Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Seven

 

“I mean, you can’t get away from the fact that a male supremacist ideology requires female subordination and negation,” remarked Kelly as she poked the camp fire with a stick. “There’s no way of getting round that. And women are complicit in their own subjugation, because for a sexual revolution to be viable, women with privilege and comfort have to be willing to give up those benefits in order to, like, show solidarity with women not so entitled. And we don’t. In fact we vigorously police ourselves, our behaviour, and we have done throughout the ages.”

 

“That’s a load of woke feminist crap,” said Dexter as he drank some whisky. “No one’s oppressing you.”

 

“We’ve been conditioned since we were babies by, like, mainstream art and culture to view sexual intercourse as being normal if it involves men relating to women in, like, violent or invasive terms, and in fact the notion of violence or invasiveness is central to the commonly accepted forms of eroticism. The experience of heterosexual intercourse itself becomes a central part of the patriarchy’s subordination of women, experienced as, like, a form of ‘occupation’ of our bodies that is nevertheless expected to be pleasurable for women and to define their very status as women.”

 

“Jesus. H. Christ.” Dexter didn’t seem to like Kelly as much as I did, though I noticed he kept looking at her legs that were still visible under the poncho blanket she had draped over her shoulders. “You do spout a lot of bullshit.”

 

“The paradigm for sex has been one of conquest, possession, and violation throughout history. I think many men believe they need an unfair advantage, possibly due to some, like, deep rooted insecurities manifesting from a belief that they need to be dominant, which at its extreme would be called rape. I feel sorry for your gender, sometimes. You’re like little children, screaming that you want something, and having a tantrum when a woman says no.”

 

The four of us sat around the campfire on that last night of freedom for me. It was dark and chilly, but there were some stars in the sky, up overhead. Dexter and I would occasionally glare at one another. He had been as surprised to see me as I had been to see him. At first he accused me of stalking him, and possibly meaning him harm. He hadn’t considered the possibility that I was here by invitation from Felicity, his fiancé. Ah, yes, Felicity. She had given me a look when they had first approached Kelly’s tent – a look that seemed to plead with me not to assume the worst. A look that seemed to say, give me time, and all will become clear. And so I didn’t rage. I didn’t accuse her of duplicity. I waited. 

 

But I found it hard to look at her, now. This was yet another example of her flip-flopping, and I was growing tired of it. What did she want? Why was Dexter even here? Had she not been able to slip away? I think if it hadn’t been dark, with the nearest town fifteen kilometres away, I would have packed my things and left, but the truth is, I was stuck here until daybreak, so I had to make the most of it. I would be camping with Dexter Bannon, whether I liked it or not. Maybe Felicity had a good explanation for this, and maybe she would tell me later tonight when we had a moment alone, but right now I felt like I was through with all of this. 

 

Kelly was true to her word and made no mention of our night together on the train. She greeted Felicity and Dexter and made it sound like she was just a lone camper who had struck up a conversation with me when I’d arrived. I was grateful, but I also felt the impulse to show Felicity that we could both play this game of pissing one another off, and perhaps I should cosy up with Kelly by the camp fire and make it quite plain that I had other options. 

 

Kelly wanted me. I was sure of that.

 

But then, every time I gazed at Felicity, I felt that tugging at my heart strings again, and that stupid voice inside my head telling me to give her one more chance, to give her an opportunity to explain. Walk away now, Roland, or make a move on Kelly, and you’ll never know whether you and Felicity were meant to be. 

 

You’ll never know. 

 

Only, Kelly had to start talking about her radical feminist beliefs. Even I was getting a bit tired of it. 

 

“What about you, Felicity?” asked Kelly. “What do you believe in?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know.” She lifted her hand and brushed some locks of hair from her face. “I don’t think anyone believes in anything, any more. Isn’t that the point of our post-modernist society, that beliefs become largely irrelevant? We just live our lives and do what we feel is right, living not in the past or the future but in an eternal now?”

 

“But essentially you’ve surrendered to the patriarchy,” said Kelly. “Your ring – your engagement. Traditionally that is the way a woman is supposed to offer herself to a man as his property. The ring symbolises a surrendering of your independence and an acceptance of a man’s dominance over her.”

 

“Oh, I don’t really think of it like that. I’m just very much in love with Dexter.”

She snuggled next to him. 

 

“I need a piss,” I said. I got up, pointedly refusing to look at Felicity, and walked out into the darkness, towards the edge of the woodland. 

 

I’m just very much in love with Dexter.

 

Give me a break. 

 

I walked ten or fifteen feet into the tree line, unzipped my jeans and began to pee. The warmth of my urine steamed a little as it sprayed the leafy top soil.  

 

I felt angry. I felt a bitterness welling up deep inside of me. 

 

Just let me go, Felicity. Stop playing with my emotions. 

 

I sighed, gave my John Thomas a good shake, and zipped up again. It should have been a lovely evening. It should have just been me and Felicity, here, under the stars, sharing a blanket, whispering quietly to one another, telling each other our secrets, kissing, and then making love.

