Subconscious Self-Examination

Thunder rumbled in the distance as a crack of sheet lightning lit up the slowly brightening early morning sky, dawn breaking on another day as a storm slowly approached. A woman had just stepped out of the bathroom having showered and gotten partially ready, preparing to face the important day she had ahead of her. Her outfit for the day was sprawled out on the bed, and she entered the bedroom wrapped in a towel, her hair and makeup already done, leaving getting dressed the final task.

She took the towel off, discarding it upon the carpeted floor for the time being, and took to donning the garments resting upon the counterpane. First, naturally, was her underwear. It was modest and comfortable, innocently white, and when she took the bra into her hands another flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room and her naked body, the clap of thunder louder and closer than before. "Another beautiful day," she sarcastically thought to herself, looking out the window as a pitter-patter of raindrops began to fall upon it. "Great..."

One hoped that the weather forecast would be incorrect, however, they seldom were, so she would need to take an umbrella with her, not least after all the time she had just spent doing her hair and makeup. She slipped her arms into the bra and effortlessly did it up behind her back, adjusting her bust so it sat comfortably within the supporting garment. With the bra on, she then stepped into the panties with equally little effort, and soon she was no longer wearing her birthday suit. Looking out at the unwelcoming weather, she contemplated putting on tights.

She wasn't really one for wearing tights and, besides, she reasoned that it might serve her better to not wear any today - she wouldn't be outside for long in any case. So, as plain as it may look to some, her underwear was practical and comfortable, and she was going to get comfort where she could on this day where it might otherwise be absent. With her undergarments donned, it was time to put on the rest of her outfit. Another flash came from outside, followed by the inevitable rolls of thunder, just as the pitter-patter of rain was getting heavier. "Definitely getting closer."

She eased into her professional skirt, pulling it up her legs and over her backside and doing it up. It was a modest skirt - not too tight and not too short - but just sightly enough to bolster her confidence. Then, with her skirt donned, she picked up her blouse, slipped her arms into it, buttoned it up and tucked it into her skirt. She slipped into her comfortable yet smart shoes with ease, wanting to be as comfortable as possible for the day ahead but also wanting to make a good impression.

Another flash from outside illuminated the room, followed shortly by the inevitable crash of thunder, and it was a shame that today wasn't a day off because being snuggled up in bed while rain pounded on the window and thunder rolled through the clouds was a cosiness that was difficult to match. Alas, duty called, and this woman had a big day ahead of her, for better or for worse. On her way out of the room, she picked up her bag, a book, and a well-used notepad, and stuffed both into the bag.

The sound of rain became muffled as the woman descended the staircase in the centre of the house, though she would not be fooled into thinking that it was abating due to the still audible chorus of thunder that accompanied it. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the woman wisely took a coat hanging on the rack by the front door and donned it. Although she would be getting into her car shortly, it would be foolish to leave the house without a coat on a day like today. With her stylish coat donned and with her bag in her hand, she collected her keys and set off out into the sodden world.

She locked the front door as quickly as she could, her head subconsciously retreating into her shoulders to try and cover herself from the deluge of rain, then she hastily made her way to her car. It was only a matter of yards away from the front door, however the weather made those yards feel like miles. The well-dressed woman scurried over speedily yet cautiously to her car, unlocking it with the electronic key fob well before she reached it, and clambered inside to shelter from the downpour, planting her bag down on the passenger seat as she climbed in.

The door slammed shut to shield the would-be driver from the rain, and the interior of her trusty-if-sometimes-moody car was welcome, dry respite, even if she had only been out in the inclement weather momentarily. However, she had not ventured out of the warm, comfy confines of her home to simply take shelter from the weather, because what sense would that make? No, she had somewhere particular to be, so started the engine of her car and set off on her journey.

