Trying Times

I do not condone the use of sexual violence against anyone. This story, Trying Times, is NOT about that.  What I am hoping for here is to conflate a national psyche with that of the individual to produce a psychological study of the motivations of a minority position within the society; that of a submissive woman.  I am fascinated by people who dare to be different and who have the courage to be authentic despite the repression of uninformed, but majority opinion, and so I have drawn heavily upon my reflections about my reasons for embracing defiance and rebellion even at the cost of my reputation and job prospects.  In this story, I portray someone fighting for the most basic of rights, to be able to choose her partner in life without sanction.  Obviously, I do not mean to disparage sexually submissive people in any way, and I make no claims that my views are universally applicable. – Gabrielle Burns

 

I remember those days well.  It was the beginning of the war crimes trials against the Yluki, the civilisation of invaders who first visited Earth in 3035.  It was the beginning of seven years of tales, recounted in detail about enforced public nudity, floggings, slavery and other sexually free expressions seen only in the perverse days of Ancient Rome and the 1960s in America.  I am exhausted by the fear and uncertainty in which I live.  The bulk of the trials are over, but occasionally, one emerges to sensational global media coverage.  No one gets off from this if it reaches so far as a trial.  Ylukis have been expelled from Earth and told never to return.  Those who try to be reunited with their mates are executed!  Despite centuries of trying we have not relieved ourselves of our bloodlust.

 The official histories say that the Yluki appeared to come in peace, but very quickly showed us that they meant to enslave us all.  We have been advised officiously that it is really not the stuff of fantasy for everyone to be a sex slave.

 “It is a horrifying situation in which to find oneself!” I keep chanting in my head, ensuring that I remember the safe line of argument to take if pounced on in the streets for an opinion.

The irony of being told what to think as an antidote to being enslaved is not lost on me.  I think about disobeying, but I am a true submissive and do not follow the thought through to its conclusion, consciously.

 Radical accounts of the events in those days fifty years ago tell us that at first, we were flattered when these beings, clearly superior to us in every way, made their desire to mate with us known.  They told our forefathers that, together, we could form a new species that would rule the universe.  They said that it would make us ready to defend our little solar system against all comers.

 The ones who came first knew that we on Earth were still driven by ambitions to know for sure what lay beyond our galaxy so we welcome them and their ways.  They knew that we respected each other’s territory here on Earth only because our planet was too small to facilitate a global war over the redistribution of resources.  They had already perfected medicine and science and were bored, even with Art.  Sex was another matter though.  It was not a cerebral activity; though as we have come to accept the very best sex begins and ends with the brain.  Freedom of sexual expression was new to them if not to us. It was the intensity of their desire to explore their sexuality that surprised everyone. Most of us were not as bored with life as the Yluki were, but some were already staring down the well of ennui and so were ripe for the plucking.  The Ylukis’ intellect was capable of reasoning in their favour anything that they wanted, and so they justified using us in a sick chess match of their own devising.

 Well, at least the prevailing popular opinion was that it was sick.  For some of us it was Heaven on Earth since the Yluki were perfect for our purposes.  As sexual submissives, what the Yluki did to us was to make us complete; whole beyond anything that we could describe to someone without these proclivities.

 Sadly though, to admit something like that today fifty years after their arrival is to paint oneself as a collaborator with the enemy, much as some European women were seen at the end of World War II in the twentieth century.  I cannot condone what those women did.  It was clear that what was happening around them was abominable, but I have genuinely chosen to follow one of these Yluki to the ends of the Earth; and I would leave this place with him if only I could survive on a planet outside this one.  No one has died in this situation.  The Yluki have not set upon a campaign of genocide. No one is being genuinely enslaved here!  Well, not in my apartment since I have chosen to be collared by my lover.  I have surrendered my will to him.  I am his slave.

I slip on the tight white tube top and skin-tight shorts and looked at myself in the mirror.  I am 40 pounds too heavy for the outfit and 10 years too old to be playing this game with my Master, Greyson.  I know that despite my café au lait complexion the heat in my cheeks and neck as I gaze at my reflection will give a reddish tinge to my skin.  Greyson says often that blushing improves my looks.   I can’t believe that I am allowing this to happen to me.  My new Yluki Dom has read me well.  He knows that I crave the public humiliation that he prescribes for me.

 I look at myself in the mirror and note my erect nipples dangling at the tips of my sagging double Ds.  God I want to cry!  I know that I am going to do this, even as I plead with Greyson to think of something else with which to amuse himself.

 He only laughs at me and sweeps his hand, indicating the burgeoning erection still trapped in his jeans, with a flourish.  I know that it is pointless.  This has happened before.  My begging, and the thought that I am about to humiliate myself at his behest, have excited him to the point where he will have to cum.  I am not going to get out of this without serious payback.

