I told the maitre d’ to escort the ladies to our table. I wanted to watch the room when they walked through it.Slowly, elegantly, the two ladies floated toward the table, like goddesses visiting us mortals here on earth. The noise level lowered significantly as they progressed, heads, male and female, turning to observe them. At several tables, the women berated their male companions for obviously staring. As they sat, the room began to return to normal. I joined them. By the time I got there, and it was not a minute, two different men had sent champagne.“May I join you ladies?” I asked.“Certainly,” Rebecca said. That woman could have made millions doing voice overs on commercials.So, you ask, what did you learn from Rebecca? I learned she had not been programmed by Uncle Bert. (See! He did screw up once in a while. Where was that damn formula when I needed it?) I learned there was another woman besides Mary and Andy in this world who made me hard the entire time I was with her. I. She steadied herself, pushed her forehead against the wood, tried to think of something else. She focused on not looking round, thinking of her home in Middlesex. She heard the whistle and then the whip struck, the ends stinging her right breast again, the other thongs striking her armpit and ribs and the side of her back. The force of it sent shudders through her and she couldn?t help herself but shout with pain. The smarting in her breast welled and slowly faded, but where the skin had been ripped from her back there was a constant fire. ?Forty-two.? She looked through the grating at the grey sea beyond. She stared at the horizon, tried to imagine her mind flying away over it. She heard the whip coming, heard the shlack as the thongs lashed the tortured middle of her back and for a moment there was nothing, but then the darkness lifted, and she felt the horrendous pain as her head , having snapped back, slowly returned to its usual position. It went on and on and on, throbbing.
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