Maliia's Panties are for Maliia...Get Your Own!

It’s a given that I attract unusual people into my life. Let’s face it, when you’re a bi switch bondage bitch, you tend to have relationships with people who are a little bit out of the mainstream unless of course the mainstream has resorted to chaining up naughty little girls and boys and training them to be horny sex slaves in bondage. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be the party platform for the Republicans this year, though quite frankly it would probably be a huge improvement over what they’ve already got. Don’t get me wrong, the Democrats could use that kind of boost to their platform as well, but I’ve always thought of them more as cross dressers and less as sadomasochists. Of course that’s just my own interpretation in the wonderful world of Maliia. It’s good to be me.

Of course this isn’t to say that a Republican can’t be a cross dresser and this brings us to one of those valuable life lessons that you really only get through real experience. The thing is, I’ve always liked guys who were a lot bigger than me. It’s not that hard, at only 5’2 and less than 100 pounds most guys, even the little Tom Cruise Napoleon wanna-bes of the world look pretty big next to me. Still, I tend to go for a guy who is at least six feet and in good shape.

For a while I dated a guy who was a little shorter than average but it was fine. His name was Bruce or at least that’s what he would be called if I were the one who named him. His real name is being withheld but he knows who he is. I’ve been asked before if I’ve ever tried to have a normal vanilla relationship and I have. Bruce is a good example in which I met a guy and didn’t mention anything about bondage, fetish, pee play, latex, bisexuality or being a cum slut. I was a very good girl! Anyway, he was a very nice guy. A little too nice if you know what I mean. Sometimes a girl needs a firm hand to keep her in line you know. No, I’m not talking about a slap in the face or abuse; unless of course that’s what the girl wants and it’s consensual. Believe me though, even if it is consensual, you try to pull that crap out in public and people will be all over the guy like flies on shit.

I’ll give you an example. I hate rollerblading. I know that seems to come out of left field but stay with me, I’m going somewhere with this. You would think I would like it because it’s outside, athletic, easy to do in Santa Monica, but it’s just not my thing. I tried it once though with Bruce. We went down to the bike path that runs along the beach to give it a shot because apparently he was really into it He also for reasons unknown to me at the time decided to wear a really tight muscle shirt and those really tight bicycle pants. I didn’t get that because we weren’t going on a bicycle which is too bad because it would have been a lot more fun. I of course wore a really cute pair of shorts that showed off my tight little ass just right and a cute spaghetti strap halter top. I was hot and my little tits and firm little brown legs were ready to attract notice from anything that moved that was half decent looking.

So I got on the rollerblades and started sliding down the path. As you may have guessed, we don’t get a lot of freezing weather over in Hawaii so ice skating isn’t something I had a lot of exposure to as a child. My arms were flailing about like I was trying to fly which judging by the way the other people were rollerblading probably wasn’t the proper form. After nearly hitting at least a dozen people with my flailing arms and crashing to the ground countless times thereby ruining my smooth little brown legs, I ended up falling on my face, literally and I got a hairline fracture in my nose and lots of fun little bruises all over my knees. See, call me old fashioned but I think if a girl is going to get bruises on her knees, it should be from being chained while kneeling and giving blow jobs. Isn’t that what it said in the constitution? Maybe that was a different document.

Clearly the rollerblading wasn’t going to work out so we gave up and after a lovely little hospital visit in which I was adorned with a very unfashionable white bandage and had time to admire my newly acquired black eyes, we went out to eat at a trendy Chinese restaurant on Sunset Blvd. I’m always wary of going to Asian restaurants because as much as I like the food, a high percentage of the time I end up with job offers to be a waitress. I think it’s the slanty eyes that brings that about. Anyway, through the whole dinner the waitress was being really nice to me and really rude to Bruce and giving him the evil eye. She was really cute and I thought that maybe she was a lipstick lesbian who picked up a bi vibe from me and wanted him out of the picture, or maybe it was just some sort of oriental connection given that Bruce was one of you haole roundeyed types. Either way I thought it was really rude right up to the point in which she dumped a drink in his lap. It looked accidental, though I don’t think it was, and when he got up to go clean himself up, the waitress leaned over to me and told me that I should leave him because I didn’t have to take his abuse. It was at this point that everything clicked in my little Asian bimbo head and I realized that everyone in the restaurant had been staring at me and especially at him and here was a tiny Island girl with black eyes who looks like she just lost a boxing match. By the time I put the pieces together though the waitress had already moved on and Bruce was on his way back, so there was no chance to explain that not only didn’t he beat me up but there’s a strong chance I could kick his ass without breaking a sweat or spilling my drink. Clearly this date wasn’t going well and sadly it was actually the high point of the relationship.

