in the road that I knew very well was there and had been avoiding successfully for quite a while. I laughed at myself while hoping my rims were okay, then picked up my phone as it rang. We were ten minutes toward home when he told me, "Pull over in the parking lot of that store on the corner."

What can I say, I'm a submissive...I did so. I stood beside my car as he pulled into the space next to me, then got out and walked around the back with a determined expression. He pushed me up against my door so hard we nearly snapped the mirror off, and kissed me, not sweetly like before, but hard and passionately. There was no more admission of guilt, but a threat this time: "If you're not careful, you're going to end up bent over your hood."

"It's so cold," I protested, laughing, then experienced even more cold as he put his hands up my shirt. I squealed and laughed, leaning back against the car. It honestly was the cold that stopped me, despite what it may have sounded like. Had it been midsummer, I would happily have ended up flat on my hood and enjoyed every minute of it, but I hate being cold - it really can ruin anything for me.

"Look what you've done," he said, putting my hand between his legs. I smiled at what I could tell was an unusually large handful even through his work pants. "Bad girl." He bent me over and gave me a thorough spanking, and not only on the ass. I'd never been spanked anywhere but the ass, and I liked it more than I could find the words to admit at the moment. Finally we got in our cars and went home, for real this time, both very frustrated.