***

The sat-nav in her car directed her to her destination, and after a journey made that bit slower by the unkind weather, the woman could see it up ahead. "Strange," she thought to herself, "I thought I was visiting his office?" What she could see was not an office, or at least it didn't look like one - instead, it looked like a stately home. Nevertheless, she continued up the road and pulled into the drive, arriving just about on time as she left earlier than she originally intended thanks to the weather.

The rain had not relented during her journey, but neither had her determination, so she opened the door and stepped out into the unyielding elements, taking her belongings in her hand, and closed the car door. She hastily made her way to the sheltered front door while fumbling with the remote lock on the electronic key fob and the hazard lights on her car flashed briefly, confirming that it had locked, then she took to the task of getting onto the other side of the imposing-looking door. She lifted the heavy door knocker and brought it back down against the metal plate a few times.

*Knock, knock, knock*

A few seconds passed by as she waited, unsure whether the knocking could be heard from the farthest reaches of this grand house, and she contemplated ringing the doorbell. Perhaps she should have done that first. A few more seconds passed by, and just as she reached out an arm to press the doorbell, the door unlocked, the handle turned, and the door creaked as it slowly opened.

"Miss Foxett, I presume?" a man greeted her as he opened the door. He was tall, powerfully built, and well dressed, wearing a tweed suit and a white, button-down shirt with only the top button undone, and he had an immediately commanding presence.

"Mr Grayson, sorry I'm early."

"Don't be sorry at all. Please, come in out of that ghastly rain." The man's guest stepped out of the storm and into the welcome confines of her host's abode, taking the brief opportunity to glance at herself and the state of her hair in a nearby mirror while the man sealed the aperture between them and the outside world.

"Thank you for having me," she expressed "And you don't have to call me Miss Foxett - please, call me Scarlett." Scarlett was attempting to gain some degree of casual rapport with her host by having him address her by her first name, however he seemed intent on maintaining formalities.

"That's quite alright, Miss Foxett, thank you," he replied, politely declining her invitation. "Please, hang your coat up and do follow me," he welcomed, "And please address me by my proper title, if you wouldn't mind." With her attempt to get the man's renowned guard down unsuccessful, Miss Foxett followed Sir Theo Grayson as he led the way. His guest wasn't addressing him as 'Sir' merely as a sign of respect or because he had some years on her, but rather because 'Sir' was his actual title due to him being knighted as an Officer of the Order of the British Empire.

"You are the first journalist who has approached me," he commented as he led his visitor down corridors and deeper into his home.

"Oh, really?" Miss Foxett replied, not really at all surprised that she was the first, but keen to appear agreeable.

"Yes, I admire you tremendously for approaching me when nobody else had the courage to." His background was in philanthropy, and he was a renowned intellectual, and it was his humanitarian efforts that earned him his knighthood, however, none of those things were the subject of Miss Foxett's visit.

Sir Theo had recently kicked up quite a media storm by releasing an unexpected and unprecedented book on matters not at all pertaining to his well-documented career, and now he was more infamous than he was famous, certainly in certain sections of the public and the media. As such, he had been under increased scrutiny from media outlets and having one's name associated with him was deemed too much of a risk for most journalists - perhaps even reputational or career suicide - and no one had dared interview him about his book or the subject of it despite its commercial success.

However, Miss Foxett was a budding journalist who was trying to catch her big break, and she didn't think that her reputation was considerable enough yet for it to have too adverse an effect if things went awry, or so she hoped, so she had decided to stick her neck out and take a chance whether it made her or broke her. "Here we are," Sir Theo said as they entered his office and Miss Foxett followed in behind him, then he closed the door behind her. "Please, have a seat," he welcomed his guest, gesturing toward two chairs he'd arranged opposite one another.

Miss Foxett took her seemingly designated place as Sir Theo took his, and she placed her belongings down on the floor, keeping a pen and pad in her hand. "Shall we begin?" he asked, and his guest nodded in agreement.

