Dear Diary by Metilanato

Dear Diary by Metilanato

A young woman grappling with her mother’s legacy, the discovery of her fetish and a desire she never thought she had.

Chapter 1

Part 1, in which Kate discovers a secret and begins to understand what it is.

First entry

Dear Diary, it seems silly to me to write something like this when I am almost twenty-two years old, but the doctor who has been treating me since the accident says it is good for me and that I can use it in case I have these episodes of short-term memory loss again.

OK, let’s start, and I think it’s best for both of us to introduce ourselves. My name is Kate, I’m twenty-two years old, I studied literature and I had a wonderful family. I was an only child.

Why am I speaking in the past tense? Well, over a year ago we were returning from a shopping centre by car and had a serious accident. My parents were dead on the spot, I only survived through several brain operations and a long coma from which I only came out four months ago by sheer luck. I remember everything, although I have holes here and there in my memory. Now I am alone, I am healed let’s say physically, but mentally I know I will have to find a new balance. Fortunately, I have my doctor with me. Always.

Yeah, no point going round and round about it. I fell in love with my doctor and he with me. He followed me all this time, from when I arrived at the hospital to when I came out of the coma. I learnt again with him how to speak, how to write, how to move, and we realised that even though we are more than twenty years apart, I love him and he adores me.

So now that I’m out of the hospital, I’m at his house. He has a big, spacious house, modern, nicely furnished, but empty, since he’s hardly ever there because of work. I have already sold everything my parents had, I mean the house and everything else. The truck should be arriving any day now with everything left, like clothes, furnishings, and little else. At the moment, I’m still in bed while he’s at work. I have to start finding something to do. I still can’t really concentrate on studying, and the new school year won’t start for too long.

What do you say, could I at least start making myself useful and clean the house a bit and think about getting my tired doctor a good dinner?

I will let you know how my first cooking test in a long time went.

Second Entry

Dear Diary, first of all, I wanted to tell you that I didn’t do too badly with dinner and I even had fun preparing it. Robert, my love and doctor, complimented me and I must say we had a fantastic after-dinner, culminating in a fulfilling night of sex. Very nice, without going into details.

But the reason I’m writing to you is that the boxes and stuff from my old house have arrived. I started looking to see if I could save anything, but there isn’t much as far as Dad is concerned: all his clothes and things are too big or too old for Robert, so I’m organising boxes to send to an association that will use them for those who need them most. Even some of Mum’s clothes, which were practically my size, I’m giving to the same organisation, I don’t like them, or they’re well… sorry to say, they remind me too much of her.

However, I have yet to open some trunks that I didn’t even know he had. My company said that they found them in the walk-in wardrobe of their room, almost hidden, and that it was only by chance that they found them while checking that they had taken everything. They did not open them, they were locked with a padlock to which I did not have the key. I decided to wait for my love and open them with him. If they are locked, there must be something important inside or something that I don’t want to get in the way of my emotions. I don’t want to be alone.

Third Entry

Dear Diary, you can never imagine what we found inside those locked trunks, which Robert popped with a bolt cutter. Clothes and accessories. Sure, you’ll say there’s nothing unusual about that, but what if what was inside was made of leather and latex? That’s right, in the trunks there were shoes, boots, long and short gloves, also masks and what I can call gags or bondage things made of latex, black and in other colours, as well as some leather items. Some masks, some gags, some boots, gloves, but mostly corsets. I counted at least five of them. Beautiful ones, from a very simple one that only cinches the waist to one that can be called a strapless mini-dress.

My parents were fetishists, Robert explained, but I knew nothing about it. He explained to me that they were people who enjoyed, in private, more rarely in public, dressing up in different materials that they found exciting. I didn’t know what to think, this threw a whole new light on my parents and I could only cry thinking that I was the daughter of such people. He explained to me that there was nothing wrong with what they were doing and that I should not judge them. I was so scared and demoralised that he had to give me a sedative. I don’t remember much of what happened afterwards, but I do remember that I woke up in the morning calmer, with him next to me stroking me before going to work. We talked, and he advised me to have a closer look at what was in the trunks and to try to think and experiment before saying things were wrong. I was at home anyway, so I could also use some time trying something out or searching the internet for things I didn’t know what they were.

I blushed, but he was firm, though kind. I agreed and, after he left, and I had tidied up the house, I started to catalogue everything in it, using the trunks themselves then to put the stuff away. I won’t bore you with the list, but they had a lot of things and a lot of them I didn’t know what they were, although with a good deal of patience and luck and a lot of embarrassment I found what each one was for. Sometimes I noticed that they were also very valuable or custom-made items, like corsets. They all came from a famous craftsman who worked with leather and other materials. On his website were some wonderful models, one of which was actually in my hands, made for Mum. I remembered Robert’s words and inhaled deeply, looking at a corset that was more like a waist clincher, made of shiny black leather, fastened at the front by straps. I had made up my mind. I also took from the trunks some over-the-knee stockings and long black latex gloves and dressed, albeit with difficulty, until I remembered that I needed talcum powder for the latex and something to polish it as I saw in the photos. After an embarrassingly long time, I got dressed and looked at myself in the mirror: beautiful face, beautiful body, a corset that made me look even more beautiful, probably stealing 5, 6 centimetres from my waist, legs made even longer by the stockings, as shiny as the gloves and corset. But the head… The brain operations had left me with very visible scars and the short hair, in various places, would never grow back. At the moment I could wear a wig, but it was very uncomfortable and itchy. I hated my head. I searched through Mum’s things and found a hood that left my face uncovered, but covered my head, so that no scars or anything else could be seen. I looked at it, tempted, but let it go. I felt strange enough as it was. I calmed my beating heart and tried to catch my breath, but already the fingertips made me feel his presence. It wasn’t annoying, more like unusual, but at the same time as gentle as a hug. I looked at myself again in the mirror after I had almost unwillingly taken the wig of brown hair that simulated as much as possible my own before the accident and positioned it correctly. I still didn’t like myself in the wig, but I certainly knew that anyone looking at me would find me beautiful. I smiled and took some pictures on my mobile phone, sending them to my love to show him what I was wearing. Quickly, his reply came back with a series of little hearts and blushing faces, making me laugh. When I then read the message that he would like to see me live, I smiled again and told him to come home as soon as possible. I stayed all day in that outfit, dressing only in a light dress, getting vaguely used to what I had on and even a bit of the wig, I had to admit. Even the gloves and stockings, which, I thought, would annoy me and make me sweat, were instead strangely comfortable, and every movement reminded me of their presence in a strange way, but not annoying, almost the opposite.

When Robert came home, he looked at me for a long time, asking me to take off my dress and well… let’s just say dinner had to wait a long time.