Selves Within Selves

Over the years, each of them has collected a closet of different identities – roles which they inhabited tentatively at first, then more comfortably. Roles which they now slip in and out of with ease.

She can be, when she chooses, a recalcitrant schoolgirl – brattish and sly and convinced of her cleverness. Or else a model, self-absorbed and spoiled, hungry for attention. A virgin, cuddly and affectionate and innocent. A whore, glibly experienced and competent, world-weary, pliable. A dominatrix, leather clad, cold and demanding. An attentive lover. A greedy slut. An eager dog.

And he, just as easily, becomes her counterpart: a domineering prefect, a horny client, a submissive that is cowed and careful and eager-to-please. He can be her master. Her lover. A doctor inspecting a patient. An owner assessing a purchase. An animal ready to be milked, non-verbal, obedient.

It extends beyond their play. When they dress up and go out for dinner they carry themselves differently than they do on the days when they nest together in bed nursing mutual hangovers. At weddings they are a cute couple. At play parties they are slick, leather-clad, quietly powerful.

They have, between them, constructed an extended universe of themselves. A hundred different modes of being. Selves within selves within selves. And there are more, they know, just waiting to be discovered.

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