Lawyer Ravished and Enslaved Ch. 10

Alas, next week it is all divorces and other law practice again.

You are curious you say about what we do with the solitary confinement training center and Torture and Abuse rooms now that the brothels are no longer training and abusing sex slave? Well, okay. It's a fair question.

The training center pretty much sits in the basement unused. We show it to people who ask. I don't go near it. Every once in a while, someone jokes that they would like to run their wife, girlfriend or co-worker through the training but that is out of the question. I don't think it is good even to joke about such things.

The Torture and Abuse rooms are still used but on a strictly consensual basis. Dr. Hunt and Alice Wissen use them with clients who request discipline.

So that is my story Monsieur. You are not sure if you believe it all? Well, let's talk about that.

As I mentioned, Dr. Hunt became a co-owner in the Pleasure Palace. I talk to her frequently. She knows, of course, that she was enslaved and does not doubt that I was. But she thinks that Bert Sturmer is a figment of my imagination. "Stacy," she has said, "You have to understand that people often personify impersonal forces in an effort to wrap their minds around something that is otherwise impossible to understand. The Sturmer in your mind is just the storm or the plague that came through the city. You went through a lot over five years. Your association of your old law school acquaintance and current governor with the quasi-mythical Thinker is some sort of weird obsession. You have to just admit that there was no great conspiratorial figure behind the plague, just a bunch of greedy assholes and others acting for evil plus a lot of confused or stupid people who failed to resist in an organized manner."

So, Monsieur, there are three stories. The official lie is that all of 300 or so women, who supposedly volunteered during the first four years after Jennifer Racey appeared on Channel 67, actually volunteered to become sex workers and breeding females, including about fifty women like me who had prominent positions in the professional and civic structure of the City of Orange. According to this official lie, only a few women were kidnapped and that did not begin until later when some renegades at the brothels decided to lower costs by enslaving women instead of relying on consenting women.

In support of this preposterous official theory is the absurd idea that women who do not want to be good little homemakers and mothers all secretly want to become breeding whores. Also, in support of that theory is the fact that all of the 300 or so women appeared to be enthusiastic wantons having fun and did not report their rapes for years. Also, there are the facts that some of us have elected to continue the operation of the brothels, under proper management, and a few of us continue to meet with beautiful generous men like you to enjoy some of the pleasures of life. I will grant that these facts appear compelling, but the conclusion is rubbish.

Over 200 women, know they were enslaved long before the attempt to kidnap Deborah Gene was botched. We will concede that some women did volunteer during this period.

Finally, Monsieur, there is also what I know to be true. That the current governor of our state masterminded a scheme to bring a plague of violent patriarchy on our city to satisfy his libido, enrich himself, and create a horror that he could take credit for defeating. Alas, only I and perhaps a half-dozen others know this, and none of the others will back me up.

But maybe it does not matter what is true. As the Noble Prize winner wrote, "Don't all my stories, true or false, tend toward the same conclusion? Don't they all have the same meaning? So, what does it matter whether they are true or false if, in both cases, they are significant of what I have been and what I am."

Yes, it is absurd. Existence in itself is absurd. We must conjure value and meaning out of the absurdity for ourselves.

Now Monsieur, I may say that Roseyfingers' character, Stacy Lightkind, has ended a long, painful voyage involving various cliffs, sirens and monsters into the dusk. Rosy-fingered Dawn rises on a new day and a new Odyssey. On the other hand, Roseyfingers may not have cause to tell a story again particularly as reality seems sometimes to follow the harsh events of Roseyfingers' tales.

The End

Apologies to the ghost of Albert Camus who wrote The Fall, and the Myth of Sisyphus and won the Noble Prize for The Plague.