by John Norman
Save me from them! You must! I demand it!
L.
Second Letter.
Dear I.B.:
I have received no answer to my first letter. I do not know if you received it or not.
Surely I am being held for ransom! Nothing else would make any sense. Surely you have notified the police. Arrange for my release immediately. Pay whatever they ask.
At night they put me in a cage, a cage!
There is not much room in it. I cannot stand up in it. There are bars on all sides, except the top and bottom. They are of steel. I can be seen from all sides. When a man approaches I must kneel and put my head to the floor of the cage, to show deference and respect.
How strange, how infuriating, how humiliating, that I should be expected to show deference and respect, and to men!
They put me in a cage!
I am not an animal!
But they put me in a cage!
I have seen no other women. I do not know what manner of place this is. I do not even know the nature of the building in which I am being kept. I sense that it is a large structure. The only windows in the room in which I am writing this, as before, are narrow, and too high for me to reach. I can see the sky outside. I am beginning to have fearful suspicions about this place, which I scarcely dare communicate to you, lest you think me mad.
If you know what is good for you, and you want your story, you must see to my safe return, and instantly. It is a story which will scarcely be believed!
I do not know where the video camera is, or my notes, but these brutes must return them to me.
Or you can arrange for their return, when you pay my ransom.
I must go now, to be fed. I am to crawl to my food on my hands and knees! I must eat my food, and take my drink, from pans and bowls, set on the floor!
And I am not permitted to use my hands!
Do they think I am an animal!
Are they trying to teach me something? If so, what?
Save me, now!
I demand it!
L.
Third Letter
Dear I. B.:
I have no idea what the date is, so, as with my last letter, I am simply numbering them. This, as you can see, would be the third letter. I have not yet received answers to my first and second letters. Have you received them? Are the police searching for me, though I now fear I am beyond their reach. I am now sure that my suspicions are confirmed, but if I confessed them to you, you would think me mad. Have you arranged for my ransom? Are you negotiating with my abductors? Spare no expense! Get me out of here! Save me! How ironic that I, with my background, attitudes, and values would be asking a man for anything, indeed, begging him for attention, and assistance! But I am begging you now! I never thought I would beg a man for anything, armed with self-serving laws which, like so many others, were engineered to promote particular interests, regardless of their impact on society as a whole. We were to devirilize men, and destroy them, as men, by incessant propaganda, pervasive conditioning, inescapable education, and vague, abundant, menacing law, confusing them, making them self-suspecting, turning them by means of fear and guilt against themselves, in order to seize control of society. But now, I.B., I need you. Save me! Please, I beg of you, save me, save me!
In my last letter I foolishly spoke in a threatening manner, and made demands. Please, forgive me! I spoke thoughtlessly. I trust that you understood that my agitation was accounted for by my anxiety, my predicament. I respect you, and hold you in the highest esteem. I always have! Forgive me attitudes, or words, which, in the past, may have seemed disrespectful, perhaps even haughty, arrogant or insolent. I regret having declined your invitations in the past, for supper, or for evenings at the theater or concerts. If you were to renew your requests, you might find me more amenable now. Surely it would not hurt for you to try!
Save me!
I would be willing to dress in a more appealing manner, one more attractive to men, even to skirts and dresses, to use exciting cosmetics and provocative perfumes, to wear soft, clinging undergarments, lacy things, patterned stockings, high-heeled shoes!
Oh, I.B., can you imagine this? What are they doing to me? I do not know what is becoming of me. I am changing, I fear.
Save me, I beg you, I. B. Save me, please. I beg it! I beg it!
They are beginning to teach me their language. Why, I wonder. The first words I have learned are “La kajira.” I do not know what they mean.
L.
Fourth Letter.
Irving:
I was whipped today.
My wrists were taken over my head and cuffed about a ring. Then I was whipped!
Doubtless you cannot even conceive of this.
Can you imagine it, me, whom you know, sophisticated, so severe, professional and cool, stark naked, made utterly helpless, my wrists cuffed about a ring, over my head, being whipped, whipped as though I might be an animal, as though I might be no more than a pretty, ignorant, recalcitrant little animal, one meaningless, a mere nothing, whose behavior was in need of correction!
Can you comprehend it?
All I did was suggest, no more than hint, that I might be rebellious. It was perhaps no more than a fleeting expression of objection, no more than the hint of a thought of possible anger, or defiance, and I was whipped!
I now suddenly begin to suspect that my warders, or keepers, have been patient with me, but that their patience is not endless.
Our plans went muchly awry.
