Chapter 5

Somehow, we got past it. I wandered off and called Beatrice -- and a five minute conversation took fifteen. Women do that -- nothing is quick and simple. A typical telephone conversation between guys lasts under five minutes, but women can talk for hours about NOTHING! Fortunately, my burger didn't turn into an ice cube.

Chet left early; his jaw hurt, and he was having trouble eating -- but no trouble drinking. Pete went with him, to see to it that he got home in one piece, as he was thoroughly anesthetized.

Around nine, Bridgette appeared at our booth. "Couldst have a word, milord?"

"I was just leaving," Jackson announced.

"I thank thee," Bridgette smiled at him.

Jackson fished out his wallet, but I waved him off. "I've got it." He just nodded and headed out. I turned my attention to Bridgette, "Yes?"

"About Beatrice..."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"We've talked," Bridgette said, dropping the medieval speech pattern. "I know she's been a little wild and she's thrown herself at you. You're probably pretty leery right now."

"I'm ... surprised," I admitted. "I don't think it is anything I can't handle."

"Well, she's scared that she's sparked the 'coyote ugly' reaction in you and that you're gonna run like Hell. From what she's told me, I wouldn't be surprised, either. I'm here to ask you to reconsider."

"Actually, I really don't think she's scared me or anything, although I do wonder a bit at some things she says and does," I replied.

Bridgette cocked her head. "Are you taking her seriously?"

"What?"

"You seem ... aloof. I'm wondering if you're taking her seriously. She's deadly serious, you know."

"Oh." I eyed her. "Would it help if I told you that I REALLY have no problem with having a woman tell me she can't live without me? It doesn't hurt my ego any, and it's VERY pleasant for me to think that I might actually experience that kind of relationship. Frankly, I never hoped to."

"Oh," Bridgette replied. "That puts a different spin on things, doesn't it?"

"I'm hoping it's not a momentary infatuation and that after a short while, she won't get sick of me," I explained. "That would suck, as I would be used to having her."

"That's ... unlikely, from what I can see," Bridgette mused. "Ronald, the women in my family react to men a little differently than some. I don't think we fit the usual image of a 'modern woman.' In fact, I KNOW we don't."

"Oh?"

"No." Bridgette gathered herself. "For one thing, we don't WANT to be independent, and we don't WANT to be equal partners. We look for a man who presents our image of perfection -- and when we find one, we ... submit ... to him. It's not like we want to be married so much as we want to be owned."

I frowned. "Does this have something to do with what she did last night?"

Bridgette nodded. "Everything, I think. When we find that person we think is worthy, we offer ourselves, without reservation. It's not considered normal, nowadays, but I think it once was, way back. It's not like having a girlfriend -- or even a wife. It's more like what you hear the rules are for a concubine -- except we enter into it voluntarily and it has nothing to do with CAP scores."

"Concubines enter into it voluntarily, supposedly," I pointed out.

"But once they do, they no longer have any choice," Bridgette responded. "It is an external rule that they agree to going in, but is binding upon them from then on, whether they like it or not. There is no turning back. With us, the rule isn't external -- it is a pact we make with ourselves -- a sacred honor kind of thing. Any failure is inexcusable and any betrayal makes us unworthy. No sacrifice is too great."

I nodded. "Are you sure that's what happened? Did you talk to her?"

"Yes and yes," Bridgette replied. "With us, it's instinctive -- a compulsion. Once we realize that you're the one, we start offering ourselves." She paused for a moment, playing with a water ring on the table top. "I know -- I did it myself, once."

"I'm hearing that there is a story, here," I murmured.

"There is. I think you should know, so you understand." Bridgette raised her eyes to mine.

"Is this the place?"

"I'm on break. My radio is off. Things are quiet." She looked around, adding, "I think we're good."

"Okay."

"This was a few years ago. I met a guy, and I thought he was the one. But he didn't understand. He put me through hoops -- and I was happy to give him anything he wanted -- but he didn't understand what I was offering. To him, I was just a toy. I was entertainment -- someone he could ask to do wilder and wilder things. He tested me to see when I would say no -- and I wouldn't -- but he didn't understand that what I did was a gift to him, that it did it to earn his approval -- he merely thought I was a dirty slut who had no limits. He handed me out to his friends and had me do all kinds of perverted things, and never realized that I was doing them to please him, not just for my own enjoyment. First, he stopped having sex with me, and then he discarded me, bored and disgusted at the extremes I went to, even though he was the source of my behavior. I guess maybe it was hard to tell -- I enjoyed most of what I was doing -- but I was free to enjoy those things because I had his support -- or so I thought. In reality, though, he was just seeing how far I would go."

