FIFTY-FOUR

Out Of Place

Despite healer’s apprehension, Catherine does not exit the coatroom.

“We both look moronic, in that picture: I look so insignificant, standing beside the two of them, just the thing who delivered the goods to him, and he looks weak, seated, to hold the baby,” she understands from the next woman whose eyes she meets. “And it’s the photographer who insisted on that pose, and, afterwards, I discovered that that kind of setup in pictures is seen all over the world now, no doubt to compel women into stepping back altogether, into staying in that background.

I hated having him there for the birth, because, in the end, the man being there is actually insulting, since some of the most insulting words that a man can say to a woman, at any time, are ‘cut the cord already,’  and so, when he’s there in the delivery room and literally cuts that cord, really? Do women not recognize men’s wink-wink in that move? Because men know exactly what that ritual is really about, what it really means: it’s when a man takes control by literally breaking that natural bond. Think about it: wouldn’t it be embarrassing for a man to do so little, if it meant nothing else, symbolically? By contrast, men of the past who weren’t in the room to take delivery of their merchandise that way, they were nicer to the mother-child bond. And let’s not forget that men named it the delivery room . . .

Well, I came to realize that there could be a plus to my standing in the position of power, in that picture, where the man should be standing, watching over mother and child, with the ability and strength of his wonderfully strong male body put to natural good use. I came to realize that perhaps this would be how women would finally take control of the world, with men weakened that way, and how it would all backfire then, and come back to bite men hard, because they just went too far. And then, men would have much more to complain about than women being everywhere in the workplace, career-wise.

And what a ridiculous complaint that is anyway, when men are the ones who stopped getting married at 23, 24, so, what were women supposed to do, when men decided that they wanted all that superficial, disease-spreading body-pleasure, with a variety of partners, for years and years, and so, when they pushed back getting married and used many, many women instead, coldly passing them around, and remaining cold afterwards, of course? Well, what women did is they got a career, and, once they had that career, they didn’t want to be rid of it, nor the independence that it gave them. So, you see, it’s men who changed society by changing women in yet another way.

Not that I had a career. But what my ex did actually put me on my own two feet, in a sense, and I learned to embrace it, that position: so now, I make grown men cry by profession. They pay me to do it. And if it wasn’t for the recent fire at my place of business, I wouldn’t be here this weekend, but I have bills to pay, so I had to find other work while it’s being renovated. And . . .  we need more women like me, in the world: experts at using whips on men. If this weekend can ever end -- I just can’t stand being on my knees --  I can go home to my son, whom my ex returned to me when he wasn’t to his satisfaction. Too effeminate, not good in sports. Out of place, according to my ex, just like my ex was in that picture. My love for my son, however, wasn’t shaken one bit by expectations.”

Catherine releases the woman’s eyes. The female before her does not seem so wounded, so broken. Just thoroughly annoyed. There might be more to her, however. No hint of her childhood.    Nor of how much she might have loved that man, before he did what he did, before he awakened her to his true self, after the birth.

“I remember when I was still young enough to fantasize about having his baby, and how those words were magical, like from a fairy tale: ‘I’m having your baby.’ And those words were supposed to make him so thrilled, and to make him grateful, and to make him see me as a great woman, and then, as a great mother, of course. Sacred,” another woman begins, when window to window reflect within each other. “Well, I had a kid and not a day went by after I did when it wasn’t hell. And I didn’t even want another kid, but I met a man who was so hot that I just wanted to kiss and lick him all over, just always have his body right against mine, and . . . A mother sweetly talking to her baby, with all that adoration in her voice for that little human, talking about eating him or her all up like mothers do, you know that men overheard that and just so wanted all that adoration for their dick, and so, we came to have women going down and kneeling daily, before the selfish child-god men created. No more fairy tale.

Anyway, my oldest died in a car accident, and then I broke up with the man who had me under his spell for a while, and money became an issue, so . . . Is it because men have to spend money on getting laid that they make more money than women, doing the same job? No, seriously. And why do they make more money when men’s haircuts are cheaper, and when they don’t have to buy monthly period supplies, and on and on? And isn’t women having to pay child support ridiculous and cruel, because bringing a life into the world, that priceless gifting to a man, should be payment enough? Actually, isn’t child support stupid either way, because parents should have to buy this or that for their kid instead, to see where their money goes? There have to be ways to stop the hate. Because people despise losing control, and/or feeling helpless, whether man or woman, father or mother.

