FICTION








My girlfriend, who I met on one of those online boards for "kinky" people, came to the city and I met her at the train station and we went to eat. We went to a fancy restaurant and she paid. She doesn't want to be in debt to me in any way. Then we had a couple of drinks at a bar near my house where I ran into some friends. We went back to my apartment and she started berating me, but she'd done that before. I'd asked her on the way to my apartment, "What do you want me to do when we get inside." And she said, "I'll decide that, maybe I want it to be a surprise."

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    Inside the apartment she acted angry. "Why don't you just tell me my scene? Why don't you do that? Any more suggestions?" She slapped me across the face with every question. I shook my head and said I was sorry. "It's too late for sorry."
    The problem was, she had done this already. It's a setup. If I don't say anything she gets upset by my silence. If I do say something she uses it against me. She always starts with this angry thing and I knew she was just creating something to be angry about. This is the first time I knew for sure she wasn't really angry, or not angry about something specific, just a general rage. It was a moment of insight, she was faking it. And I decided that I would make it through this and I would be okay and I would never see her again. She slapped me hard, on the side of my face, and my ear began to ring loudly, and I thought that this was another reason I wouldn't see her again, because of health concerns.
    "Don't you dare leave town again without my permission. You think this is just a scene, but it's not. I mean it."

I'm not allowed to wear clothes in her house or sit on the furniture. She embarrasses me in public.

     Some of the usual stuff followed. She stripped me naked and kept her own clothes on. A hard spanking. She grabbed me by the hair and banged my head into the floor several times. I don't have the equipment she has. At her house she has bolts in the wall to hang chains from and thousands of dollars of expensive masks, strap-ons, sharpie disposal kits and cuffs and gags. I wasn't tied up. I could fight back, but I didn't. I just wanted to wait it out. I had looked forward to seeing her. I had been on the East Coast for two weeks. We hadn't seen each other for three. And now I regretted it. All of it. And I also questioned what led me to this particular moment in the first place. And it wasn't like we had anything to talk about. It's not like outside of the bedroom we had interesting conversations or anything. She was hurting me and being mean and it was so unreasonable. Maybe if I was tied up or something I could get in the mood. But what do you do when you're not in the mood and someone is hitting you and you want them to stop? She pushed her fist against my eye socket a couple of times and threatened me with a black eye.
    She was straddling me in her blue jeans when she said, "I'm not your father." She was still angry about something I had suggested, or that I had hurried her out of the bar and she hadn't finished her drink. It was all made up. A game. But I started to feel sad when she mentioned my father. I have such an awful relationship with my father. Aren't you supposed to forgive and forget stuff? I was thirteen when I left home. It's been seventeen years since he caught me and beat me and shaved my head and the state took custody and I became a ward of the court. We try to mend things but I get these letters from him and it's just too much. He thinks he's the victim. Like I have victimized him by making him out to be such a horrible father. But he was a horrible father and I spent a year, a full year, sleeping on rooftops and hallways and eating out of garbage cans and all he remembers are the times I came home to shower, proof that I didn't have it so bad. I was only thirteen, then fourteen...
    Then she says, still staring down at me with such contempt, my arms pinned beneath her knees, her hands balled into fists. "I'm not your mother reincarnate." And I'm thinking why would she say that. Who would say such a god-awful thing? I'm staring up between her denim legs, and she's been slapping me so much that the side of my face is swollen. Try to imagine this, the feeling of her thighs, a Chinese printed top made from cheap fake silk; I can just barely make out her breasts. Her angry face which is long and oval like an egg that's been stretched but hasn't broken. A hardwood floor. She's so angry and I shake my head just a little and start to cry.
    At first it's a tiny muffled cry, a small something that comes out. And I'm asking myself, even in my own head where I always watch things from the distance, I'm wondering where on earth did that come from? She'll leave soon, take the train home, and I won't see her again. I mean, she's already gone too far so many times. She's cut me with scalpels and pierced me even though she knows I don't like that. I'm not allowed to wear clothes in her house or sit on the furniture. She embarrasses me in public. I didn't check the box that said "24/7." I didn't sign up for this kind of lifestyle. I didn't want this. But I don't know what I want, I never have. And she's always been honest with me, and I've done nothing but lie to her. Then I'm crying more, and soon I can't stop crying.
    "It's okay," she says. But it's not okay. What kind of a person would say something so awful: I'm not your mother reincarnate. It's unimaginable. I never cry and now all these tears are just pouring out of me and I feel limp, like I have no bones. And she's standing and pulling me with her to the couch where she sits and I'm kneeling in front of her with my face in her lap. "I'm not going anywhere," she says. And she strokes my face and this makes me think she is going to hit me again so I'm crying harder. And soon I'm on the couch with her, curled around her waist, over her lap, still crying. I'm apologizing. I really want to stop crying but I can't. "This is the place to let it out," she says, like she's a therapist. Like this is healthy or something. And then this time comes where I start to ask her to hurt me. I say it in this small, childlike voice, because I feel like a small child.
    "Please."
    "Please what?"
    "Please hurt me."

