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Pain Speaking

Paul Sohar

    The button by the front door of the brownstone made no buzz, yet soon there was a voice in response.
    “S’that you? Alice’s friend?”
    “Yes, that’s me.”
    “Come on up.”
    The door to the apartment on the second landing was already wide open. The visitor walked in and stopped hesitantly in the shadowy hallway where none of the shadows turned out to be the host. There was light filtering in from the front room as well as from the back, probably the kitchen. Or a bathroom.
    “Come in, come in,” the voice appeared from the back, trying to steer the visitor into the smallish front room with a fireplace blocked off by a TV set and video equipment. The sofa across the room had the coffee table on the side, not in front of it; an uneasy looking easy chair, book shelf sagging with paperbacks and artistically stylized plastic genitalia completed the furnishings. Two cans of beer on the coffee table, right next to a heavy glass art deco ashtray.
    “Sorry I forgot your name, I always make up my own names for people I know, and I’ve toyed with a few for you but the choice is not clear. Let’s see where tonight takes us... You want to sit down and rest for a few minutes? Catch your breath?” the host waved hospitably, taking in the small living room with one sweep of a bony arm that slipped out of the short sleeve of the bathrobe, and the belt began to come loose over his modest pot belly. “We are not exactly strangers, it’s not like we were sort of getting to know each other, and so feel free to make yourself comfortable.”
    The host tightened the belt of the robe as he sat down in the easy chair covered with a thick Navaho blanket, probably to hide the holes in the upholstery. He took a sip of the beer can and pointed at the other one. Now with light on his face he appeared less threatening, his apologetic looking mustache seemed like an afterthought, and his small goatee was rendered harmless by the silvery tint.
    “Have a sip but make it last, we don’t want to overload ourselves, only moisten our mouths as we go along. And perhaps it’s best if you don’t get undressed yet, not before we get some of the basic ideas clear in your mind. When you come out of the bathroom with all your clothes left in there I want you to be fully in the spirit of this scenario we follow, because I want to be in my role and don’t want to be distracted by further explanations and instructions. For starters let’s get an unpleasant question out of the way. You are not hustling, are you?”
    “Noooh,” came the lighthearted reply. “It’s not that I don’t accept gifts and perhaps a little stipend now and then, but I am here at my own pleasure...”
    “Good. We don’t want to end up with a one-thousand-dollar misunderstanding on our hands,” the host nodded with approval. “More about pleasure later, but first one other thing. We’re both here for our own benefit. By nature I’m not an altruistic person, I need to assert myself and my needs. And I assume, at least for tonight, your needs include obedience and willingness to take direction. You follow me?”
    “I guess so.”
    There was a short pause with both of them sitting there as if waiting for someone else’s voice to emerge from the traffic noise of the street below.
    “You know that I know that you know what this session is all about, and what I am about to say may indeed be to totally superfluous, but bear with me for a few more minutes, in most cases I still find it useful to clarify some things. If you don’t agree then regard it as a part of the script for the session you sought with me and just follow the scenario I work out as we go along. This is the way I like to get going, with a little talk that establishes my position, it helps me overcome my usually mousy nature and start growling like a lion. Of course, that’s not the only role I propose to play, just one in my repertoire . There are others, the mouse in the lion skin, the lion in the rabbit skin, etcetera, etcetera. The possibilities are endless, and I like to let them play themselves out rather than forcing them on a particular situation. That’s why I am not presenting you with a script to follow, only a few basic principles to keep in mind.
    “Number one: We are not here to enjoy ourselves. So don’t try to pretend to me you’re having fun, you’re going into ecstasy. No, you are here to suffer, to endure pain. You agreed to endure but not to enjoy it. So feel free to scream, cry, whimper and whine, do whatever the pain makes you do. But I repeat, don’t pretend to be enjoying it. That defeats the purpose of the proceedings, the whole game, the sacred ritual, so to speak. It’s amazing how many of you beginners don’t get this point and try to play along by begging for more even while writhing in pain. Are they trying to fool themselves or the partner who may be a potential customer? A good question.