"Firstly, thank you for inviting me to your office and for your time," the journalist courteously began her interview, and he gestured with acknowledgement. "Sir Theo, you have enjoyed a long and esteemed career with your philanthropy and charitable work, earning you an OBE. Given your success in unrelated fields, what was the catalyst for you to write your book, and why now? You must surely have been aware of the impact it could have on your reputation?"

"Of course," he replied, answering the second part of her double-barrelled introductory question first, "I was aware of how it might affect my reputation with some people, however, my reputation does not concern me." His answer was resolute, and he explained that his thoughts and feelings on the subject were more important to him than his reputation was, so he was prepared to put it on the line to write and publish this book. "I wanted to write this book to shed a positive light on parts of the world and aspects of life that many people don't seem to understand, or want to understand," he continued, and the journalist listened on intently, "And how there's so much more to enjoy about things than meets the eye."

"Compared to previous books you've written," Miss Foxett asked, "How much more difficult was it to find a publisher?"

"Not much more difficult at all," he happily responded, "I believe my name and reputation might have made the process easier than it otherwise might have been, but it was pleasantly straightforward to find a publisher for this work." The amateur journalist took her notes and wrote down his responses to her many varied questions as the interview went on, asking him about the process of writing it and the subject matter itself.

Several pages of her notepad were filled with notes and quotes as the man spoke at length about his book, answering her assiduous questions with surprisingly candid detail, though it should come as no surprise given the candid nature of his new book. "Many people are up in arms about what you've said in your book, particularly feminists, some of whom have threatened to hold demonstrations and burn your book in public - what would you say to them?" It was quite the combative question, however, Miss Foxett was keen to ask the tough questions that public discourse would have you believe people wanted to know because she believed that taking a hard line would help her make a name for herself.

"I would say to them that they are misunderstanding it," he frankly fired back, "Purposefully or otherwise. My book and my words speak not of demeaning women-"

"Some might say that you treat women as sexual objects for your own gratification," Miss Foxett interrupted him with a comment rather than a question, intent on learning the truth.

"That is not what my book says or what I believe," Sir Theo assertively yet calmly retorted, "Everything I discuss in my book - from recounting my own experiences to discussing the activities in general - is all done consensually."

"You mean that these women wanted you to do these things to them and treat them that way?" the interviewer asked with a hint of disbelief.

"Absolutely, I wouldn't dream of treating women - or anyone for that matter - like that outside the realms of BDSM," he explained, "I am not a misogynistic, chauvinistic pig. What I talk about and describe in my book are sex games - consensual sex games - partaken in by two or more consenting, adult individuals. Outside of the games and outside of the bedroom - or wherever else you're playing - it stops."

"So," Miss Foxett wanted to clarify, "You're saying that these women actually want you to tie them up, beat them and demean them?"

"Yes - to them as the submissive, it is sexually arousing to have these things done to them, as it is to me as a dominant to do it to them. We play with a pre-agreed safe word, and if things go too far or get too much for either party, they just say the word and it all stops. It is all done safely and consensually, and those who might chastise me or anyone else for partaking in such 'perverse' activities simply do not understand it or do not want to. They are free to remain ignorant if they so choose, but one cannot be critical of something they are ignorant of."

The man spoke passionately and at length defending his book, the activities and the people - particularly the women - within it, lambasting those uneducated on such matters for trying to sway public opinion, for trying to police what women could or could not do with their own lives and their own bodies, condemning them for the harm they do to the lovely community of people he was a part of, condemning them for making people feel like they couldn't be themselves. "Just because a woman is sexually submissive it doesn't make her submissive - embracing one's submissive sexuality is empowering." After finishing his monologue, Sir Theo struck Miss Foxett with a piercing gaze which made her feel like he could see right through her. "Do you understand the book, Miss Foxett?" he asked, "Are you ignorant of the things that you are so critically asking me about?"

"I..." she stuttered, suddenly put on the spot, finding the shoe now on the other foot. "Respectfully, Sir Theo, I am here to interview you, not vice versa."