 

Was it all just a foolish pipe dream?

 

I heard the snapping of a twig somewhere to the left and I quickly turned round. It was dark in amongst these trees, but for one brief moment I thought I saw a swift movement. A figure? A person?

 

“Hello?” 

 

Nothing.

 

“Anyone there?”

 

Nothing. 

 

It was like a Blair Witch moment. I’m a city boy at heart, and I think if you’re not used to the wild outdoors, it’s easy to get spooked late at night so far from civilization. Out here there is a sense of primal nature, and a feeling of not belonging. 

 

I took a few steps towards where the sound had come from, but I couldn’t see anything. “Hello?” I said, one last time. 

 

Kelly and Dexter were engaged in a full blown argument by the time I got back. I retuned just in time to hear her call him a sexist pig.

 

“I’d agree with that,” I said as I sat back down by the camp fire. “Can I offer some more choice insults for you to consider, Kelly?” 

 

“What you need to understand, Kelly,” said Dexter, “is that, yeah, men are the dominant sex. That’s just the way nature made us. You can spout all the woke crap you like, but it doesn’t change anything. Men are naturally dominant and women are naturally submissive. Always have been, always will be. End of story.”

 

And that was just the start. Kelly was not giving up, and nor was Dexter.

 

After about another hour I excused myself and said I was going to bed. Again, I pointedly didn’t look at Felicity. I wasn’t going to look at Felicity.  I didn’t want to see whatever I might see in her eyes. 

 

I bedded down for the night, and, with a belly full of whisky, settled down to sleep.

 

I woke up as I felt someone slide into my tent, some hours later. 

 

“Hush,” said Kelly as she quietly closed the zipper on my tent. 

 

“Kelly?” I was half awake, half asleep. I felt her hand unzip my sleeping bag – the double sleeping bag – and I felt her slide in beside me. She was naked except for a t-shirt and panties. “What?”

 

“Hush.” She kissed me, and it felt good. I felt her wriggle out of her t-shirt and cast it aside in my tent. I felt her ripe breasts press up against me. I felt the cold steel locked around her left ankle as it rubbed briefly against my own leg. I felt her right hand wriggle down inside the sleeping bag and find my penis which was already hard because I have a 24/7 erection when I’m asleep. “She doesn’t want you,” Kelly whispered. “I do.”

 

“Kelly…” I breathed heavily as I felt her take hold of me. I felt her wriggle into place and turn onto her back, guiding me between her thighs. I felt her kiss me again.

 

“I should get a condom…” They were there, somewhere, inside the tent, but it was dark, pitch dark and it would take some fumbling to find them. 

 

“I’m close to my period,” breathed Kelly. “I’m very low risk at the moment. But go ahead.”

 

But still, I fumbled around in the dark for wherever my pack was. The condoms would be there somewhere. Kelly continued to kiss me as I searched. 

 

Where were those fucking condoms? Kelly found my smaller bag and pushed it towards me as she continued to stroke and stimulate my penis with her fingers. I spilled the contents of the  bag around to my left and scrabbled in frustration until I felt the cardboard packaging. Quickly, thinking of nothing now but entering Kelly, I tore open the packet, thrust my hand down and rolled the condom over my penis. 

 

“We should be quiet,” said Kelly. “Can you be quiet, Roland?”

 

“I can be quiet.”

 

It was glorious. I look back now, months into my slavery on Gor, and think of this as the last time I had sex with a woman om my own terms, when I wasn’t tied to a slave ring and simply raped.  

 

We lay together for a time, afterwards. As on the train, I played with Kelly’s large breasts, marvelling at how exquisite they were.

 

“They’re natural,” she said, perhaps anticipating my obvious question. “I haven’t had any work done.”

 

“Best breasts I’ve ever felt,” I whispered back.

 

“Thank you. The patriarchy is kind to say that.”

 

“Did you enjoy being oppressed?”

 

“I think I did.” She kissed me softly. I held her in my arms. We were warm and comfortable and I didn’t want this state of bliss to end. 

 

“On a scale of one to ten, how is your romantic camping date with Felicity going?”

 

I laughed softly. “I think you’re secretly pleased Dexter turned up.”

 

“He’s a pig. A sexist pig.”

 

“Yeah, but…”

 

“Okay, so I’m glad he showed up. It means I get another night with you.”

 

“I think you secretly want to be sexually oppressed by a man?”

 

“Ssh. That’s my dark secret,” Kelly said with a soft giggle. “Don’t tell the wyld wymen.”

 

“Talking of which, it doesn’t look like they’re going to show. You might have to come back to town with me. Wouldn’t that be terrible?’

 

“Oh, yes, so very terrible.” She kissed me again. “I might never escape the patriarchy.”

 

“Once I get you back in town you’ll have no chance to escape.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“I have to say, Kelly, for a militant woke feminist, you really are rather nice.”

 

“Roland?”

 

“Yes, Kelly?”

 

“Do you think the evil patriarchy might want to sexually oppress me again?” I felt her hand stroke my penis, inside the loose sleeping bag.