Your informant was correct. Women are taken, enslaved, and sold! I have seen the poor things, collared and chained, frightened, weeping, clutching tiny sheets about themselves, cringing before masters. I was introduced, with the video camera, the material for taking notes, as we had arranged, into a holding area. With what fear the girls, for I could not conceive of them as anything else, regarded me, I amongst them, fully clothed, severely, fashionably, professionally. But I had little time for outrage, or sympathy, for I was at work. Too, frankly, many seemed fit for bondage, cuddly, simple little things, fit to be the possessions, the playthings, of men. Perhaps the best they might hope for would be to obtain a kind, understanding master. Though I suspect that any kindness, and understanding, on the part of such men as I have seen here, would be on their terms, and would not be allowed to compromise in the least the severity, the perfection, of their dominance, their mastery. The males here have not given up their dominance. They have not been conquered, and destroyed, as men.
I videotaped, swiftly, resolutely, yet as carefully, as calmly, as I could, under the incredible circumstances, panning about. Even the tiny, almost inaudible whimpers of the captives were recorded. I am sure of it. It seemed they were terrified to so much as raise their voices. Then, in a bit, too, I took notes. I jotted impressions frenziedly. I wanted to interview some of the girls, but they refused to speak, looking away or putting their heads down, shaking their heads, fearfully.
Why were they afraid to speak to me?
Why?
What was their nature, their condition?
Most were kneeling.
They tried to hide in their tiny sheets, holding them about their bodies, sometimes with manacled wrists.
Why were they frightened?
Why did they not look at me? Why did they look away? Why did they put their heads down? Why did they tremble, fearfully?
Had they been beaten? Had they been taught something of discipline?
Then, angry with them, and hearing the cries of men, I went to a tiny barred window. From there, I could see down into an amphitheater-like room. Several men, some in business suits, some in casual dress, some in uniforms, some in working clothes, were on the tiers. Despite the dissimilarity of attire the men seemed very much alike, virile, powerful, callous, intelligent. It was almost as though some wore disguises, that their nature not be underst
ood. Indeed, it seemed that some wore their clothes uneasily, as though they might be accustomed to a different sort of garments, perhaps freer, less confining. They were unaware of my presence. Their attention was focused on a large wooden block, some seven feet in width, at the foot of the room, in its well, so to speak. I was horrified to see a woman on this block. The sheet was drawn from her. She had had nothing on beneath the sheet. Nothing!. She was made to stand, turn, and pose. There were calls from the block, by a man there, clad in a work shirt and jeans, and calls from the men in the tiers, responding to him.
This was clearly bidding.
She was young, and beautiful, and for sale!
Can you believe it, Irving? A young, beautiful female, naked, and for sale! Literally, Irving, for sale, for sale!
How furious I was. Yet, oddly, I felt myself inordinately excited, and profoundly, disturbingly, stimulated. I was muchly aware then that I was a woman, or, more radically, that I was a female. I had never really thought until then what men might do to us—if they pleased, if they chose.
I taped this.
Oh, Irving, talk of scoops! This story would have sold out the magazine in an hour. It would have been in all the papers, taken up by the wire services, the radio, television, all the media. When you ransom me you must arrange for the return of my notes, above all the video film!
How did I know that I would be discovered in the holding area!
My presence was to have been undetected. It was to have been secret. And yet, after something like twenty minutes, several men simply entered the area, the chained girls shrinking away from them in fear, hastening to clear a path before them, entered as though fully aware that I was there, and encircled me, on all sides.
I was terrified!
How they smiled!
Did our informant betray us?
The notebook, the camera, were taken. My hands were cuffed behind me. Literally cuffed behind me, in small, sturdy, linked metal circlets of some sort. I heard them snap shut, one, then the other. I was helpless. Something was held over my nose and mouth. I struggled. I could not free myself. I could not escape. It was hard to breathe. The fumes were stifling. I lost consciousness. I awakened naked, later, how much later I do not know, on my side, my legs and arms drawn up against my body, on the steel floor of a small, locked cage. Probably here, wherever this is. Things seem different here, wherever this is. I am frightened.
I trust that you are working to free me as soon as possible.
I will share all the credit for the story with you. Have no fear. I will keep it for the magazine. I will not go elsewhere with it, despite its value. You may have the byline if you wish. My contribution may remain anonymous. The credit is yours, if you like. Or you may even give it to Holly, that meaningless little slut, whom I know is your mistress, if you wish. Have I not seen her fawn on you, and seen how she looks, when she looks upon you?
How I hate her!
Save me! Get me out of here!
I know you like me, or, at least, are attracted to me. A woman can tell such things. If you save me, you will find me more agreeable now, Irving. You see, I am calling you “Irving” now. I have always thought you were attractive. Perhaps you will give me a chance, when I get back, to show you my feelings toward you.
To be sure, you would not find me a Holly! I have pride! Surely you would not want a woman to be yours alone, and not hers, alone. As a true man, you would scorn to have a woman grovel at your feet, in awe of you, desiring to put all she is, and would be, at your feet, desiring more than anything else in the world to serve you, hand and foot, lovingly, helplessly.