 I could leave him.  In this climate I really ought to do so, but I cannot.  We see each other sexually in secret.  To the world we are social acquaintances and colleagues at work, but beyond that we are not permitted to engage in our D/s relationship since to do so is against the law now.   To do so is to say that a human is below a Yluki on the evolutionary chain.  It is saying something that we all know to be true, but it is just not a politically correct assertion to make now.  We’ve regressed to the kind of witch hunts that tormented men who had to have sex with other men centuries ago.

 I leave my apartment and walk down the tree-lined street toward my red XKVS3040, attracting disbelieving stares and the occasional wolf-whistle.  I look like a street-walker, I’m sure.  I am in fact a professional woman of another sort.  The way that I look would not suggest that I have a PhD in Electronics & Electrical Engineering and that I teach at the university 40 minutes’ flight from my home.  I am regarded a disgrace simply because I have chosen not to embrace the feminist political worldview. I am not a criminal simply because no one has actually caught me alone with Greyson.  He teaches Interplanetary Anthropology at my university.  That was where I met him.  I am a throw-back in many ways.  I’m an anomaly because I still define myself as a slave and since I still go into the office occasionally.  I live two very distinct lives.

 I usually see Greyson in my office. This is where I am going now.  I am choosing to go into my professional space dressed like a tramp and Greyson loves me for it.  I love him for prescribing this for me to stretch my boundaries and for insisting that I reach for his challenges.  As always, I revel in the shamed arousal that I feel when I first learn of my tasks.

For me my relationship with Greyson is a complex matter; I really do crave his attentions but punish myself simultaneously for that.  I crave the sense of being alive and connection with the elements that he brings to me.  I had never been given so much freedom to enjoy my nudity before him.  It was a process started before I met him but he has taken me much further along that road than anyone else has.  There are some simple things that he does that affect me greatly: telling me to expose myself in my office, telling me to undress there completely, giving me permission to seduce him there, ordering me to be nude at home.  I am now hyper aware of my body; and the pleasure that I get from touching my own skin and squeezing my flesh is unbelievable.  When I lie naked in my bed at night I want to touch myself because of the fever that he has stoked in me all day.  I writhe physically under the strain of obeying him and not exciting myself to much without his permission if he does not visit me.

I know that it gives him pleasure to see me suffer like this because it is truly a woman calling to her phantom lover, begging him to impale her.  I beg him to impale me many times for the day: every time I take my panties off, if I was allowed to wear them at all, or when I lift my dress to expose my haunches, my pussy spasms.  My moist nether lips smack wanting to grab on to something.  I fantasize about milking his cock dry in my cunt.  Every time I even THINK about one of the humiliations that he has heaped on me my nipples and clit tighten painfully and I NEED him in those moments.  We cannot be together publicly as lovers and perhaps that is a good thing because there are times when I wonder that if he were to touch me just at those moments, even to shake my hand at the end of a meeting, if I wouldn’t just explode.

 The control is not one-sided though. I celebrate the power that I have to manipulate his moods and his yearning excitement for me.  For me, a fat girl, to be told to undress for a man like Greyson because it gives him pleasure to see that she is naked, and because he always wants her that way, caused a profound shift in my psyche.  To have him tell me that my body and the shameless fantasies that I share with him cause him to have daily ejaculations and that he misses me when I’m not there has completely blown my mind. He must have me daily just as desperately as I must have him.  We are addicted to each other, co-dependent in a good way, I think.

 I love trembling for Greyson because it has come to represent yet another wall broken down for me.  We now live in a conservative society and it has become even more repressive by the day.  I am very repressed myself.   I need a wild man to fuck with my mind and body in order to liberate me.  I need him to force me to break through my chains.  It is ironic that he does that through physical bondage and discipline, but the result is that I am free mentally.  With him in my life my inner state matches more closely the image that I have striven to create for the public.  I truly am braver when I am doing his bidding and in the celebration that we share together after I succeed.

 I have felt no judgement in Greyson and so I have explored my desires and am eager to follow him anywhere.   Sadly, that is anywhere on Earth and we’re now ruled by the United Government.  The laws are the same anywhere we could go here.  I cannot survive on too many planets outside of Earth and Greyson has chosen to remain here with me because he loves me.   Unfortunately, neither of us is wealthy and so we cannot afford the interstellar travel to where we would need to go for us to be together openly.

