Scott

i used to know this guy named scott. scotty. the diminutive was ironic, i suppose, since scotty always seemed well above 6'2", built like a brick wall, and had a flatness in his eyes that implied a past life as an executioner.

he had a slave. well, she was never explicitly called a slave to my knowledge, but looking back on it now i guess she was. i didn't know either of them that well - in passing, enough to say "hihowareyou" at a play party, but i'd heard the gory rumors of the way they played, what they did in private. but i never asked them directly, i just fantasized about the gossip and what they might be doing.

a few years later, they'd apparently "broken up", if you can call it that. all i knew was that they had been a unit, and assumed relationship of an assumed dynamic, and then they - weren't. on occasion i saw her and and her new partner, a lover, a switch, so it endlessly confused me how she'd gone from one extreme dynamic to that.

maybe she fell in love. maybe she fell out of love.

i saw scotty later, on occasion, as well. one momentous scene at a huge play party was a turning point in my own life. i was well-involved in the middle of the room, single-tailing my girl's back with ten bloody stripes. later, as she cuddled against my boots, i watched scott and his new play partner in a alcove in the same room. he'd put black plastic garbage bags lined up against the walls. it wasn't until later when the blood started flying against it that i realized why he'd done that.

i'll never forget the sounds and screams she made. i'd never heard anything publicly so close to nonconsent. i had no idea what prior arrangements, negotiations, agreements, they'd made - only that it sounded very much like it was dark, and bad, and that he had no intention of stopping. i was horrified, and caught, by the sight of what was happening.

no one stopped him.

fifteen years later, i'm at a different place in my life.

i wonder what would happen if i met scott again now.