As a true man, how disgusting you would find that!
I beg you to free me, Irving!
Yes, I beg it!
Figuratively I am prostrate before you.
Does that please you, Irving, that I should be prostrate before you?
Save me! I beg it!
Linda
Fifth Letter
Dear Irving:
A steel collar has been put on my throat! It is light and narrow, like a band, about a half of an inch in height. It is close fitting. It is attractive. It is not uncomfortable. I am seldom aware that it is even on me, but it is. In the back there is a small, sturdy lock. And the collar is locked! It is locked on me! I cannot remove it. It is literally locked on my neck! Is it a piece of simple jewelry? But I cannot remove it! I do not understand it. What does it mean?
I cannot believe the things they are teaching me!
I have still not been taught the meaning of the first words I was forced to say, “La kajira.”
They laugh at me. I dare not evince the least sign of disinclination to obey. They expect, and receive, instant, unquestioning obedience from me! Can you imagine that, knowing me? That I am obeying men? That I must be obedient to men?
And I am obedient to them, Irving. I am obedient to them!
And I am having strange feelings. I can’t explain them, but they are sometimes overwhelming. I am finding that it pleases me to obey, that I wish to do so. How strange!
Can you imagine me obeying you, eager to please you, trying desperately to please you?
Wouldn’t you like to have me obeying you?
In all things?
In whatever way you might wish?
It is strange, the things they are teaching me. They really seem to be of two sorts. Many are homely tasks, which I am learning for the first time, though with the tools and techniques of this place, things like cooking, cleaning, laundering, and sewing. Perhaps these are skills taught to housewives here, if there are women here. There must be women here. But of the other sorts of things I am taught I scarcely know how to speak. They are teaching me ways to move, and sit, and lie, and rise to my feet, and kneel. They make me kneel with my knees apart, widely, and back on my heels, with my head up, and my hands, palms down, on my thighs, or being held behind my back. In sitting and lying, one must point one’s toes in a certain fashion, which curves the calf. One learns to turn the hip out. One learns to lower one’s head deferentially. One learns how to crawl, on one’s hands and knees, and on one’s abdomen. It seems I am being taught gracefulness and submissiveness. Can you imagine that, of me, Irving?
Too, they are teaching me the application of cosmetics, and perfumes. Sometimes they put bells on my collar, and ankles, or wrists. I must learn to walk well in them. When I do poorly I am sometimes struck with a strap.
If you are very nice to me, when I get back, perhaps I will show you some of the things I have learned.
Linda
Sixth Letter
Dearest Irving:
Why have you not answered my letters?
Have you received them?
They still have not taught me the meaning of the words ‘La kajira’, the first words I was forced to speak in their language.
I have been told that I may be allowed out of the house in a day or two, though I would be accompanied. But first, it seems, something must be done to me. They have not told me what it is. Before it is done, I am told that I must wash and dry my left thigh, high, just under the hip. It must be smooth, and pretty. I do not know what they have in mind. They keep me much in ignorance.
My lessons continue.
I have received instruction in the bathing of men. I do not think they are such lazy beasts that they cannot wash themselves. I think, rather, it pleases them to have this done by a beautiful woman. I am beautiful, Irving. I know that now. What could be the meaning of my beauty? I have received various injections. I do not know their purpose. I was permitted to see myself in a small mirror yesterday. I was startled. I look younger. It is strange.
I have been shown how to crawl to a man and beg him for his touch! How degrading! How shocked and offended you must be, to hear this!
Surely you, as a true man, would not want me crawling naked to your feet,
and begging your touch!
How swiftly you would, in consternation, scandalized, looking away, that I not be embarrassed, draw me to my feet, and clothe me!
But I am afraid. Late in the lessons, I had strange feelings, and my voice trembled. Tears ran from my eyes. I tried to control myself, but I could not. I felt my body flushing and shuddering, and felt hot and alive, and moist and running and helpless, and alive, and alive, and so alive, and needful, and felt embarrassing, betraying, uncontrollable, irresistible, undeniable sensations, even secretions, I fear perhaps those of desire, Irving, of sexual heat, of literal sexual heat, Irving, overwhelming me, fierce, piteous sensations, needful and unrequited, emanating from my intimacies, suffusing then my body, my entire body and being! What could be the meaning of these things? But I feared I knew their meaning. What had they done to me? What was I becoming? On my knees, looking up, I discovered I did want the touch of a man. Quickly I put my head down, that they not see this weakness. Then I looked up, piteously. But the lesson was then ended. Unfulfilled, I was herded back, on my hands and knees, poked with a stick, to the cage, and locked within. I grasped the cold bars, and squirmed helplessly. What are they doing to me? What am I becoming?
