Night Shift

       I’m finishing up my volunteer stint “Caring for Young Trees.”  I wear sunscreen every day, but I still got some sun on my lower arms, and my hair is more golden from being outside.  

       I like to watch the birds when I garden.  Did you know sparrows are related to canaries?  I’d like to get a canary one day.  Sparrows are so cute!  I’m glad that they can live in the city with us.  I love watching them hop around, making their cute little peeping noises. 

       If I was Dictator of New York, I would also issue the following edict: all smokers who do not dispose of their cigarette butts in trash cans or ash trays shall be shot. 

        Seriously, what’s up with this?  Throwing cigarette butts down on the ground is the only time I see members of the general public littering these days.  Why?  There are trash cans every fifteen feet in Manhattan.  Could you at least throw it in the gutter, and not in the plants?  You’re not even supposed to be smoking in the park…but I don’t care about that.  Cigarette smoke doesn’t bother me.  The people in my home state smoke like barbecues and since they believe that public health laws are for pussies and government bootlickers, you can smoke indoors, too.  I’m an ex-smoker myself.  Just throw out your butts, people!  Littering is an antisocial act! 

       Speaking of antisocial, I worked a double (double shift) at the Studio this week.  I spent the day in the library, but had to be on site at night once the library closed.  

     I haven’t worked a night shift in a long time.  I’m an early bird, not a night owl.  

     Also: the freaks come out at night. 

     Daytime, you definitely get the random wackjob and the guy who’s still awake and coming in off of a three-day bender…but for the most part, the clientele are businessmen and financial services creatures who are sneaking away on lunch break or stopping by after work before they take the LIRR home.  

      Night shift…especially after, say, 10 PM…it’s a whole other story.  One of my uncles was a police detective.  He knew that most law abiding citizens are at home in bed by midnight, and if you are out in public between midnight and 5 AM, you are probably up to no good.  

       I must concur with my uncle.  

      First up, I have another mistress–the Studio’s current Reigning Psycho–insulting me and complaining about my presence to the other women.  She has always disliked me.  I have no idea why, as I cause no problems and have not even had a personal conversation with her.  Maybe she considers me to be competition, but that’s stupid too, because we look nothing alike and we specialize in different things.  

       She gave me a backhanded compliment.  I got rid of her by looking up at her and staring, silent and unblinking.  My owl stare.  You don’t intimidate me, sweetheart.  You’re just an ignorant little hick from Buffalo with a squeaky voice and a nose piercing, and I have forgotten more than you’ll ever learn. 

     The psycho registered it and went upstairs.   

      She really is unstable, though.  She’s best friends with the crazy junkie who got fired for assaulting a manager.  This one will be next.  That, or she’s going to say the wrong thing to Mistress C. one day, and C will put her in the hospital.  

      Next, I had a very awkward encounter with a coked-up French masochist.  He’d just finished a 2-hour session with another mistress.  She is a skilled mistress, and I’ve never seen her in session, but she has a reputation for being very harsh. 

       “He wants to see you next,” she said.  “Are you good at caning?  You have to be accurate.  No wrap-around.”

       “Yes, I can do that.”  

        “Be careful.  He’s bleeding.” 

        I went to have a gander.

        The guy was pulverized.  I have seen all sorts of marks and superficial tissue damage on people who come in to the Studio.  I have never seen anything like this.  It was worse than what the Attorney did to me the first time.  His backside was swollen and cratered so badly that it looked like the surface of the moon.

      “Have you been drinking?”  I do not judge masochists, as I am a heavy masochist myself, but I couldn’t understand how someone could take a 2-hour caning that inflicted that much injury without being anesthetized.

        Nope.  He was just a little coked up.

       “Do you know what you’re doing?  Are you sure that you want more?”

        “I need more pain.”

        I stared at him, trying to make a decision.  He seemed coherent.  He had expensive clothes and a watch, so I assume he was educated and had a good job, which means that he was smart enough and functional.  He was an adult.  He could make his own decisions.  

       My concern was whether or not I could do it.  Usually I’d be happy to hurt boys all day, but this fellow was already hamburger.  It was like something you see in movies about corporal punishment in the English Navy.  Mutiny on the Bounty.   Just call me Captain Bligh.

       Eventually, I decided: what the hell.  He can’t die from it.  As long as I wear gloves and don’t break the skin, it’ll be fine.

       I brought out a few new canes.  He wanted the fiberglass. 

       He stopped me after five minutes.

       “Please go get the manager,” he said.  “I need to see someone else.”

       “Are you all right?  Is my aim imprecise?”  I think I’m pretty accurate, and I was being careful.  I even wore flat boots to optimize my balance. 

       “It’s nothing personal.  Your skill is fine.”  He gave me forty bucks and I left.

        I learned that he didn’t care for my demeanor.  I wasn’t cruel enough to suit him.  He needed Angry Bitch from Hell.  My style is Mary Poppins if he wants an easy domme (cheerful but firm) or chief prison warden if he wants a hard domme (cold control freak).

       “You’re up,” I told the Resident Psycho who hates me.  He wanted to see her.  A perfect choice.  “Wear gloves.”

