(Continued from Part 1)
‘That is a good way of putting it. I don’t want to be just another face in the crowd. I want to be looked at, though pitiful, despondent, that I am an easy mark. That I am anybodys.’
‘And how true is that Kelly? Are you really anybody’s?’
‘Yes, that is the whole point. I am there to give up control, to accept the first offer.’
No matter who or what?
‘No matter who, no matter what?’
‘Really? That’s an enormous undertaking.’
‘It is the promise, the pact I have made with my own submission, my own need for humiliation.’
‘So that’s the promise, how does it work in practice?’
‘In practice, I will go into a place, buy a non-alcoholic drink and find a place to stand and simply wait.’
‘Somebody to break the ice. Say hi or offer a drink or whatever.’
‘Then I start talking to them, say yes to whatever….to a drink…. finding a seat. It often depends on the stage of the night. Early on it will be a chat up. Later, with some beer inside them, the approaches can be bolder.’
Well, fancy a snog? Do you want to go outside? Do you want a lift home?
‘Do you always respond positively?’
‘Yes. I do. I force myself to do so.
‘And no matter who?’
‘ She is smiling now, seemingly enjoying my incredulity. ‘Younger, older, fat, thin, black white etc. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Not at all?’
‘Well, when I say it doesn’t matter I mean that it matters very much but not in the way that you might think. What is exciting to me is often what might be the opposite for most other women. Some types, let me say, are more…stimulating than others.’
‘Well, I am there to get my humiliation fix. Some types are more humiliating than others. Put it like this if I were to leave with a good-looking man with a good physique and appearance I would feel my night had been wasted.’
‘But you would still go through with it?’
‘Yes, because that is my promise.’
‘So what kind of a man would make you feel your night was a success?’
She smiles at me and takes a sip of her coffee.
‘Yes, being honest.’
‘The type of men who have tried and failed to pull some of the other women. The kind of man, none of the youngsters, wanted. I want him to see me as his last hope, the dregs, the pathetic bitch who is so desperate she will do anything for a man. The man who thinks I can’t afford to say no, the kind of man who thinks he is doing me a favour, that I should be grateful, and if I am really, really honest….’
‘The best man in terms of meeting my deeper needs is usually the most unattractive man in the room.’
‘Overweight let’s say, much older, even much younger…all of the above’, she nods.
‘And you like going through with it?’
‘No, no, no. I don’t. That’s the point. I do not like it or them in any way. BUT I still go through with it. Even if he is the most repulsive specimen imaginable, I grit my teeth, go through with it, and show I am grateful. Thankful. And while I am on the subject the more I am repulsed by the guy, the more significant my humiliation in going through with it.’
‘So those nights are they a kind of time you set aside for your fix?’
‘They are, but I also think that I would like to live that way all the time. I have a deep sense of humiliation running through me, and that is the only way I can scratch my particular itch.’
‘Do you ever not pull a man, no matter how you dress or act.’
‘Of course, some nights are just dead. It’s the luck of the draw.’
‘So, what happens then? You just go home to bed.’
‘Well, some nights I do yes. But I do have a couple of fallback options. I always carry my dice.’
At this, she points to the dice between us. Her controller.
I look at her and ask what role this plays while she is out. I can tell from her expression that this is a part she enjoys; one way or the other. ‘Well, if things are slow, if I am sitting there with no prospects whatsoever after an hour I will role my lucky thing.’
‘And what might it tell you? What options have you coded in?’
‘Well, an odd number will send me to the ladies toilet to remove my bra. If its evens it’s my knickers.’ She smiles.
‘And how do you feel doing that?’
‘How do I feel? You mean getting topless in a seedy toilet for the sole purpose of allowing the sharks to see more of my nipples, sending them a message about why I am there? How do I feel? Well, sordid, seedy and fucking unbearably excited.’
‘How do you feel leaving the toilet and resuming your seat?’
‘Like all eyes are on me, that they know what I have been doing? That they have seen me before and now I am braless. I imagine they are looking at me and thinking slut or easy fuck.’
‘Does that excite you?’
‘And does it make a difference?’
It’s hard to tell, but I do think it does. But you’d never know if whoever might have made a move anyway. Either way, it does give me something extra that I had to go to such a length to get a guy.
‘So, when you have pulled, and you are home? How do things go then?’
‘Oh, I never go home. God forbid. I will go to their place or a car or get a cheap hotel room for the night. I don’t want these creeps knowing where I live?’
‘So you are happy to fuck them or suck them or whatever, but you don’t want to them knowing where you live.’
‘No way. Do I look insane? She laughs loudly.
So, for Kelly humiliation is the name of the game. Her words have deep resonance for me. I have had many responses from women who have told me that while they do not enjoy humiliation, they do experience a deep-seated need to ‘endure’ it; and they also talk about the guilt that they have about their ‘compulsion.’
I have come to understand that the humiliation fantasy (or reality) is not something that can be consented to. Once consented, it becomes a choice, and if you have made a choose – opted for it – how humiliating is that? Answer: not very. To consent or choose is to dilute the essence of the humiliation ‘experience.’
Really, we need another description for finding the repulsive satisfying at some deep level. Maybe it is a certain lack of self-esteem. Or maybe it is just an unexpected turn-on. I know which explanation I prefer.
I’m just a woman with an exceptionally ‘grimy’ mind, who loves turning my Immoral thoughts, lewd fantasies and deeply-felt desires into words and stories. Life is just too short to keep them all to myself.
Born and live in Oxford. Divorced. Hobby…..exercising my luring imagination! 🙂