I go into my office and a few of the students sitting under a tree nearby come to consult with me during the hours that I have made myself available to them.  I can see that I am making an impression.   The young women are openly disapproving, the men take in my appearance more coyly.  It’s amazing how suddenly perceiving me as a sexual being has changed their perception of me.  I’m sure that my IQ has dropped in their estimation.  I doubt that anyone will learn anything from me this morning.

 That we are exercising academic freedom and teaching those around us that it is not a crime to embrace multiculturalism and an alternative lifestyle is one of Greyson’s favourite arguments when I express doubt about taking our relationship into the public arena.  He does not have a harem of slaves and so he would only be deported from Earth rather than spend time in prison here.  For me this is worse since it would mean that I could not even visit him.  He would just be cut off from me.  We have discussed the possibility of marrying another couple like ourselves, and so offer mutual protection to each other; but neither of us knows how to go about finding these people since most people like us have gone underground.

The day drags, but eventually I can leave for the afternoon with Greyson.  We go to the park and after walking around, looking at the lake and feeding the ducks, we slip discretely to our favourite spot.  We have not been there in a while; it has become too dangerous to do so often.  This clearing is well off the beaten path though, and it is well hidden by thick shrub growth that Greyson clears easily for me to pass through.  We by-pass many couples, all human, engaged in all sorts of sensual embraces from simple hand-holding to outright intercourse on our way to our spot.  It takes us about half an hour to tramp through the woodlands to find it but eventually Greyson tells me that we do.

 Our reaction to coming here is nothing short of Pavlovian.  Greyson’s jeans are tenting badly and I’m equally ready for him.  He grabs me and rips my clothing from my body.  My tube-top will be usable again, but the shorts will not.  It’s perhaps a good thing that we don’t plan to return to our cars for several hours.  I will need the darkness to cover myself.

 “Come here you little whore!” he growls spinning me around to press me over a rock.

 He squeezes my naked buttocks joyfully and swats me a few times with his hand.  His hits do not hurt me, but the sound of his hand against my flesh is pleasing to us both.

 “Tell me how naughty you’ve been today, my little slut,” he demands, leaning into me to nibble my fleshy haunches.  “Tell me how it made you feel to have to go to work looking like that!  Did you like all the young men looking at your huge body?”

 “No, Master, I didn’t like it.  I was very embarrassed.  I only liked the thought that you would be aroused by my humiliation.  I didn’t really want to do it, but I wanted to obey you.”

 “Good slave!” he looks at me lovingly.  “So tell me in detail how you felt.”

I do tell him how I felt and in doing so I feel my nipples and clit harden and my breathing becomes shallow.  I feel Greyson’s cock harden and lengthen almost impossibly long and I know that we’re ready to consummate our love.

 For some reason though he makes me wait and I begin to squirm and beg him to fuck me.  He looks at me longingly but does not impale me.  Instead he barks at me to hold on to a branch of the tree in front of me, and he warns me not move my hands before he allows it.  He makes me watch as he cuts a switch from among the bushes next to the tree. He flogs me with the switch until I beg him to stop.  He does not.  We both love to have me in pain along with my humiliation.  I can only cum that way, and Greyson facilitates me often.

 He scourges my buttocks and breasts, calling me names, and rubs his hard member on my body teasingly.  I dare not let go of the branch or he will increase the pressure with which he applies the lashes.

 Eventually I break down, however, and have an orgasm through my tears.  I beg him to spank me even harder.  I turn to embrace him when he does.  Eventually, I sink to my knees, and grab at for his cock, my mouth open.

 “You little slut!” Greyson roars like a madman, rising up over me.

 He grabs my arm, and drags me to a grassy area of our clearing.  He throws me on the grass on my back and then sinking down to the ground beside me, he forces my legs apart with his knee, braces my thighs toward my shoulders and pushes his turgid cock into my sopping cunt. He groans as he allows his weight to push him to the bottom of my honey pot.  His mouth opens and he latches on to my nipple hungrily.

His orgasm approaching, his thrusting becomes more erratic and he leans back, his eyes closed as if in pain.  His groaning and grunting become louder with each passing minute and if I did not know better I would wonder if he were in pain.

 “Oh God, Emily!  You know I love you!” he howls eventually, music to my ears, even as it strikes me that he has called me by my given name rather than “slave” as he is wont to do.

 “You’re under arrest,” a cold voice informs us from somewhere behind Greyson.  “Get away from her, you pervert!”

 I stop thrusting up toward Greyson in startled alarm, but he cannot stop the violent pumping in and out of my body immediately, and two men reach down to drag him away from me.  He groans again.

 “Please,” I hear him whimper.

 Shit, it’s the police! We did not hear them coming; well, I didn’t. How long have these five men been watching us?  How is it that Greyson didn’t hear them?  No pun intended, but was he really that into me this time?