         Some men really like her.  She gets clients.  I don’t understand the attraction, as she is nuts with an annoying voice.  But maybe that is the attraction.  She is authentically dangerous.  Compared to her, I’m Mister Rogers.  She will never wonder if she should save you from yourself.  She will fuck you up if you want her to.  I honestly don’t think that she has any morals at all.  

         Next: a grouchy, insecure cross-dresser.  I seldom do sessions with cross-dressers.  It’s just not my personality and the dudes can sense it.  Anyway, this guy was a real treat.  I call him insecure because he was in a bad mood and he also managed to work into the conversation three times within the first five minutes that he just got back from Afghanistan.  

       Now, why the hell would he tell me that?  How on earth is that relevant to the activities we are engaged in?

       Oh, I know: you’re ashamed of yourself for having this sissy kink, and you want to assure me that even though you are a sissy, you are actually a Real Macho Manly Man.  You even have a cop mustache! 

      Whatever!  Put on this lacy camisole, GI Joe!  We also have a pair of clear stripper heels in your size.  I don’t think less of you for being here.  Your shame all comes from inside of you, and I won’t let you push it on to me.  

      The “Jerk in the Cage” came back.  He wanted to see me, so I guess that episode turned out well after all.  He turned out to be a nice friendly guy.  He tipped well. 

       “Sorry I yelled and swore at you when I found you down there,” I said.

       “No!  Don’t be sorry!  It was exciting!  You were really mad!”

       Finally: there was an enormous monster cockroach high on the wall by the front door, which caused pandemonium.  This was one ugly mofo.  We made a guy knock it down and smash it.  Men are good for killing bugs. 

        Oh, one more thing: you’ll never believe who I ran into that same night!  A blast from the past!  SETH!  And he remembered me, too!  

       “Hey Seth!  Been to any class reunions at Harvard recently?  What did you think about the recent editorial in The Economist?

       HA!  He walked out.  HA!

       I never told you about Seth.  Seth is a manipulative jerk who used to come in to my first dungeon.  Right before the Surgeon made me quit there, I had a little confrontation with Seth.  I put Seth in his place.  I humiliated him and he ran out and never came back!

       He deserved it.  He’s rude and insulting.  I’ll tell you all about it next time.  


4 thoughts on “Night Shift”

  1. Hi Rick,

    Not soul-numbing–more like exasperating and/or depleting.

    I honestly enjoy a lot of the weird shit I encounter, like the Execution fetishist or even the Bollywood Kidnapper of Brides. It’s fun. And very, very interesting.

    What gets me down about Studio work is: 1) batshit insane co-workers; 2) dysfunctional management; 3) the House takes 50%-60% of the fee.

    The most soul-numbing job I ever had was when I worked in fast food for almost two years. Yeah, I was the girl taking your order at the drive-thru.

    It sucked so bad, I can’t even tell you. I’m glad that I went through it, however. It gave me a tremendous sense of humility and perspective.

    I’d work like a dog, multitasking and running my ass off, for $40. For an 8 hour shift. No benefits. We only got free soda fountain drinks.

    Anyway, this isn’t meant to be a political rant. Glad you are enjoying the stories. Check back, because I have scores of them waiting to be written. And some are really funny.

    MM

  2. Dear Miss Margo,

    “Be careful. He’s bleeding.” What a line to hear as you walk into a room!

    “She is authentically dangerous. Compared to her, I’m Mister Rogers. She will never wonder if she should save you from yourself. She will fuck you up if you want her to. I honestly don’t think that she has any morals at all.”

    Be still my heart! I think I am in love.
    Seriously, I find this kind of women very attractive. The truth, however, is that when I encountered a woman like this back in my sessioning days, I would run like crazy. Sometimes it was just a feeling. In fact, if a woman stirred up my desire for total obliteration, I ran, even when she was responsible. That feeling of real danger was important for me. I think that’s why first and second sessions were always so hot. They were more dangerous.

    I am not that surprised that ‘the man in the cage’ wants to session with you. You were genuinely angry at his presence. Obviously that turned him on. And it was real. My theory is that we all want something real. Even the most skilled play-acting is still play-acting. I bet he wants to see if you can stir up that feeling in him again. An angry woman he has never seen before comes upon him helpless . . . It’s like a Brothers Grimm fairy tale.

    John

  3. Good morning, John;

    Well, I read your comment and I was about to say that you sound crazy for liking women like that, but then I remembered that a little over a year ago I had that consuming fixation on the Attorney. That guy was a stone-cold killer. You should have seen what I looked like after the first time. I’d post more creepy photos of my injuries on the blog, but he has copies of most of them (he asked me to send them), and I don’t want him finding this by searching for the pics in Google Images.

    He blew it by humiliating me too much, too soon (“The Pizza Was Fantastic!” douchebag). THANK GOD. If he got me hooked, that kook could have ridden my ass to hell and back. I really dodged a bullet with that one.

    So, at least you have the good sense to run away.

    Eros and Thanatos. Very, very strong in me.

    Yeah, I’m sure that yelling at the Jerk in the Cage gave him wack-off material for days. I was so aggravated that I actually kicked his cage, lol

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