I think that women of the past were actually very stupid to go after men’s money, because men then turned around and went after the kids, so they wouldn’t have to part with their money. And when the law got involved in forcing mostly men to pay outrageous amounts of child support, women thought that it was for the sake of the children, but it wasn’t: I think that it was actually the male collective’s way of getting men to fight for custody by assuring them how much money would otherwise be taken away from them by law, for certain, and, therefore, just its way of using men’s worry about how much their lifestyle would be affected financially, for eighteen years, while in their screwing prime, if they didn’t fight. But of course, it was through having more men battling and winning that the male collective’s real agenda was served: men getting the kids meant that they’d be raised with male beliefs and ways primarily, or solely, which would make our society more male than it’s ever been. Proof is everywhere, but making girls and women see openly, in all of society, and in so many ways, just what nothings they are considered to be, takes the cake.

Oh, there was nothing wrong with me, that I didn’t get custody. Not back then. It was just the system maintaining a certain percentage of men getting custody, as I’m certain that it does, and it was unfortunately time for the judge to give a man custody, when it was my turn in court. So, women who think that it could never happen to them . . . Once upon a time, young children torn away from their mother set off alarm bells even in men, because they were good and still recognized that it was so unnatural. But not now.

And then, my ex gave my kids to his mother, and no law stopped him from doing that either, from just taking them away from their own mother, to give them to her.    

I missed my kids. When boys aren’t ruled by their dick yet, when they’re human still, they’re so lovely. I . . . It used to hurt me, when I saw fathers with their young kids, and they weren’t keeping a close eye on them. I kept thinking about mine. Worrying about mine. And when those fathers realized that they were being watched and they’d then suddenly start putting on an act, I realized just how much . . .

Well, it wasn’t long before I just couldn’t take it, knowing what my kids would grow up to be like, after being raised by him through his deferring mother, and then,  through his deferring new wife as well, with both women having to defer to him because they weren’t the children’s mother, and so, with him having everything exactly the way that most fathers want it.

It . . . It wasn’t long before I saw that I had to let go. Completely. And it killed me inside.

And how did I get from that madness to this madness here? There was nothing left to keep me female, after my kids were ripped away from me, so I did the male thing for a while, and I got sick of it and from it, and I lost my job, and . . . ”

Catherine looks away from the woman’s glistening eyes. She takes a deep breath, and soon, a few more steps.

“I saw a man and his two teen boys moving in next door and I knew that we were in for loud music and no respect, no empathy for any of the neighbours around them, and I was right: the loud music started the very next day,” the next woman is heard. “Condos. Our walls connected. No way to escape.”

Catherine moves along and next stops when a woman’s face appears to be spotlighted by a dim light beam, which grabs her attention.

“No one can deny that boys and men watching so much adult entertainment online has already changed so much,” she then understands from this woman, “because sex is not without repercussions, and so, for anyone to think that a man can just pop into a house where women are bought, get what he wants, and then go back unchanged to his life, to emotions, to empathy and to more, is absurd, because a man can’t use women, have them on their knees for money, and then not see all females in society as those play things as well, including his own daughters, as other men’s. I know. And with men admitting to having frequent, hourly nether-area urges and thoughts, how can they truly separate from the innocence of the kids around them all the deviant things that men do or that they so thoroughly enjoy watching over and over again online, and that stay with them, popping up whenever, in their minds?

Well, my father loved going to whores, and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel that he did, before I actually knew. And I’ve often imagined him telling his friends how proud he was of me for later becoming one. ‘I’m so proud of her for not using her head, her brain like other women do. She just spreads ’em, bends over, or opens wide for men, all day. That’s my good little girl. When she was my cute two year old, four year old, I looked at her and I always hoped that she’d grow up to become a whore. It was just the best life that I could imagine for her. It wasn’t her finding love and a husband who’s her best friend so they could explore all of life together, and have kids, and grandkids, and be there for each other always, and so she’d never be nor feel alone, and so she’d experience so much of what life has to offer. No. I wanted her to just be screwed by many, many men, each and every day, going home alone afterwards, without love, and with emptiness. And probably with diseases, and maybe an addiction, and her life ending when she was still in her screwing prime, because of one or the other. I looked at my little angel, and that’s what I wanted for her. Because I just loved her so, so much . . . ’     

Yeah right.

And I’ve imagined a friend of his coming up to him and saying ‘hey, I screwed your daughter last night,’ and the guy with him saying that he did too. ‘I shoved it up her behind. Her boobs were flopping all over the place. It was so good. And I came all over her face. Love your girl. She’s such a hot, dirty little thing. Good job keeping her down so she’d grow to be a toy. We need more fathers like you. You must’ve had custody, and have completely torn down her mom, so your kid wasn’t taught all that crap about emotions and being more and all that bull, like expecting men to love and to be nice. I’ve got to find me a wife to make more playthings like your daughter, because we need more, to keep our supply nice and young. And we owe it to the generations of men to come, to the boys growing up now, to do that.

