Elaine Miller
This piece was written specifically to be read aloud, circa 1994 (grin)
Left-Hand Keys by Elaine Miller
I wear my keys on the left.
Even though I am right handed, and the left side of my black leather belt is sometimes a more than a little awkward to reach, I wear my keys on the left.
There is a reason for this seeming idiosyncrasy. (I'm sure there is.) I am advertising my Topishness for those fluent in the language of leather-woman-key-placement. Simple. Just a signal to other women.
I wonder, though, why I feel; bound; by a convention I've never voted on, when I have spent so much time during so many years putting a real effort into ignoring convention, and disregarding rules of conduct.
I’ve been putting some thought into it. And asking myself some questions.
It can't be a fear of social disgrace, can it? What if, by chance, I am found dangling on the wrong side of the buckle? Perhaps my Top Membership Card will be canceled, my floggers tied in knots, my boots un-polished and my spanking calluses gently exfoliated to softness. I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t imagine that--after all, I do read Science Fiction --what I have difficulty with is the believing.
And what about the theory that hanky and key codes are passé, old-hat, out-of-style? Now I’m flagging my age as well as my orientation; Maybe if I got respect for having reached the venerable age of 27 years, 13 of which, in as much leather as I could collect and wear, maybe then I’d consider that enough of a reason.
Am I trying to become a babe-magnet? Because I tell you truly that I have never, not once, had a woman face me, her keys a mirror image of my own, and say "Ooooh, I notice your keys hanging there, dangling coyly. I never would have dreamed, were it not for the keys; Please take me home and spank me, sir."
Also, on the flip side, I have never had a top heave a sigh of relief, steered away at the last second by the sight of my awkwardly placed keys--although it’s true that the one time a top did approach me, she hadn’t seen my keys. She was a very nice woman who’d just seen me in a magazine, and had liked my; ah; bottom. See, the reason she couldn’t tell where I hung my keys is that I was, at the time of the photo, naked.
I’m sure there is some lesson to be learned, there.
Perhaps I am simply sensitive about being a top; insecure. Maybe I have developed a burning, almost adolescent need to prove myself because I have been told over and over by so many near-strangers that I couldn't possibly be a top, not me, not friendly, smiling, laughing me. I just don't seem; mean enough. Not a sadistic bone in my body.
Such a quiet girl;
Maybe I am following an intense desire to teach passers-by about the intricacies of SM as I know it. Perhaps I invite a question & answer period starting with "Why do you put your keys in such a stupid place on your belt?" and continuing on with all the theory behind the motives behind the wishes behind my actions, my politically pure sadism, my squeaky-clean need to control, my sanitized-for-your-protection desires. I have all the safesaneandconsensual reasoning right on the tip of my tongue, really, come closer and I'll let you read what's written there;
That one sounds good, actually. A fashion martyr to the cause of education and enlightenment. A selfless teacher of naive newcomers and curious acquaintances.;;
OK, maybe not.
I’m worried that I may actually be limiting myself. If my keys say I’m a top, do I have to act like a Top all the time? And what does a top act like? I tell you, I’ve seen all those subtitled German SM porn flicks and I don’t think I’d have any friends if I acted like that.
"You will eat your ice cream immediately! Do not allow it to drip. Enjoy it or I will make you pay dearly."
I don’t think I’d have too many successful relationships that way. Although I might make a mint in the movies.
If I decided to be a "top" all the time, where would I keep my attitude when I pet my cat? And does it mean that I can’t ask for a hug? Or we can’t play friendly, silly games and make faces? Or that I always have to decide on the movie, know the answer, keep my dignity? I can’t keep swapping my keys from left to right just because I’m feeling easy-going. What if there was an emergency and I forgot where they were in the panic?
I don’t want that limitation on my behavior. I don’t want you to think, for instance, that because I wear my keys this way; that I don’t want to - love to - be fucked. Don’t think that I won’t spread my legs for you and let you fuck me ‘til my throat is hoarse from screaming and I can’t think to form the words to say "Stop, I don’t think I’ve been breathing for the last ten minutes."
I don’t want you to assume that at all.
But some of the things you could assume from the sight of my keys dangling at my left hip just might be right. They are a hint about my personality, telling you that I may have the desire to ride you to places that I will only know through the taste of your sweat. That I might possibly want to feel your throat under my teeth, my fingernails in your flesh. Perhaps I love the sound of my cane tearing the air--and all the other sounds associated with it. And it just could be that no matter how much I like to get fucked, I love to fuck you even more--feel you move for me, hear you scream for me, smell your lust.
I guess sometimes assumptions can be good things. What else would you guess?
That when I give an order, I want it carried out - but when you say "Make me"; I like knowing I can. You can guess that you should be in my lap - but whether snuggled up and telling me a secret or draped over, counting spanks - that remains to be seen.
Where I wear my keys tells you that your pain makes my skin come alive, and your tears are a gift to me. Just like your cunt wrapped so fuckin' tight around my wrist, your hot wet mouth on my dick, your willing surrender, your trust. You feed a strange part of my soul, you give me what I need.
Yeah. I think I’ve got it. Maybe it is important that you can guess some of these things about me before we strike up a conversation - what with looks being deceiving and all;
Perhaps women like me should come with warning labels. Hanging my keys on the left of my belt is the best I can do, for now.