 I drop my legs and scramble to find my tube top to cover my nakedness.  I am beyond frightened because this has been my nightmare for the past four years.

 It does not take long for our case to come to trial.  Apparently both the fact that Greyson has been in someone’s sights for a long time, and the fact that we are ‘respected’ two university professors has captured the imagination of the public and the court system.  We are being charged with the dual charges of gross indecency because of our public sex, beyond the misdemeanour nudity, and for the BDSM aspects of the intercourse that in the eyes of some, smack of sexual slavery, which is the actual crime.   I wonder about the other couples that we had passed on our way to our spot that afternoon.

 We are not allowed bail and so must languish in prison until our trial.  I miss Greyson terribly, but somehow, he seems to be with me.  A few of the other prisoners look at me curiously.  A few ask why I was arrested and not just fined.  Apparently, the system is not as egalitarian as I had thought.  It seems that others in my position have not been subjected to this.  I do not even know what to think about this revelation.  My mind has all but rejected Greyson’s conspiracy theories.  I see my position as desperate.  I will be without him and without friends or career after this.  I wonder if a public apology will help to get us out of this.  Perhaps a show of remorse will soften the hearts of our judges.

I hear rumours that I cannot believe!  Greyson has mounted a protest and has removed his clothing in the lock-up.  He is alleged to have declared that he will remain skyclad until he is acquitted!  He has suffered the attacks of others and had to be removed after he hurt three men who tried to rape him!   I hear that Greyson’s antics have sparked an international protest.  There are skyclad people supporting his right to live his life as he chooses demonstrating from Barcelona to Brazil and from Johannesburg to Jamaica.  There are police having to use water cannon and tear gas on the crowds of protesters from places as far-flung as Los Angeles and London.  The lines of the arguments that Greyson is advancing are becoming blurred.  Greyson is fighting for the right to live a BDSM lifestyle with me, but there are thousands who are still fighting for the right to appear nude in public, there are advocates of the vegan lifestyle, the economy and persons protesting the use of animals in sport; and they have all used our dual charges to advance their agendas.  His nude protest has fuelled the fire for every politically-inspired remnant on the globe and the police worldwide have their hands full with keeping down rebellion in several places at once.  The stakes are very high here.  From Greyson’s perspective we cannot afford to fail, but it is clear that the State cannot afford for us to win.

 We are taken to the court house separately though we will be tried jointly.  Through the window of the prison van I see throngs of people lining the streets.  I realise that I am not the only person who is tired of the way in which things are here.  Scores of people have turned up nude on the streets of Kingston today, almost all of them covered in body paint of some sort, and many of them holding their placards strategically to stave off indecency charges by the police.   I take comfort and draw strength from knowing that there are people out there who support Greyson and me.

 To my relief, Greyson is fully clothed.  I don’t know what I would have done if the rumours of his recalcitrance had proven true.  We catch each other’s eye and smile encouragingly.  This will soon be over, one way or another.  The courtroom is crowded, but orderly despite the fact that many persons have come here holding placards as well; most in support of, but a few others against Greyson and me.  No one wants to be thrown out so despite the show of defiance there is a respectful stand-off inside the building in general and in our courtroom in particular.  Greyson and I are a spectacle that everyone wants to see.

 Greyson and I are escorted to the dock and made to sit next to each other.  When they remove our handcuffs he turns to me and hugs me tightly.  He nuzzles my ear and kisses me deeply on the mouth.  I hear the crowd stir around us.  No one, including me, can believe this public display of affection given the circumstances.  He ignores them and continues kissing my face and neck and palming my breast until I am quite aroused.

 The judge arrives and glances briefly at us in disbelief.  He gestures to Greyson’s lawyer who calls to Greyson that things are about to start.  The judge sits and the proceedings begin after everyone has settled down again.  Jury selection goes without a hitch.  No one claims any religious or political objection about being here.  Several persons, not selected for jury duty, choose voluntarily to remain in the public gallery to witness the proceedings.

 Then to everyone’s absolute shock, Greyson calmly stands and removes every stitch of his clothing.  His sculpted body is absolutely beautiful, but it is still startling to see it displayed in a court of law in the middle of a trial.  I see several people, men and women, suppress hungry smiles as they look at him; his well-developed musculature, his tight butt, long cock, strong arms, torso and legs.  I think that they feel that they understand my weakness for him now.

 He turns to look at me; his muscles rippling delightfully with every movement.  His expression is calm, but I know that he is waiting for something.  There is an expectant glint in his eyes.

I stare back at him, wide-eyed.  I can’t believe what is happening!  Greyson isn’t even trying to save himself!   Doesn’t he love me?  Why risk us before, and even more so now?  How can this end well for us?