It was a week later and we woke up together at my place at 5:30 in the morning. I know that seems early but I like to get out to Malibu by 6 or 6:30 to surf when I can. I told Bruce that he could stay in bed and just lock up when he left. After all, I don’t expect anyone else to want to get up at that ridiculous hour. I loaded one of my short boards in the Jeep along with some other things I would need and I hit the road. I was only out for about ten minutes when I realized I forgot my wetsuit. This is not good. The water is very cold and while hard nipples are a turn on usually, I don’t like cold too much so I turned the Jeep around and went home. I walked in and there, in the living room was Bruce. He was wearing a pair of my fishnets pulled to the middle of his thighs where the strained against his legs and attached to a pvc garter belt that seemed to labor just to stay closed around his waist. He had on one of my black g-string panties and was struggling to stretch the bra over his chest when I walked in. What the fuck are you doing? I screamed at him. He was shocked like a deer in headlights. I mean lets face it, he was busted, what was he going to do. Granted, this kind of behavior is par for the course for my relationships and to be honest, I’ve forced a guy to become my little sissy fuckpet with a leash attached to a lock on his cock on more than one occasion, but this guy actually had me thinking he was vanilla and I come home to find him wearing my sexy lingerie. This is seriously fucked up. He was totally embarrassed and said that he understood how I felt. I said the hell you do. Goddamn it, do you have any idea what you’ve done you fucking asshole? Actually I used a lot more dirty words than that but in the interests of time, I’m trying to consolidate them.

He said “I’m sorry” over and over and then explained that he loved to dress up in lingerie sometimes and how he loved the way it felt and he felt closer to me when he wore my panties (used of course) how he hoped I wouldn’t judge him because of it. He then asked me if I was angry with him for not telling me about his fetish. I said I don’t give a shit about that you asshole, I’m not mad you didn’t tell me, I’m mad because you’ve just stretched out and ruined over a hundred dollars worth of lingerie. You dick! I loved those fishnets and that’s my favorite garter! Now I have to go out and buy new stuff. What an asshole. If you want to play dress up, at least do it in your own fucking size.

Needless to say, that was the end of that. Not because he likes to dress like me, after all, that can be fun sometimes, but rather because if a guy is going to do that, he needs to do it with his own stuff, not mine! So now I try to date guys who are much taller than me so there’s no way there could ever be any confusion about whether or not he can fit into my panties. Seriously, I have some nice stuff, I don’t want it ruined. The other thing is that I learned that hey, I am a fetish girl so I just attract it. There’s no point in trying to be something I’m not and pretending to be a plain vanilla girl next door type when I’m all kinds of wild flavors rolled into one. I might as well just accept that about myself so now I make it pretty well known near the beginning that this is who I am and either you’re cool with it or you can get the hell out. Nice attitude huh? Because let’s face it. If you’re going to have a fetish, you should do it right. None of this fetish in the fucking closet on the weekends when no one’s looking for this girl. No way. If I’m going out with a guy or girl who’s into fetish, he or she better damn well be good at it and the only way to do that is with constant practice and improvement. Of course that could explain why I’m such a desirable little Asian slutty bitch and oriental dominatrix. I love to do it so much I guess somewhere along the way I just got pretty good at it, not to say there isn’t always new stuff to learn, but in the meantime, maybe I should start locking my lingerie up when I leave the house.