I pursed my lips. "Can I ask?"

"What I did?" Bridgette sighed. "Just about any sex act you can think of -- several of which would have gotten me arrested and thrown under the jail. I'm sure he pimped me out, although I never saw any money. I did gang-bangs -- at the end I was freely available to a half a dozen of his friends twenty-four hours a day, singly or in groups, and if somebody wanted to throw a party for fifty of his friends, I was available as entertainment. It's a wonder I didn't catch anything. I tried drugs, but it was only recreational -- I never got addicted to anything. When it looked like I might, I just backed away -- I couldn't see how being an addict was of benefit to him. I did what he asked of me -- I'd have probably robbed banks if he said to, but he didn't. I'm surprised he didn't engineer something like that to get rid of me."

I nodded. "So what happened when he kicked you loose?"

"I went looking for a replacement," she sighed. "Several of his buddies were demanding, but they didn't get it, either. They were happy to take from me, but they didn't want to give back."

I cocked my head. "I thought that wasn't required?"

"It is and it isn't," Bridgette replied, "You can deny me orgasm for the rest of my life as punishment for something -- but you need to take responsibility for me. I can't be owned unless I have an owner. If you want to just boss me around but not take ownership and be responsible, you're not my owner -- you're just borrowing me, at best." She shook her head. "It took me a little while to learn that -- and a little longer to make a bunch of guys who thought I was their private party slut understand it. Actually, getting pregnant was the acid test -- once I was, they all faded into the woodwork."

I pursed my lips. "So you had your little boy. How old is he?"

"Alan is five. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No."

"Ron, I don't know who his daddy is -- but he was black. HE was black -- and most of the guys he passed me around to were black or Hispanic of one flavor or another. I was their white party slut." Her eyes were wet. "You need to know what I did. Beatrice saw me doing it, but she didn't understand -- not until last night. Now she does, because it has happened." She just sat there for a while, clearly wrapped up in the aftermath of her choice, then gathered herself. "It seems like maybe you understand. From what I'm hearing, you did good things last night. But there are guys who can't do what is necessary, even if they DO understand -- they've been brought up to think it is wrong to provide what we need."

"What do you need?" I asked.

"Control. Supervision. Attention -- not the type you might think, but vigilance, maybe. You have to be able to understand that by taking, you give -- because you give us the opportunity TO give. Where you might think that anything you get from us is gravy and that if we don't give you something, it's no big thing because of what we DO give, the correct thing to do is to jump on us and have a fit because we're not giving one hundred percent. When you're paying attention and making demands and challenging us, then we know we're wanted and valued. Taking it easy on us, while it might seem to be the right thing, isn't -- we're going to think you're ignoring us, and we'll act up to see if you really are or not. If you catch us acting up, then the correct thing is to punish us -- which again sounds weird, maybe, but it is an unmistakable indication to us that you ARE paying attention!" She sat back and held my eyes. "A lot of guys won't be able to punish us properly -- they've been taught that it is wrong to raise your hand to a woman. Some others won't be able to because they will punish us for the wrong reasons. It can't be about anger or jealousy or hatred or because your father abused you and you're passing it on, or you're just evil for some reason -- it has to be because we failed -- period."

"What about what I did last night?" I asked.

"From the sound of it, I think it would have to have been the ultimate reward -- it gives me hope that you really ARE the one and my sister is going to be luckier than I was. You didn't return her gift, which would have negated it -- instead, you pushed her and challenged her and tortured her and showed her you could make her suffer -- even in ecstasy -- and then you took her and granted her a release that she could have never given herself. It's EXACTLY the kind of thing that would bind her to you. It takes things to another level, actually. It's no wonder she's agog -- I was, when she told me."

"I enjoyed it," I revealed.

"That's probably a good thing. We're a little bit masochistic -- it doesn't hurt to be a little bit sadistic. But control is the thing -- you have to get off on that, I think, because we get off on being controlled."

"I've been a little worried, because I didn't understand," I related. "When she asked me for what she did last night, I granted it just because -- but I had reservations. I wasn't sure I understood why. I also thought that we ought to have separate lives..."

"It's ... less important to us. You can do anything you want -- you just tell us it is what is going to happen and we'll suffer through it. I would ask this, though -- if you ever decide that it is over, be clear about it -- don't just leave one day without saying anything. Beatrice will need to be released, or she will be stuck waiting for you to return. You are the center of her life, now -- and you will be until you tell her you aren't. She can be a side-issue with you and she'll accept that, but you will never be a side-issue with her."