 He says nothing but continues to stare at me.   He smiles slightly and glances down.  I follow his eyes and see that his cock is beginning to harden.  This is not a good thing!  He is becoming aroused!  He does have a plan!

 Then I hear his voice in my mind clearly!  He says to me as clearly as he has done myriads of times before, except that on those occasions, his mouth was moving.

 “Don’t you wish to please me, slave?”

 “You know I do, Master!”  I think as I find myself tearing up.

 I resist the impulse, but I know that I will lose.  I know what I must do.  It is what I do every time he gives me a task.  I obey him.  I obey him, ultimately, proudly.  I will humiliate myself further for him.  I am not the beauty that he is!  I have a pudgy tummy, thick thighs and my boobs sag considerably.  I have never understood what Greyson saw in me physically in the first place, and now the rest of the world will wonder about that as well.

 I plead with him silently, but he just continues to stare at me and I see him actually begin to dribble precum!  This cannot be happening!  My prolonging the inevitable is only exciting him more!   Worse of all, I am not the only one seeing this, and the noise in the courtroom increases as people watch the silent war of wills.  I get to my feet slowly, and then, less calmly than Greyson, but just as resolutely, I strip myself naked next to him in the dock.”

 “You know that I don’t like you to cover yourself, slave,” I hear in my head.  “I adore you, my sweet pet, and I want to show you off.”

 I cannot disobey him.  I toss my hair back out of my face.  This small defiance about showing my huge, swinging breasts clearly to the open-mouthed judge, jury and legal team gives me a little courage, but only a little.  I hold on to the railing of the dock tightly because I have begun to hyperventilate and I feel faint.  My pinkie finger reaches to touch Greyson and I feel his pinkie stroke mine gently.

 “Thank you for your obedience, slave.  You know that I love you for this gift,” he whispers.

 There are cheers of support for us from the members of the public who recover their aplomb most quickly, but an explosion of protests from the startled judge, the attorneys, several of the people watching and the jury.  They know that Greyson is a loose cannon, but they obviously had hopes for rehabilitating me.  I am, after all, one of them, and I’m a highly-educated one of them to boot.  The investment into socialising me and making me who I am was not small.  How could I have thrown that all away to become a mindless slave to an alien invader?  Sadly they have forgotten that Greyson, and what I do with him, are also responsible for making me who I am.  I credit him with making me stronger and better.

 I know that Greyson is looking around at the people in the room with us to gauge their reaction to us.  I, on the other hand, look stoically at the court’s Mission Statement hanging framed above the judge’s chair.  I fight back tears of despair.

It takes a two hour recess and a visit to the judge’s chambers for the trial to begin again.  Both Greyson and I assure the judge personally that we understand the possible consequences of our protest action.  We are likely to spend a long time in prison for contempt before Greyson is deported if the jury does not acquit us outright.  The judge has decided to support our right to protest in his courtroom, so Greyson and I will sit through the trial naked.   All the attorneys in the room look at the judge disbelievingly.  I find this ruling strange myself, since I thought that the law was cut and dry about these types of things, but I see Greyson fight down a smile.   His attorney thanks the judge for being willing to listen to our side of the argument even if they must be presented in Greyson’s unusual way.

 The prosecution takes little time in laying out its case.  The lead goes for Greyson’s jugular.  It is not difficult since Greyson has exposed it literally and figuratively with his nude courtroom protest.  He is brutal and Greyson offers all the arguments that he has ever given me. The prosecutor would have made a great fire-and-brimstone preacher of old and I can see that Greyson’s stubbornly calm insistence that he and his fellow Yluki are a reality that are here on Earth to stay and that this trial is not about indecent conduct in a public place but rather a politically-motivated farce that seeks to disguise the creeping intolerance of multiculturalism, diversity and self-determination, is not coming off well when compared to this man’s more passionate presentation of his arguments.  It’s funny, in this day and age, we look to the scientist only for some things; we look to the preacher for other types of guidance.

 I see people looking at the prosecutors’ triumphant back-slapping at their table, and I hear a growing murmur of comment pass through the room just before I hear my name called.  My heart skips a beat, and when I look at Greyson coming toward me back to the dock I notice that the judge glances at him with a puzzled look on his face.  He seems as annoyed with Greyson and his cavalier attitude with my safety as my lawyers and I are.  I decide that the judge is a decent man after all.  I drop my hostility toward him personally and focus on preparing myself to answer the questions that I’m asked as clearly as possible.  I realise that it is only in being seen as a sane, self-determining woman that I will have any chance of acquitting myself of these charges.  I am not a public menace, despite how I’m being portrayed.  I too am a scientist.  I am a rational being, and the prejudice and fear that have pervaded the society since the backlash against the Yluki are anything but rational.