 

I don’t know what time it was when we climaxed for the second time, but I could tell it was still dark outside. We lay together again, at peace with the world, listening to the nocturnal sounds of birds and predatory animals calling out in the distant woodlands. 

 

“So, what now?” whispered Kelly. “What happens at daybreak? I mean, I’ve been abandoned by the wyld wymen, and you’ve been abandoned by Felicity. So…” She kissed me softly. “What happens to us now?”

 

“Kelly, I…”

 

My head was spinning with too many thoughts. 

 

“I’m just asking what you want. Sometimes things happen for a reason.”

 

“I live in New York.”

 

“I live everywhere,” said Kelly. “New York sounds a fun place to visit.”

 

“Okay.” I smiled in the darkness as I stroked her hair. “We could see if this is going to work. But I can’t make any promises, Kelly. I just feel really broken, right now.”

 

“I understand.” She snuggled next to me. “And you don’t have to hide behind the tough man exterior. It’s okay to have feelings. It’s okay to admit to a woman that you feel broken. I’m not going to judge you for that. I appreciate your honesty, in fact. I appreciate a man who can talk about his emotions. It’s refreshing.”

 

We kissed again.

 

“It’s funny. We wouldn’t have met, if you hadn’t come out here, looking for Felicity,” she said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Why was it so hard for me to make a decision? The sensible thing now would be for me to say, yes, Kelly, come back to New York with me. Let’s try and make this work. I want it to work. I want to see if we have a life together. 

 

“We’ll talk after breakfast,” she said. “I’ll go back to New York with you, if you really want me. But you’ll have to tell me you want me there. That’s all I ask, Roland. Just that one small thing.”

 

‘After breakfast,” I said. We kissed again, held each other for a few moments, and then, picking up her discarded t-shirt, Kelly slid quietly out from the tent. 

  

I lay back and closed my eyes for a few seconds. A few seconds were all I had before I suddenly heard a muffled yelp from Kelly, followed by a sudden kick that violently shook my tent. My eyes snapped open and I was instantly alert, feeling the rush of adrenalin.

 

“Kelly?” I probably said that a bit louder than I should, but I immediately sensed something wasn’t right. What I heard sounded like thrashing, or struggling, and again a foot lashed out and struct the side of my tent. I could only assume Kelly was on the ground, kicking out. But why?

 

I scrabbled around for my flashlight, but couldn’t find it. The tent was a mess, with my belongings strewn about from when I’d searched for the packet of condoms. I struggled out of the sleeping bag and moved to the zipper at the entrance of the tent, and as I did so, the tent began to collapse around me. Someone was cutting the guy ropes, forcing the poles down, and essentially trapping me inside the tent fabric. 

 

And then I was suddenly beaten by sticks. I thrashed about in the ruins of the tent, unable to get out, as a heavy pole struck me repeatedly. 

 

I heard Kelly scream now. Perhaps she had struck out at her assailant and managed to bite the hand that had initially silenced her, for she now screamed loudly. With the tent canvas lying on top of me, I was practically helpless. Someone sat down on my lower body and pinned me to the ground as another person then sat down on my back. I dimly registered some more screams coming from the far side of the camping ground where Dexter and Felicity were sleeping. 

 

And then I felt the front of my tent being opened. I was dragged out and quickly forced onto my belly by at least two people, and a third grabbed hold of my wrists and pulled them behind my back. Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing.

 

I began shouting and struggling, and received a painful jab from a long pole that looked very much like a spear shaft. 

 

“Stop struggling, male,” said a female voice. I saw sandalled feet in front of my face. I saw a spear shaft resting against the ground. I became aware that I had been seized and easily overpowered by women. 

 

Wyld wymen?

 

Kelly was on her back, kicking out, as her hands were secured behind her back. I heard a woman call out to the others in the group, “This one has an anklet.” This was enough for the women to release her, though Kelly remained bound. 

 

And then I heard Dexter swearing and raging as he must have been dragged from his tent and overpowered in the same way I had been. You are incredibly vulnerable when you are lying in a tent. It doesn’t take much for your assailants to turn that tent into a means of trapping you. 

 

A woman placed her hand in my hair and lifted my face up. My eyes had become accustomed enough to the dark that I could make out she was wearing a tunic fashioned from animals hides. She wore tribal bracelets and necklaces, and had a hunting knife in a sheath at her belt. Beside her were similarly attired women carrying hunting bows. “What is your name, male?”

 

“What the fuck is this?!” I struggled again, and as I did so this woman kicked me, hard. I suddenly felt a spear tip touch the side of my cheek.

 

“I asked you a question, male.”

 

“Roland,” I spluttered. “Who are you?”

 

“My name is Anthea, but you will call me mistress.” She kicked me again until I settled down. 

 

She then crouched down and leaned against her spear. “Well, aren’t you a handsome one? Almost handsome enough to be a silk slave,” she sneered as she gripped my hair, turned my face and casually examined my features. “By the common laws of the wyld wymen, I claim you as my captive.”