Remember all that dating and being nice that we used to have to suffer through, to get laid? How we paid for dinner and a movie and still didn’t get action, most of the time? But now, when I put my money down, I know that I’m getting off. And now, I get whatever I want, and whenever I want it. It’s just so much cheaper and rewarding than dating. We come, and then, we’re back with the guys again. Life is great, isn’t? No more bar hopping. No more Internet dating. Good to be king. Good to have our basic nature back so completely. Enough of that humanity crap. And it’s all thanks to great dads like you, who raise women we can buy.

So, what are we doing after work, boys? Swinging by your daughter’s work?’

And my dad would ask to be told all about me, in detail. ‘How good is she? How hot? Does she moan, groan, scream? I wish that I could have her myself, but . . . ’ Because that’s the kind of lowlife he is.

And any man who goes to whores but doesn’t want his little girl growing up to be one is a hypocrite, because every whore was a sweet girl, when she was little. And every sweet girl deserved a much better life. But now, men give their daughters away to men for that purpose, just like they take other men’s daughters, and it’s not the giving part that’s new, but fathers used to give each daughter away to one man only, and for so much more, when she married and changed her name from her father’s to her young husband’s, early twenties.   

My father, after he went to whores and then came home to me, after doing what he just did and . . . Disgusting. But you watch what kind of grooming the male collective comes up with next, to make it okay for fathers to want their little girls to grow up to be nothing more than play toys to men. Just wait for it. Because it’s in the best interests of men and it’s what they want, so, just wait for it, for their creativity, for their art, for their designs to surface in that way. But all women should know that art is always opened to interpretation. Please see right through it.

The masters’ so-called ‘art,’ this weekend . . .

A few yeas ago, after a really bad night, I looked at myself in the mirror and I imagined kids asking ‘what’s a whore?’ and dads answering ‘it’s the women who let daddies do whatever they want to them. We just have to pay them and we use them and they can’t say no. They’re the best women in the world. Maybe when you grow up, you can be one too, a men’s play thing, all day. Make daddy happy and proud that you just spend your time doing everything that men pay you for. That you let them do whatever they want to your body, and that you do whatever they want to their body. I can see it now: I see you in the house where women are bought, and a man leaves your room, and another enters, and you slip off your clothes again and you just do what he wants, no questions, no words. Just a really good toy. Just my little doll.’

And it was years before I was smart enough to come up with the mothers’ answer: ‘they’re the awful women who make all girls and women into things for men to hurt, who give diseases that make women sick all their lives, not able to have babies, or who give diseases that hurt or kill mommies and kids. And if you’re sick that way, you probably can’t fall in love, get married and have kids. And with those women around, men don’t even love and aren’t nice and kind anyway, because they don’t have to be, to get what they want. So, sorry, no prince charming, no love, no babies for you, my sweet little girl. But don’t be like them. Girls and women are better than that. We’re so much more. We can do so much more. We’re not weak like men because they lose it so easily.’

Yeah, awful women like me. I know. But finally having that answer didn’t help me leave it all behind. So, here I am, still. Because there’s just not much else for an ex-whore to do, especially when she has an expensive vice to support. You start being with men, and you soon self-medicate to be able to do what you do, and then, you want to stop being with men, but what made you able to do what you do then makes you have to keep doing it, for the money you need to keep yourself even, if not high.

My father got rid of my mother when I was young because it’s really not in daddy’s advantage, is it, for mom to point out how weak and stupid he is, being all about his dick? To point out how his member bullies his family every day? There’s just no smart labelling possible, in any way, for a man who puts his life and everything on the line to reach bliss. And that most men can so easily be manipulated . . .

            And what did I become, uh, growing up all around that, and being without? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t set out to become what I did, but after I did, I saw that I just sort of fell into it, had to, with my father still in my life and still going at it, thanks to those stupid anti-impotence pills. Pathetic old man. If only I’d come up with that definitive definition of him before I . . .  But I was young, and it’s too late for me now.

Men have destroyed civilizations, by making everything all about sex. Because humans are empty failures when they’re not more. It’s just a fact. I’m a failure. A great, big huge one. This isn’t living. Well, objects don’t live, do they? They’re not alive. Can’t feel alive.”

Catherine casts her eyes to the floor, before moving along.