Chapter 3. Putting Things in Context.
I carefully slid the rubber band off of the stack of pictures. I shuffled the first picture, the one I had been studying, to the back of the pack. The next picture made me gasp. I was so startled I dropped the stack of pictures into the box and brought my hand to my mouth. It couldn't be! It just couldn't be! [Chapter 1.]
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I woke up earlier than usual on Tuesday morning. Sid was still in bed as I put on my running outfit and trainers and headed out for my daily three mile run. Although it was well into springtime, it was cool that morning and the rising sun seemed to do nothing to take the chill out of the air.
As I jogged up the footpath to the park, I thought about what had happened in the last twelve hours. First, my meeting with Joe Powell, his entrusting me with the shoebox he had found in his wife's closet and finally the extraordinary effect that box had already had on my life in that short time.
I thought about how passionate Sid had been last night; how passionate we had both been after just viewing a small portion of the contents of the shoebox. I thought about the different emotions I felt whenever I was in its presence; fear, loathing, excitement, disgust, disbelief and now sexual passion. It was if the box itself was alive and causing all these emotions.
As I ran, I tried to formulate an approach to deal with Joe's problem. Although therapy is a process which is conducted almost entirely by the patient and facilitated by the therapist, I still required a methodology to approach his situation. All these thoughts collided as I ran my usual path through the park and back up our street.
Before I knew it, I was heading down my winding, tree lined street. The time had flown by and I realized that I must have finished my run at least five minutes faster than usual. I stopped outside the back door, bent from the waist and tried to catch my breath. I was sweating and physically exhausted but feeling quite alive.
I recovered and walked into the kitchen. Sid was at the table with the shoebox in front of him. He looked up when I entered the room.
"Hi. How was your run?"
"Invigorating! What are you doing?"
"Finishing what we started last night. Listen, did you look at all these pictures?"
"Yes, I told you I looked at them and was quite disturbed."
"Did you notice anyone familiar?"
"Yes, Beth Powell. Why?"
"Of course Beth Powell, I mean someone else. Someone you know!"
"What are you talking about?" I asked as I walked around the table to look at the pictures Sid had in is hands.
"For instance, this woman."
Sid's meaty finger stabbed at the picture he was holding. He pointed to a woman's face in the background. She was dressed in black leather, a leather bustier, black stockings and high black leather boots. I stared at the picture.
"I know that woman?"
"You should, she is one of your former patients!"
I looked at Sid with a dumb stare then looked back at the picture. Nothing registered.
"I know she didn't dress like that when she came to therapy with her husband, but God Susan, look closely."
It may have been the hair or the context but I only had a vague tinge of familiarity with the face; or maybe I was distracted by her pert nipples peeking out over the top of the leather bustier.
"Pricilla Block! You remember, Ray and Pricilla Block. Now she is Pricilla Williams. They used to be your clients."
I was dumbfounded. Just yesterday afternoon I had pulled out the Block file after Joe Powell had told me that Ray Block had referred him to my practice. Of course, Pricilla - prim little Pricilla - the secret temptress. Why hadn't I noticed that yesterday? I grabbed the picture out of Sid's hand and moved it to the window to get a better view in the bright morning sunlight. It was definitely Pricilla Block!
"Didn't she turn out to be quite the tart?" Sid asked.
"No better or worse than her husband, Ray. They apparently had an "open marriage" only they didn't tell each other about it. Each thought the other was oblivious to their extra-marital shenanigans. In therapy it came out that they both knew what the other was doing and thought that their own little escapades were the big secret. Talk about lack of communication, it was almost comical."
"The most surprising part was that Ray was mostly talk and bravado. He liked to grope the women that worked for him and fancied himself a real ladies' man. But it was Pricilla who was actually having most of the fun. There was an endless stream of men at the Block house; pool boys, delivery men, plumbers, carpenters, all manner and kinds of men. Pricilla never met a man she didn't like, or at least wouldn't try out! When I first met her, I thought she was all starch and tight as a drum. As their story unfolded I learned my lesson, never judge a book by its cover."
"Well apparently, your Pricilla has added a new page to her book - Dominatrix!"
Sid handed me another picture. A woman who appeared to be Beth Powell was on her hands and knees, her bare behind facing the camera. The woman in leather (whose face was not visible) was whipping her with a short black crop.