    “The same principle applies when the roles are reversed. Actually they are not reversed as much as us taking turns, the prisoner takes over and takes revenge until order is re-established and authority reasserts itself. Retribution ensues. So when it comes to your turn to do the spanking , you have to do it for real. Don’t just pretend to do it but put some spirit into it, do it as if you meant it, as if your life depended on it. Or my life, for that matter. If I scream out it doesn’t mean you should stop, it doesn’t mean I’m begging you to show mercy to me; it simply means I am still alive, still feeling the whacks, and it’s your job to keep delivering them. Each whack is a moment of eternity. So listen to me now when I outline the approach to the ritual, but don’t listen to me while we’re in the midst of it. Then only God can save me, but of course He will not because I’ll curse Him and implore Satan to come to my help. You are to be my Satan. You are to save me, deliver me from goodness and let me enter the pure world of evil. The power of evil. Let’s not make bones about it, power is evil, and if it’s not evil, it is not power. And power is the most basic manifestation of the bare will to live. That’s how our little ritual will formalize, dramatize our sensation of being alive and bring it into the center of our consciousness. Pain is the purest manifestation of life, both physical and spiritual. The way to heaven is through the gates of hell. And when I talk about heaven I mean Arcadia, or the Elysian Fields, the ancient idea of eternal youth...
    “But remember, pain is not real unless it’s shared with a partner, tossed back and forth between consenting adults, between two enlightened seekers of immortality. And of course, in the end we’ll be all right, more than all right, but it’s mandatory to let the spirit of Arcadia flow through us, to let ourselves become springs of joy, the living proof of redemption through pain. Contrary to popular beliefs, joy doesn’t come from love, especially not from phony, mawkish enactments of love, and so forget about playing the part of a lover...
    “As we agreed, there’ll be no lasting injury, but the pain will be real, and it will be endured and allowed to drive us out of our minds, and the one meting out the punishing blows will have to watch the limits, not the one receiving them. While receiving them we must feel free to take leave of our senses, escape our scheming little minds and become real through pain. Did I make myself clear? No clumsy play acting that you may be used to, no fun and games, no feigning pleasure by hiding pain. I want to see the pain I inflict, and I want to feel the pain inflicted on me. No wet noodle treatment here, it’s the real thing. No pleasure until afterwards when I give a signal. Of course that’s optional, but it should be uncontrollable by then. And we each take care of our sexual release in our own way. Is this understood? Then let’s get started, let’s get undressed and be vulnerable. You want another beer? There’s more in the refrigerator, help yourself. And help me to one too while you’re at it. But the joint we share will be lit up only by me when it is appropriate for both of us. Later we go out for a little din-din, and if we feel like it, we might come back here for a nightcap and check each other for possible bruises and apply ointments as necessary. And do whatever the spirit moves us. Recapitulate. At that time you may feel free to improvise, keeping in mind the ideas I outlined here...
    “Yes, the light is already on in the bathroom to your left. You may want to take a shower, and come out here in your birthday suit, as if you had walked in here from the street just like that, possibly an escaped criminal or an innocently persecuted fugitive from justice, seeking shelter at any price, seeking the comfort of pain, the comfort of human contact. That’s why I use mostly the palm of my hand and only occasionally a slipper or a ping-pong paddle, but ...
    A few minutes later the visitor emerged, naked and cringing, but still managed to hold two cans of beer.
    “Put the beer on the table but then stay standing like this. That’s good, slightly bent over and sideways, looking furtive and lost. Perfect. So what’s your story? Why did you break into my apartment? What? You were drugged in a bar and found yourself naked in the alley? With amnesia? Can’t remember your name and address? Is that right? Sad story, but I’ll still have to punish you. After all this is the house of pain that you stumbled into. You’d better bend over...”
    The late afternoon was dimming into evening. A streetlight directly in front of the windows transformed the walls into the remains of a ruined castle in perpetual twilight, with ghosts on them projected by the passing headlights below. But still, there were some dark corners that remained undisturbed, and where silent shadows were watching the parade of ghosts. Then one of the shadows began to move, and a scream rose up from the another. Or maybe it was a cat.

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