All of those books seem to have the same message, that it's okay. I despise that message.

    Why do I want her to hurt me now? Now that I feel so vulnerable and sad. But she's not saying mean things anymore. She's pinching me hard in places, my nipples, so hard I scream. "Beg," she says. And I do. "Please don't stop," I say, my voice getting higher and softer the more she squeezes, the more it hurts, until I'm certain she'll break the skin. Why do I like it now and not before? It hurts so much. "I want you to cut me again," I whisper into the pillow, curled around her. I'm her baby. "I want you to carve your initials on me. And I want you to pierce me."
    "You didn't like it before," she says.
    "I did like it. I just didn't know how to respond."
    She promises. She says next time I come to see her at her home she will dig her initials into my back.
    She keeps going, spanking me really hard, tying up my penis and balls, dragging me around the apartment by my hair. It's hours later when we go to sleep and she's missed her train home.
    I sleep on the inside of the spoon. She's my abusive boyfriend and I feel safe, her arms wrapped around me. She looks wonderful in her underwear. Her skin is warm, brown and smooth. She smells so good. In the morning I don't want her to leave. I slide my face between her naked legs. She opens her eyes and looks down on me. It's only six, and the alarm will ring soon. "What do you think you're doing?" But she doesn't make me move. She grabs my hair and closes her eyes.
    I take a taxi with her to the train station for the seven a.m. The first time she came to the city I had also accompanied her to the train station. And before her train came she grabbed me roughly by my vest and pulled me to the other side of the station where she kissed me. That was our first moment of intimacy. That was a long time ago.
    It's a bright day and her train has gone and I'm filled with hunger. I feel like I could eat three meals. It's always been hard for me to imagine that there are others like me out there, healthy couples who tie each other up and beat each other with belts and then go to the movies or something. And of course there are other people like me, lots of them. You can judge it by the size of the BDSM section on porn-store walls and all the videos and books they carry even in regular bookstores. All of those books seem to have the same message, that it's okay. I despise that message. Sure, you have to live. And of course, if there are people like me, people who want to be hurt, a normal enough guy who fantasizes at night about an anonymous woman running a razor the length of his body and cutting him open, then there exists the opposite of me. Women like her. She wrote me a letter, while I was in Washington D.C. She said what she'd really like to do, in her fantasy, to beat me way past the point of crying, to the point of screaming, and the neighbors wouldn't come. Nobody would come.
    She wanted to hit me across my back with a chain. But still, even as I'm missing her, and knowing that I will see her again, the question stays with me. The idea of two people finding each other. A person who wants to be hurt and another who wants to hurt someone. We've never had sex. We won't have sex. I've never even seen her naked. I just don't understand where it comes from, how someone could say such a thing.  







 

©2003 Stephen Elliot and Nerve.com


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Stephen Elliott is the author of six books, including the novel Happy Baby and the story collection My Girlfriend Comes to the City and Beats Me Up.

Commentarium (24 Comments)

Nov 13 03 - 11:55am
tt

Abuse under the guise of D/s play. What a sad, stupid story.

Nov 14 03 - 1:12am
eva

i didn't understand this. Am only dabbling in that scene. Could someone please spell this story out for me, like a litterature teacher in high school. Thanks

Nov 14 03 - 1:17am
dma

Maybe someone needs to say this stuff ISN'T ok. Sorry to all you pain fans out there, but somewhere, somehow, you've got some wires crossed.

Nov 13 03 - 3:05pm
atw

It's a sick sad story.

Nov 13 03 - 4:03pm
god

a sharpie is a marker not a needle razor blad or other

Nov 13 03 - 4:55pm
JL

I am dreaming of screaming.
I have no mouth & I must scream.
Perhaps, to bring it all back home; the home the pre-schooler-you lived in. "Scientists" (& aren't they as goofy as any?) have said that mother/child bonding happens very
early. Or does not happen at all.
This leads to permanent brain changes, either way.
If you didn't bond to yours; how much would you pay me if I
could fix it, Good As?
If you did bond to your Mother; how much would I have to pay
you, to take that all away, to permanently change your head
the other way.
People have their prices.
Would you sell that Mother/Child bond?
I knew when I was a pre-schooler that I was not bonded.
Get over it, you say?
Sell to me your mother. For what?
Don't ask me such personal questions about my property.

Nov 13 03 - 7:43pm
db

um, therapy? rather, analysis....and meds.

Nov 13 03 - 8:09pm
AE

Surprisingly well written for such a strange topic. Uncomfortable but erotic.

Nov 13 03 - 8:49pm
~

this is a beautiful, haunting story. disturbing, but so honest. people are so complicated, pleasure and pain, what helps and what hurts.

i don't pretend to understand how people work, but i think we all can. somehow.

Nov 14 03 - 2:19pm
TB

It is sad but by no means stupid!! My god. What a writer!

