I’ve been misbehaving lately. And I’m usually such a good girl. So straight-laced. So conservative. So career-oriented. A feminist.
But that’s not who I am. I have a bad side I keep hidden. I have needs I don’t explore. Desires I keep in check.
Until recently. Until I met him. My bad influence and my savior. He’s the only man who’s ever been able to handle me. The only man I can show it all to.
And he knew who I was. He knew what I needed. I needed to let my bad side out of the closet and he gave me the keys to unlock the door.
He wanted to take my picture. He wanted me to wear a corset. Ruffled panties. Fishnet stockings. He knew that’s what I wanted but would never suggest. So he suggested it for me.
But still, my conservative side was ashamed of it. Wanted to hide from it. Lock the door that had been opened.
He knew how miserable I was living in that closet. He knew I needed to come out. But he let me open the door slowly. He encouraged my small steps. Encouraged me to write. And supported me as my writing turned toward the erotic.
I wanted to be a bad girl pin-up. He loved the idea. He agreed to take the photos. He helped me plan. He set it up. And he followed through.
He knows the type of life I need. He wants to give it to me. He’s me. He’s my bad side. And I love him.