I don’t know if anyone sees the brief squeeze of the hand that Greyson gives me as we pass each other.  I don’t care anymore.  I am afraid of my bleak prospects as I see myself unhappily taking the veil for the rest of my life.  I mark the moment of our contact since I do not know when I will touch him again, and proceed to my spot next to the judge.  He looks away, slightly embarrassed as I stand next to him.  I sigh.  I know how he feels.  Were it not for Greyson I would not be showing my huge body in public like this.  Like me he must be wishing for a more genteel time.

 “Is your name Emily Myerson?” the lead prosecutor asks.

 “Yes it is, Sir.”

 “We’re not in a BDSM forum here, Dr. Myerson.”

 “I was just trying to be polite to you.”

 There is explosive laughter that it quickly muffled from somewhere to my right.  I see the judge stamp down a smile and glance at me.  He averts his eyes again, quickly.

 “Are you the human woman who was caught in a compromising position with the Yluki, Greyson Xouerap on…”

“My Lord!  I simply must object!”

My attorney has jumped to his feet.  The judge waves him be seated.

“I think that we all know that she’s human and that the position for which she is being tried is compromising.  Could you be a little less histrionic Mr. Reeves?  I must say that I’m beginning to wonder, like the defendant, Mr. Xouerap, what’s really going on here.”

 Reeves stood staring like a deer in the headlights at these words.

 “I-I-I’m sorry my Lord!” he back-pedalled quickly.

 “Dr. Myerson, what is the nature of your relationship with Greyson Xouerap?”  He tried again.

 “We are lovers.”

 “You are a little bit more than that, aren’t you though, Dr. Myerson?”

 “My Lord?”

 “Mr. Reeves!”

 “You regard yourself as Dr. Xouerap’s  slave don’t you, Dr. Myerson?” he amends hurriedly.

 “Mr. Reeves!”

 “Whatever the label, it’s still a consensual relationship between two adults.”

 For some reason I realise that even if Mr. Reeves moves outside the strictest interpretations and presentation of the law to do it he can still hurt Greyson and me.  I realise that he is a man prepared to do so.   To get out of it I cannot afford to offer a defense of my actions, this will have to be a wrestling match in which I take the offensive at least equally well.

“So you say, Dr. Myerson,” he sounds condescendingly amused.

 Yes, I am a highly educated woman, I ought to know better.  I get his point in using my accomplishments against me.

 “The facts are that you were nude in a public place.  At one point, you were tied to a tree and he was flagellating you…”

 The police had been there longer than I had suspected.  Suddenly, I feel myself blushing at the thought of what these men had seen and heard.  I know that it will all come out here.  They will embarrass me into surrender; rape me emotionally as an act of aggression.  They are doing to me what they are telling me that they will not tolerate from Greyson!  My shame does not intimidate me this time; it makes me annoyed with myself.  I am not guilty of anything except having sex with the man I love!  Since when was that a crime?

 “You were both engaged in this as an act of sex in a public space.”

 He makes our guilt sound so cut-and-dry.

 Then glaring at Greyson in the dock, the prosecutor offers me a way out.  It is clear that he wants to get Greyson, not me.  I refuse to accept it.

 “The police report then shows that he threw you on the ground and forced himself on you.  Perhaps the beating was forced on you as well?” he asks.

 “I was there in the park with him by choice,” I declare bravely.

 The prosecutor looks at me hard.  I am trembling, but the prospect of losing Greyson has given me courage.

 “The state does not have the same rights as the individual to choose a lifestyle!”  I croak.   “The state is, by definition, more conservative because it has to be responsible in the interest of everyone, but if it imposes this standard directly on the individual it becomes repressive.  We have fought for centuries on this planet against repression of any kind!  How did we get to this place now?  I admit that the pendulum swung too far after the Yluki first came to Earth, but holding it in place equally far on the other side is wrong! It’s unnatural!  Nudity is not! My choice to live a BDSM lifestyle is not!”

 For some reason the hush in the room when I pause for breath frightens me.  I don’t think that I was expecting an ovation after my speech, but the strange silence breaks down my fledgling resolve to fight for Greyson.   Suddenly, I begin to wonder if the prosecution and law-makers do not have a valid point.  I begin to lose faith in my ability to make sound decisions for myself.  I begin to lose faith in Greyson’s ability to protect me.  I begin to despair that I have allowed myself to become someone who needs protection from others!

 “I haven’t asked you a question, Dr. Myerson,” the prosecutor reminded me.  “You speak only when asked a question.

