[I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while — months really. It deserves me to say a lot more than I am, but I’ve found it hard to put my thoughts about this down. This is brief but even writing this has left me feeling ashamed.]
This story begins with online shopping. I have an old fashioned maid uniform. I bought it off eBay in a burst of desire. The idea of cleaning the apartment dressed in my uniform filled me with anticipation — even though it’s not Paul’s kink at all, I thought it would be fun just for me. After all, I often pretend to be a housemaid when I’m cleaning and polishing. It’s all fun headspace
My uniform came and was everything I could have hoped for — modest, proper and old fashioned, but sexy in its black and white tradition. It looks like something a housemaid in the 1950s would wear.
Excited to the core, I put it on, snapped a picture and broadcast it to Twitter.
And then I looked at myself. What I saw was a Chicana woman dressed as a maid. I’m from California and that carries with it a lot of baggage. Overwhelmed with feelings of embarrassment, almost a sort of racial memory, I took my uniform off.
It hangs in the closet, speaking to me of things I barely can understand.
I know I shouldn’t feel shame, but I do. I can’t just embrace the desire and go with it. Sometimes kink just doesn’t go deep enough.