Nov 15 03 - 1:55pm
MP

Beautiful writing.

I say again . . . beautiful writing. Very erotic and deeply psychological. While I would agree with a previous comment that the story seems to concern itself with abuse in the guise of D&S, I don't agree that it makes the story "sad or stupid."

The terrible, degrading abuse is PRECISELY why I enjoy it. It goes beyond that terrible thing in this modern time we call "The Scene." This story is raw, told with no filler or pretty writer's garnish, or BONDAGE, INC. crap. The author has captured the harsh, opaque nature of the dominant/sadistic female perfectly. She is mysterious and infernal, unpredictable and takes no shit, ever. She is in total control, treating this male like an animal. There are no safe words here. Hard, cold, then soft for a moment

Sep 10 11 - 12:08pm
A concerned citizen

get help

Nov 17 03 - 11:56am
afe

This is an incredible piece with an awesome title. It is absolutely not easy to write like this, with so much sincerity and guts. The real coup here is that whether or not you're into this stuff, Stephen Elliott makes it sexy.

Nov 18 03 - 4:24am
zzz

Where is the line between domination and abuse? The touching and appalling thing about this story is that the characters are not role-playing or in a scene. They aren't even acting out anything. This is real life for them, and their desires and needs are motivated by their pasts. It is less a story about s&m than it is a story about real, complex emotion and its causes.

Nov 18 03 - 8:25pm
S E

Thanks ZZZ

Nov 19 03 - 2:15pm
sb

Peoples reactions to this sort of thing amuses me ..saying get theropy .
In my life theropy never helped ..not the way sandm did ...we all have our paths that take us there ,its a healthy outlet into sexuality.
i enjoyed your story ,her form of abuse is not my own..i would not be so demeining ,unless requested.but it was nice all the same.Remeber its always about trust.

~bellwitch~

Dec 08 03 - 5:51pm
amc

I hurt for the writer....the story actually made me cry. In our lives many of us are hurt and many of us hurt others. I am sorry for you, dear writer - not in a pity fashion but because you seemingly need love so badly - so confusedly that you turn to an allowance of abuse that I think most of us only expect to see in movies or books. When I hurt my husband strokes my face and cries with me which has taught me that sharing my pain and him being empathetic heals me.....I really hope that you find what heals or comforts you. To those of you that enjoy the whole S&M thing - it's cool I understand to a point (not that what I think matters) I think that a great deal of us fantasize at least a little about being the dominant one.....I have just chosen to be dominant without inflicting degradation or suffering on the inner being of my partner. I think the optive word there IS partner - he is my equal and I his. One day I push him down and play the dominant, the next he does.....we believe that in love it is all give and take.

Dec 27 03 - 7:26pm
S E

The last poster is totally wrong. The overwhelming number of people would rather be submissive, especially women. Just take a look at the personals.

Aug 23 10 - 10:52am
nm

this piece is amazing

Oct 12 10 - 8:02am
Jeff Tesreau

I did have a girlfr. who did spank me, who stomped me with high-heel boots, made me beg for everything. when i asked her why. her answer: whipping u makes me have an orgasm @ because I.m taller than you, that means u must obey me. then, I had an idea. She let me try it. i knelt before her , but she wanted the lights out, she was wearing her power boots & pulled up her skirt. I began to suck her very hairy vulva & in no time she came to orgasm. however, her reaction was so violent that her heel pierced my shoulder skin. Bleeding went on & on.

Oct 12 10 - 8:02am
Jeff Tesreau

I did have a girlfr. who did spank me, who stomped me with high-heel boots, made me beg for everything. when i asked her why. her answer: whipping u makes me have an orgasm @ because I.m taller than you, that means u must obey me. then, I had an idea. She let me try it. i knelt before her , but she wanted the lights out, she was wearing her power boots & pulled up her skirt. I began to suck her very hairy vulva & in no time she came to orgasm. however, her reaction was so violent that her heel pierced my shoulder skin. Bleeding went on & on.

Oct 12 10 - 8:02am
Jeff Tesreau

I did have a girlfr. who did spank me, who stomped me with high-heel boots, made me beg for everything. when i asked her why. her answer: whipping u makes me have an orgasm @ because I.m taller than you, that means u must obey me. then, I had an idea. She let me try it. i knelt before her , but she wanted the lights out, she was wearing her power boots & pulled up her skirt. I began to suck her very hairy vulva & in no time she came to orgasm. however, her reaction was so violent that her heel pierced my shoulder skin. Bleeding went on & on.

Nov 15 10 - 6:17pm
d00dwtf

O_O

Jan 13 12 - 4:59am
zanick

Simplistic and yet deeply complicated, erotic and painful with a twinge of Freudian neurosis: this is art. If you cretins had even tried to comprehend and identify with the author, you would realize the emotional layers held within the story. Strong writing here; love comes in so many ways, and where it may be found ultimately depends upon how much pain we are willing to endure.