 I feel my nipples harden painfully at Mr. Reeves’ words.  My eyes search out Greyson’s as he stands proudly in the dock.  I can see that he recognises and forgives my two weaknesses.  This gives me strength.  I try again.

 “You sound like Greyson when you tell me to speak when I’m spoken to.  Unless you want to have a sexual slave woman fawning at your feet right here in open court, Mr. Reeves, I’d suggest that you don’t speak to me like that again.”

 I think I hear a titter run through the room.   I can’t be sure because I am becoming highly worked up.

 “I am an educated woman; yes!  I know exactly what is best for me!  I do not need to know any better, Mr. Reeves; I know that’s what you’re thinking.  I have been making decisions for myself and for others for years.  No one found serious fault with any of those decisions until I was arrested.  Doesn’t that say something to you?”

 “Be quiet, Dr. Myerson!” the prosecutor barks.

 “I will not be quiet!  I may have no rights to express myself sexually, but I still have the right to speak or will that go next?” I shout back.

 This time I actually hear the shocked hush in the room.  Obviously some of the people in the room hadn’t thought through the logical conclusion to the slippery road on which our Government had embarked.  Given the signs that we’ve seen and heckling that we’ve heard today for many it is a clear case of trying to advance both the BDSM and nudism agendas.  For Greyson and, belatedly, me, it is much more.  It is a case of fighting for our right to choose our way of life.  The causes are ultimately incidental.

 I see Mr. Reeves look to the judge for help.  He gets none.

 “I cannot see where we have agreed to the right of the state to prescribe our thoughts and regulate the actions of two consenting adults in their bed.”

 “You were naked in a public park!  You were wearing only a collar and leash!”

 I ignore him when I see some of the members of the crowd turn to face me to see what answer I have to this particular volley.  If it weren’t so serious I probably would have laughed at the imagery of the tennis match that springs to my mind.

 “Yes, we were in a public park, and we were skyclad, and yes, we were making love; but we were well off the beaten track.  If the police hadn’t been following us we wouldn’t have been seen by anyone.  We were not corrupting anyone’s morals.  No one except the policemen who arrested us and the people in my prison cell saw that collar and leash.  There were other people there in that park before we were that evening and none of them was arrested or even fined.  I know this for a fact because I have checked.  I have to agree with Greyson, w-with Mr. Xouerap, there is something amiss here.  We have been singled out unfairly.”

 I pause when he says nothing.  I guess he did not expect me to go so directly on the attack.

 “Please try to understand.  I was with the man I love.  I have been with him exclusively for the past four years.  Believe me, I am not a loose woman!  Surely you can see that I must reserve the right to tell him that I love him in the way in which I choose.  What if someone prevented you from being with your wife?  What if someone forbade you from kissing her or smiling at her?”

 I see him open his mouth to say something so I rush ahead, cutting him off.  I’ll lose my nerve if I stop now so I daren’t allow him to interrupt my rant.

 “What we do is our communication or our bond; it’s our way of staying together.  I have surrendered my will to him.  I do accept spankings from him, but I assure you that he does not abuse me.  It is my choice.  He gave me a safe word a long time ago but I have never had to use it.  He does not hurt me even though he gives me pain on occasion.  In fact, he has never taken me even close to my limit physically.  For us there is the emotional dimension that is more challenging, but I have never been hurt in any way by Mr. Xouerap.”

 “The Government…”

 “When I am with Mr. Xouerap, the Government is the last thing on our minds!”

 I hear laugher in the room around me, but I am becoming worked up, and do not mean to stop until I have said my piece.

 “Tell them Sistah!” someone shouts encouragingly.  “Your man is fine!”

 “You got that right!” someone else hollers.

 “Dr. Myerson!” Reeves screeches, trying to regain control of the situation.  “Are you suggesting anarchy? Because of you there are people defacing public property, the incidence of disorderly conduct has risen over 4,000 percent and prostitution has resurfaced. Are you…”

 “Let her finish, Mr. Reeves.  I want to hear what she has to say,” the judge cautioned.

 “Thank you,” I say curtly, turning to the judge.

 I feel the change in the room with the judge’s permission for me to speak, and so ignore the prosecutor standing before me to address him and the jury.  I feel as if I have stepped outside of myself as I speak to them from my heart.

