Vive Le Resistance!
Or, Interrogation Role-play, and other reasons to resist

So, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I like role-play. I guess it appeals to the dramatic in me, as well as the escapist. Besides that, it’s just *fun*. In a small package I sent to C, I included one of the lace gloves from the “FiFi the French Maid” costume I bought (and used) before he left, and he got a big charge out of that *chuckle*.

C and I have discussed other forms of role-play. When we first got back together in Las Vegas, the one that came up (and seemed to appeal to him) was the interrogator/prisoner. I find that very telling, in light of my discussions recently about being “broken”. It occurred to me, after I finished my last post about “broken” that that particular scenario fits in quit cleverly. I’m not sure why it appeals to C. I can only speak for myself.

I love resistance. I love fighting ‘it’. C and I wrestle around a lot, although he says I always end up getting hurt *chuckle* (sometimes I do. The man doesn’t know his own strength). I like to struggle on the couch. I like to tussle in the kitchen. I like to fight in bed *evil grin*. I’ve no idea why this appeals to me like it does. Nor do I really care that much. I just know I like it.

I/P (interrogator/prisoner, I love shorthand) appeals to me for that reason. Try to *make* me tell you a secret. I dare you. Torture me all you want. I’m going to resist. Not only for the *fun* of it, but because it empowers me to do so. It’s a test of wills. I love that. Especially when I know no real harm will come to me if I keep defying him. The pomp and circumstance of being tied to something, and then tortured with whatever-means-necessary to get me to reveal some secret knowledge that I have not only satisfies the dramatist in me, it gets me incredibly *hot*.

Ain’t that why we do some of these things, anyway?

I do have a problem though. During some of our experiments with role-playing, I *laugh*. (See my post about laughing during a spanking) . It’s not something I’m real good at keeping from happening. I’m not sure why it happens. The harder I try to resist it, the more it happens. I’m happy to have such a keen sense of humor, but damn…*chuckle*. I’m afraid that, unless C is really *into* his role as “I”, I’m going to start laughing like a mad woman. And maybe that’s okay. But I’m thinking if I do, neither of us are going to get that feeling we’re trying to achieve.

The more I think about that last paragraph, the more I’m chuckling to myself as I write this. C and I are cut-ups. We laugh so much. Neither of us takes ourselves too seriously. And in most situations, that’s perfect. But in situations like this – not so much.

I guess we’ll see how it goes *grin*.