On Torture

When I was in college, I dated a girl named Lacey. We had an emotionally twisted relationship, where she was in love with me (or believed she was) and I was afraid of being lonely. It was classic codependency. Nevertheless, we had great sex.

Once, late in our relationship, beneath the sheets of my off-campus apartment, she asked me to tie her up. This was the height of my concern about political correctness with respect to women. I was shocked and confused. In my loss of words, I probably appeared to have not heard her or to be ignoring her. She became embarrassed and the mood was destroyed.

In hindsight, I understand that my disgust was not related to the idea of the act, but rather the idea that the act seemed to be a cartoon-ization, an exaggeration, of our already dysfunctional relationship. "For Christ sake", I thought, "I am already torturing this girl emotionally and we both know it. How could she take pleasure out of its physical manifestation".

Later in life, I was dating a girl named Grace. Grace was particularly naughty, and I don't mean in the fun way. She was prone to throwing tantrums in public, being nasty to my friends, starting fights with sales clerks, hating people she just met, and cheating on me. She was completely dependent on attention and had the temperament of an underfed dragon. Once again, however, great sex.

Grace and I could only get along when we were living in different cities. Once when she was attending law school in Boston, I went to visit her. We had engaged in some pretty erotic phone talk before I arrived and she had also requested a bit of the silk tie action. This time, I planned to oblige.

But I wondered how much fun this would be if there was no fear or anger. I assumed (I had never done this before) that it was the mingling of the different and extreme emotions that made the idea so sweet.

Our routine was to debrief when we visited each other. That meant going to a public place, drinking coffee or having dinner, talking, looking, and smelling. Touching was all but forbidden. It was a good practice. Reunited lovers are too quick to focus on the body and they leave the person for later. It's better the other way around.

Afterwards, we returned to her studio. I remember she was wearing a sheer skirt with a full opaque slip, an ivory top, a brown suede baseball jacket, and Coco Chanel. Actually, in my mind she was always wearing that, so my recollection of the event is probably inaccurate. Nevertheless, I took off her clothes one piece at a time, touching and kissing as I went. I made it clear that all of my clothes, even my shoes, were to stay on.

When she was fully naked, I lead her to the bed and took out my ties. Still kissing, I gently but very securely tied her to the posts of the large wooden bed. When I was sure she could not escape, I blindfolded her. Then leaning over her, close but not touching, I picked up my phone.

I had a friend, Dave that was also in town that night. I called him up and asked him what he was doing. He was going out later but had a small window of time open. "Great," I said, "I'm at Grace's. Swing by and pick me up and we'll go get a beer." As I expected, this call turned Grace's arousal to anger. I grabbed her keys and a coat and headed out the door. As the elevator closed behind me, I could still hear her screaming.

The bar was close by. In the space of about 45 minutes, I had two beers and talked about the usual, girls, cars, and work. Dave had a date later that night and was in a bit of a hurry to get back and get ready. "Don't worry about it", I explained. "I'm also in a bit of a hurry. I have something in the oven and I'm afraid it will burn up if I leave it too long." He expressed concern that I would put anything in the oven and then leave the building. He was right. It was probably dangerous.

Five minutes later, I unlocked the door and entered the unnatural calm of Grace's studio. She was lying, unmoving on the now crumpled bed, my improvised shackles still in place. My friendly greeting went unanswered. I leaned over her face and whispered, "hello." I'm sure she could smell the beer on my breath and she responded by spitting violently in my face. I wiped it off and then kissed her. Although her anger was not subdued, she responded. I untied her, and for the next three hours, we had sex. With decreasing frequency, the rage would snap back and she would punch me with all her might or bite through my skin. I would respond by kissing her harder.