 “What we do is a private matter between us.  I have allowed him to take mastery of my body and my actions and my thoughts.  I have not allowed the State the same privilege. To force the State’s will on me is to rape me and surely that cannot be condoned by the law!  I resent being forced to stay away from the man whom I have chosen as my best friend, the source of my strength and as the man with whom I want to spend the rest of my life!  How can the State tell me whom I can love and how I may express that love.  I thought that we eradicated that kind of thing from the face of the Earth in the twenty-first century!  The proponents of the BDSM lifestyle were perhaps unwise not to come clean and make their case when others were fighting for gay and transgender rights but the arguments that they made then hold here as well for this.  I am talking about my human rights here.  I have a right to safety and I feel safest when I am with Mr. Xouerap!  I have a right to self-determination, even if I then choose to express it in a way of which you do not approve so long as I am not hurting anyone else or trampling on his or her human rights.”

 I pause for breath.  My chest is heaving and my fists are clenched; and I see, for the first time, looks of appreciation in the eyes of many of the men other than Greyson.  I feel a confident power that I have only ever felt with Greyson when in the privacy of our bedroom.  For me, it is the same transcendent strength that I feel after delivering a great lecture or a perfect presentation at a conference.  I understand that at last, I have reached the essence of my soul.  I understand why it is that I am a scientist.  I see clearly that the need to do and be more surpasses my electronics lab and has moved, with Greyson’s help, into my social life as well.  I have warmed to my task to protect Greyson, and my right to be with him, and my passion is there for all to see.  I toss my dreadlocks back defiantly and look the prosecutor straight in the eye.

 “And to answer your question, Mr. Reeves,” I say turning back toward the prosecutor with the deliberate tones of giving a carefully worded order; “no, I do not support anarchy. My protest here today is about preserving my right to choose my lifestyle, it is the repression that your employers, our Government, has wrought that is about to explode into anarchy.  From what we have seen and heard here today, I am not the only one who feels that things are grossly wrong here.  I am not the only one who is tired of this attempt to divert our attention away from the things that are really going on.  We had problems before, but Mr. Xouerap was not a part of these.  He came to this planet after those problems.  I was a child, I was not a part of them either.  You cannot demonise people who were not a part of our problems of the past for our problems today.   I am not a prostitute and Mr. Xouerap does not frequent them, so we cannot be held responsible for your problems if they really do exist, Mr. Reeves.   Inducing fear is no way to govern.   Surely you know that.  No one has been able to suppress man’s intuition for so long as this Government has, but you have seen the signs.  Even if Greyson and I lose here today, there will be others, I promise you!”

 “Yes!” someone shouts from the back of the room.

 “Brava!” someone else responds immediately.

 Greyson applauds enthusiastically from the dock and this induces a smattering of supportive cheers, yells and hand-clapping that ends up reverberating through the room as everyone except the prosecuting team and the vaguely amused-looking judge rise to their feet.  We can all hear the applause echoing outside the room in the corridors and when someone throws open the window we hear it in the streets of downtown Kingston as well.

Then slowly I hear it.  The wild cacophony of the ovation takes form, and emerges into the room as a chant.

 “Free them!   Free them!  Free them!  Free them!”

 I blush deeply and I see the judge’s smile broaden, catlike, just as I lower my gaze, embarrassed by the attention.   Maybe, what Greyson says is true; blushing really does enhance my looks.

 I glance at Greyson and see a strange, proud smile on his face.  We know that whatever happens, our relationship has just changed.  I have finally got his message.  I have learned how to please him at last.

 The prosecution’s case unravels very quickly after this.  The jury acquits Greyson and me and awards us substantial damages for the inconvenience to which we have been put.  We can leave Earth now to live elsewhere if we choose to do so, but somehow I do not think that we will if the decision is left solely up to Greyson.  I know that I will argue my point with him that it would be best for us to start over somewhere else.  Somehow I know that if I time my petition well, and am suitably provocative, I will win this argument.  I picture myself braless in my yellow tube top and matching short, tight shorts that reveal my unclad camel toe when I ask him.  I suppress a smile lest he know what I’m up to.

 We leave the court together, holding hands; still skyclad.  I want to leave by a discrete side entrance since, despite everything, my fat body still embarrasses me terribly now that I have come down from the adrenalin high of the courtroom appearance.  However, Greyson will have none of it.  He signals to the waiting television and newspaper reporters that we are prepared to give statements.  Before he does this though, Greyson claims me immediately in a tight public embrace.  He does not want there to be any doubt that I belong with him.  The crowds cheer their approval as he leans down and claims my mouth in a long, lingering kiss before turning to face everyone.

About Gabrielle Burns

I am a Jamaican at play here in this vast playground in cyberspace....Yes, at times I do like to live dangerously, but I AM also working hard at becoming more interesting by the day... :)
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One Response to Trying Times

  1. THE MEANING OF EXISTENTALISM IN ITS PUREST FORM, tk u mlj lv nv

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