"That is all well and good," he replied assertively, "And we will continue your interview of me when you've answered my question, lest you wish to cut this interview short?". She was silent, blood slowly pooling to her cheeks and reddening them a similar shade of red to her hair. "Have you even read the book?"

"Yes, I've read it," she replied, somewhat offended by the insinuation in his question that she hadn't.

"And how did you feel?" Her face flushed an even brighter shade of red than it already was because she didn't quite know how to answer that question. She had certainly felt something when she read it, yet she had been too afraid to confront those feelings.

"Reading your book..." she coyly answered, "...I... I don't know how to explain how I felt."

"You saw yourself in my writing, didn't you?" he responded confidently with what was - to him - a rhetorical question, as though he had read the journalist's mind.

"What?! No, not at all," she sharply fired back, appearing insulted by the suggestion, and most certainly embarrassed by it on the inside. Really, Miss Foxett knew all too well how she felt - this book had spoken to her.

"I could tell from your e-mail that you aren't like the other journalists," he complimented her, or at least she thought it was a compliment. Either way, it eased her tensions and made her feel more assured of the position she found herself in. "Have you ever done any before?" he asked her inquisitively, suspecting he already knew the answer to that question.

"Done any what?"

"BDSM."

"Erm..." Her silence spoke volumes to the man who sat opposite her. She had never done it before, she had never even told anyone that she was possibly so sexually inclined, and deep down inside she wasn't totally sure whether she was here to better understand him, or whether she was here to better understand herself.

"Would you like to try?"

"I don't know if we should do that," she shyly tried to reason, "That wouldn't be very professional..."

Miss Foxett was shocked at the suggestion, though in an exhilarated way. She did think that it could make for quite a striking story to go along with the interview. She thought that she could possibly publish a piece that combined the hard-hitting interview with a first-hand exposé and experience of the activities discussed in her article and in Sir Theo's book, and she didn't think that she could really call herself an 'investigative journalist' unless she threw everything into it. Furthermore, the idea of getting to try some things for the first time, with someone who certainly appeared to know what they were doing and talking about, was very appealing.

Her fancy for older men didn't do her resolve any favours either, especially for older, sexually dominant men, something Sir Theo demonstrably was. "Okay, fair enough - I won't push you." Sir Theo backed off and invited Miss Foxett to resume her questioning, and he adjusted his posture, sat still, one leg crossed over the other, his hands together in his lap, patiently waiting. His guest was slow to respond.

"...What would it involve?" she asked, bashfully.

"What would what involve?"

"You know, the BDSM...."

"Well, that depends - what would you like to try?" Miss Foxett was again not very responsive, finding it difficult to look her interviewee in the eye. Noting that he'd put her on the spot, Sir Theo took it upon himself to help guide her to where he knew she wanted to get to. "Have you ever wanted to be spanked?" he asked, wanting to ascertain what exactly she had wanted to try. She responded positively though without speaking, instead timidly pressing her lips together and nodding her head.

"Okay," he noted, "Then we'll try that. It's ok, Miss Foxett," he reassured her, "It's perfectly normal to feel how you feel about not only trying these things, but also wanting to try them. There's no shame in that." The timid journalist was buoyed by his support, and surely if he had the courage to write an entire book about his penchant for such things and publish it for the world to know - not least with the reputation he had - then she could share her interest in such things with just him? She felt so. So, with all those things in mind, and with some understandable apprehension, she agreed.

"Before we begin," Sir Theo advised, "We must agree on a safeword. If you ever want it to stop, you simply say the word and it stops and we'll make sure you're okay - do you understand?" Again, she nodded, but Sir Theo needed more than that. "I need you to say it."

"I understand," she uttered, slightly under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

"Good." The pair agreed on a safeword, and then it was time for them to begin. "Now, come, place yourself over my knee." Miss Foxett shakily stood up out of the chair and her heart was racing despite them not having done anything yet, and even just the idea of doing such things imminently had her hands and legs trembling.