|Welcome to Parallel World's Nicola Strange page. This page is a biography of our most prolific writer, Nicola Strange.|
|My life -- by Nicola Strange||2 August 2015|
I was born to a soon-to-be-single mom. My momma was exhibiting too much independence and success with her life, which my father couldn't cope with, so a few years later he abandoned us, and then they were divorced.
As a baby I was held — I even have an old Polaroid of the event — by the man who would later become my partner, how creepy is that? I often tease him about it, calling him a cradle-robber, we have a good laugh and then the best mind-blowing sex.
When I was thirteen I was already in love with my future partner, he was twenty-six. Later that year I tried talking him into running off together, but he talked me out of it. As he was walking me back to momma's house the police stopped us. Momma had called the police when I didn't show up after school. When the police took us by momma's house, momma screamed at him, clawing at him, calling him every vile name she could think of, but he just stood there, not saying a word, and took it all. I finally hauled off and slapped her, then the police pulled her off him. He had blood streaming down his cheek from her scratches. He was never charged, they gave him the choice of joining the Army or being charged with crimes against a minor.
Two years later he was out of the Army. The first thing he did was come over to momma's house and asked for her permission for us to live together. He didn't have to do that, by then I was old enough to make my own decision, but he wanted to get her approval. They talked for ages but he gradually wore her down, and finally she conceded. He moved in with me that night, both of us in my tiny bed until I finished high school. Eventually momma had to admit that what we had transcended marriage. We've never gotten married because we don't need some scrap of paper to define our relationship, we are beyond that. If that scrap of paper is all that binds two people together, then they're better off being apart.
About the time we started living together I started calling him daddy. I think it was because I never really had a daddy. He liked it too, though he said he didn't want to really be my daddy since then we wouldn't be together, not legally, not like we were. I liked it because we could play like he was my real daddy, sometimes he would put me over his knee and spank me, just the thought of his hand on my bare bottom, oh my, what fun we had. After a while most people assumed he really was my daddy. People who didn't know us, tried to ignored our occasional, passionate displays of affection, people who did know us, just assumed we had an incestuous relationship and were beyond redemption.
Years later daddy was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Those were the darkest days, and it's not just the diagnosis, it's the agony of waiting for test results to get back. The treatments were almost as bad as the cancer,
That was the same year my momma died. Shit happens, I know, but why does it seem to cluster in such big lumps? It was a mistake really, momma was in the hospital for an operation, a hip replacement. The operation had been a success, but then overnight she got a blood-clot and died. I was devastated and I know daddy was broken up about it too. I cried myself to sleep in daddy's arms that night.
That was also about the time I started writing. It seemed like so much was happening, that life wasn't big enough to hold all my emotions at once, I needed another outlet. I had written for years, just to amuse myself and the occasional friend, but now I started doing it in earnest.
We also were introduced to the BDSM scene by some friends of daddy's. Neither of us was into the pain and punishment, not like they were, but we liked the dressing up, or maybe it should be called the un-dressing up. When we go, I play the Dom — anyone who knows me, knows I'm as far removed from that role as it's possible to be — and daddy is my sub. He has fantasies about being tied up and flogged by a beautiful naked woman, why not give him that? I like going just so I can wear nothing in public, or as close as I can get to nothing. One year for his birthday, unbeknownst to daddy, I hired a professional photographer to take pictures of us in that situation, him naked, chained to a large, wooden X-frame, and me in black high-high heel mid-thigh boots and a mask, wielding a cat-o-nine tails. We have a large framed print on the wall, at the foot of our bed so we can see it when lying in bed.
Since I'm a closet exhibitionist, when I go walking with daddy I'm often wearing only a long coat. As we're walking, daddy will think of something he wants, and send me into the local corner shop to buy whatever it is, knowing full well that I'm naked under the coat. I love the adrenaline rush I get, and daddy knows it.
I also believe in self-protection — if you're busily being raped, are you really going to dial 1911 - did I say that? I meant 911. Read into that, whatever you want.
Now for a little about my writing. I don't write for any narrow clique, I write for people who love romance and sex in all its variations, be it gay, lesbian, hetero, old man and a young woman, or old woman and a young man. People might not like everything I write about, that's okay, there's a lot in this world that I don't like either.
My stories are mainly romance, usually erotic, sometimes scifi, always steamy and thought provoking, with characters that love the shit out of each other. I also think pregnancy is incredibly sexy, and it sometimes plays a prominent part in a story. Usually my stories involve older men and younger women. That is the natural order, a powerful, confident, charismatic man lusting after a nubile young partner. An older man has so much to offer a young woman, whereas all a young man has to offer is immaturity.
I like hiking and camping with my daddy. We go camping a lot, and for a traveller an eReader is great, I never go anywhere without it and I have a small solar battery charger. I also like art, photography, classical Greek sculpture, opera, travel, reading, writing, sports, shooting — daddy taught me to shoot 1 moa (sometimes anyway) with iron sights on his old lever action, and many other things too numerous to think of or too unsuitable to mention here.
And finally, a word of advice, I never, ever go to BDSM clubs, or anywhere, without daddy, so there's no point in asking.
Last modified: December 20 2015 22:44:13.