Let me start by saying that I like Mel. He’s a very likable guy. I don’t know him in his outside life, but I bet that he’s a pretty good egg.
I want to respect his privacy, so I’m changing some of the details about his life to protect him.
Mel is a middle aged professional white guy. He’s smart and in a position of authority at a job that is practical and important for society…kinda like civil engineering. He must be good at it, because it’s not a job where you can mess up and stay employed–there is no room for mediocrity. He isn’t particularly handsome, but I’ve always been a little attracted to him, even though he’s really hairy and absurdly masculine. He has a warm personality, but there’s something hard underneath it. It’s hard to describe. Let’s put it this way: he’s never been anything but friendly and generous with me, but I’d hate to be working for this man and mess something up. And I certainly wouldn’t challenge him.
Mel’s a top. His scenes always involve a domestic role-play scenario and corporal punishment.
Heavy corporal punishment.
Of the women at the Studio who work as switches or subs, almost none of them can take it–either the pain is intolerable or the bruising is unacceptable. They session with him once or twice and then decline, despite the fact that he tips very well and aside from, you know, unbearable pain, he’s a great client.
Needless to say, little Margo hit it off with Mel right away. I’ve been seeing Mel a couple times a month for….gosh, a long time now. The only time I turn him down is when I have a date or plan to see the Surgeon in the immediate future and can’t have marks on my skin.
(Interestingly, though, I don’t bruise like the others do, despite the fact that I have such fair skin and he’s hitting me as hard, or harder, and he always does. Why is that? Is it because I’m experienced? Does anyone know? Some of my friends look like they were hit by a truck after an hour with Mel, whereas my marks are pretty superficial.)
The scenario is always the same: I’m his step-daughter or someone he’s responsible for, and I do something bad–lie about something, show up to dinner late, trash the car, whatever. After my error is exposed and a full confession made, I get a spanking or a strapping–all for my own good, of course. Then he forgives me and is warm, loving daddy again.
Nothing to it! Some days I don’t feel up to it, but most of the time, I kinda think it’s fun. It’s a challenge.
Except some of the other women at the Studio know all about Mel…a few of them, who have been there for a long time, have a history with him. A few of them saw him regularly, like me, until they couldn’t anymore. Nobody’s had a run with him as long as I have. They look at me like I’m crazy.
“You’re still seeing him? Still?” Asked the English one, Betsy, recently. She used to see Mel regularly a few years ago.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I? Nice guy. The money’s great and the pain’s not a huge problem for me. Why did you stop seeing him?”
Betsy looked me straight in the eyes: “He’s a sick, sick man, Margo. That’s why.”
Huh…? I looked at her, honestly confused. I had no idea what she was talking about. “What do you mean? Sick? Him? Compared to some of the wackadoos that come in here?”
Another woman with a history of seeing him told me, “I don’t know how you can handle being with him. It got to the point with me where I’d go home and keep thinking about the things he said. I had to stop.”
“What? Things he said?” I asked her.
“He hasn’t talked with you about his Dad?”
“Yes, I know about his Dad. It doesn’t freak me out.”
As Mel and I grew more comfortable with each other, we started to talk more. I expressed curiosity about how he’d come to be interested in the activities we engaged in.
Mel’s father was a violent man.
This didn’t disturb me–I had no clue why the other girls were creeped out. Lots of people eroticize traumatic things that happened to them. Shit, look at me–do you think it’s a coincidence that I ended up with this strange sexuality? Who am I to judge Mel? And as I see it, Mel is dealing with this in a respectable, acceptable way.
Time goes on, and I learned more and more about Mel’s formative years.
Mel’s father was a very violent man. What Mel does to me is a little tiptoe through the tulips compared to what Mel’s dad did to him. Bad stuff, gentle reader–just take my word for it. Today, if a child was beaten that way, CPS would take him out of the home.
Mel didn’t look upset when he told me these stories. He was calm. Maybe he sounded a little nostalgic, believe it or not.
One time, he told me about getting strapped for the awful crime of getting water-soluble marker on the kitchen linolium floor. Six years old.
“Well, I’m really sorry that happened to you,” I said.
Mel shrugged. “It was a different time, then. Different era. People thought differently.”
“Yes, I know. My father got the stuffing knocked out of him too. But it’s never okay to hit a child.”
“Well, I know that he loved me. He thought that it was for the best.” Mel tilted his head to the side, considering, and then said the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard come out of a client’s mouth: “It’s not like it screwed me up or anything.”
I almost started laughing–it was clearly a joke. I waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t.
He wasn’t kidding.
Yeah, that was an instant classic. I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to offend him, but I wanted to ask, Buddy, do you SEE WHERE YOU ARE? You are compulsive enough to act out the same scenario, over and over again, at the expense of many thousands of dollars, for your entire adult life.
That’s when I got my first inkling of what the other women were talking about when they said that something was really, really wrong with Mel.
Just an inkling. It passed very quickly, and I forgot.
Because Mel isn’t the only person in the room with issues. Readers of my little blog will know that I have a blind spot for a certain type of dysfunctional man. For a certain type of dysfunctional man, his dysfunctions fail to frighten or repulse me, the way they do 99% of other people who get a good look at them. Remember the Attorney? He was a kook! A kook! Didn’t bother me at all.
So, this brings us up to the panic attack I had at the Studio the other day.
I still don’t know why it happened to me then–why there was such a change in my understanding or perception of Mel and the things we did together. I honestly have no idea. Was it because I was tired and stressed out? Too much weirdness the day before, which sapped my emotional resiliency? Why’d it hit me?
The receptionist came in back and said, “Margo–Mel’s coming in for you. He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
I said okay and stood up to walk to my locker. I unlocked it. I looked at the clock.
Thirty minutes to get ready.
Thirty minutes can be a long time. Pain distorts one’s conception of time…slows it down.
Thirty minutes can be a long time to wait.
Then I thought, I wonder what it felt like to Mel when he was waiting for his father to come home?
Then the empathy hit me–this huge, and very unwelcome, hit of empathy. Welcome to the haunted house. I understood exactly how Mel must have felt, and let me tell you, it was pretty fucking terrible.
The adrenaline was released in my brain, and when that happens, it’s all over. When you get scared like that, it doesn’t matter if you understand intellectually that you’re not in danger, or if you earnestly want to calm down….there’s nothing you can do but ride it out and wait for the chemicals to stop working.
My hands started shaking. I couldn’t open the buttons on my dress. The strength went out of my legs. I tried to stay standing and then gave up. I sat down on the floor.
I looked at the clock. Twenty-eight minutes to go.
I can’t go through with it.
I waited until the shuddering stopped. Then I stood up and told the receptionist that I couldn’t keep the appointment and that I needed to go home.
I took some time off. I feel fine now. Refreshed.
My relationship with Mel has run its course. If he inquires after me again–when he inquires–I’ll just let him know that I’m unable to see him again. He’ll take it graciously. He won’t ask for an explanation.
A part of me does wonder what he would think, though, if he knew the truth. Would he be pleased? Upset? Would it make him uncomfortable with himself? I mean, the guy clearly isn’t big on self-reflection–at least, not about this. If he wanted to change this part of himself, he would have tired to by now.
That’s all for this evening–I’m going to a meeting, and then out to the movies. I’ve written a lot and my carpal tunnel is kicking up.
I have happy stuff to write about, too. Next time!
You know, I almost didn’t write about Mel, but I’m glad that I did. It feels good to talk about it. As it were. Lol.