"Looks like your Pricilla. Recognize the get-up?"
"Yes, you're right. The face is not visible in most of the pictures, but it is the same woman. Pricilla Block!
"And look at this."
Sid handed me another picture. In this one, Beth was wearing a skimpy outfit and had a black leather collar around her neck. There was a dog leash attached to the collar and it was held by the woman we identified as Pricilla. Again, her face was not visible. The picture was at a bar at which other "masters" and "slaves" were standing. Apparently, this group of photos was taken at some kind of kinky, bondage club. Sid pointed to a sign over the bar. Although it was barely legible, I was able to make out the words "Eizenspritzer Society".
"Have you ever heard of the Eizenspritzer Society?" Sid asked.
"Yes, it's vaguely familiar."
"They are like the Kiwanis Club of the BDSM set. The Northern New Jersey Chapter meets at the Starlight Lounge in Sparta. Apparently, Beth Powell was the entertainment at one of their meetings. She took quite a beating from the looks of this one."
Sid handed me another picture, one which I did remember quite well. It was a shot of a woman's bare behind, red with welts from being whipped or beaten. It was apparent from the sequence of pictures that the whipped buttocks belonged to Beth.
"It's hard to believe that people actually enjoy that kind of pain." I said staring intently and the red welts on display in the picture Sid was holding up for me to see.
"Oh, they do doctor, endorphins you know. Their endorphin levels get so high that they don't really feel the pain, just excitement, pleasure and then, bam – orgasm. Kind of like you runners!"
Sid gave me a sly wink. I thought back to my run this morning. Was that enjoyable? I did feel more alive! However, a dispassionate observer could look at me as I finished up outside my kitchen door, skin red and blotchy, sweat pouring off of me, bent over in pain trying to catch my breath and postulate that I was nuts! In fact, if someone had forced me to do that it would probably be considered "cruel and unusual punishment."
"I think I understand what you are getting at." I mumbled sheepishly as I gazed at my husband. "What you are saying is that everything has a context. If you take something out of context, it seems absurd, or depraved, or downright crazy!"
"Exactly Dr. Sharp! Let's consider a simple example. We see an attractive woman in a bikini, a very revealing bikini. She is on the corner of 42nd Street and 8th Avenue. We conclude that she is a hooker. Now put her at our local swimming pool at the church outing. She is a jezebel, perhaps a slut! Now put her at the Jersey Shore. She is one of thousands of women dressed this way. We don't even give her a second look, she is quite normal. Finally, we see the same woman wearing the same bathing costume, only now we are at Fire Island at the nude beach. She is now a prude! I rest my case!"
"Sidney, certainly you are not trying to tell me that if I just put Beth Powell's behavior in the correct context, it is perfectly normal and acceptable?"
"Susan, you are the psychologist. Far be it from me to tell you what is "normal" or even "acceptable". All I am saying is that you must defer judgment in this whole matter until you know all the facts. And as we all know, the "facts" are also colored by context and perspective. One man's truth is another man's heresy."
"Sidney, now you are confusing me. What you say makes sense but it puts me no closer to a clinical approach in the Powell case than I was last night."
"Zu-Zu, all I am saying is try to be open and not so judgmental! Keep an open mind and don't let it run in the background while you are trying hard to listen!"
Sid packed up the shoebox and slipped on the lid, handing it to me. Then he kissed me on the forehead and announced that he was leaving for his rounds at the hospital. As he shrugged on his sports jacket and moved toward the kitchen door, he turned toward me:
"I almost forgot, I have a lunch date this afternoon with Dr. Harley and coincidentally, we are meeting at the Starlight Lounge. I think I'll get there a little early and speak to one of the bartenders that I know. Maybe he can give me a little "deep background" on your clients."
*****
After my shower, I decided to do some research on the Eizenspritzer Society and on BDSM in general. I was surprised to say the least on how mundane some of the websites appeared. If you didn't know what "BDSM" meant, you might think some of these clubs were the Ancient Order of Hibernians getting together for fellowship and good fun. I had to dig deep into the web sites to get to the pages showing the various bondage paraphernalia; the cuffs, harnesses, ball gags and all kinds of strange aparati those practitioners of the BDSM lifestyle need to be completely outfitted. I once read that the area were most patents have issued is golf. After browsing through the BDSM catalogues I guessed that bondage must be a close second!
