Celestial Review


March 18

You probably can't believe I'm still writing this. The truth
is, I can hardly believe it myself. I certainly thought long
and hard about it, but finally decided that since the whole
thing's all out in the open anyway that there wasn't much
reason to stop writing about it. And you might find this
hard to fathom but I feel like I have a certain kind of
relationship with you; a relationship that I want to honor.
You might wonder at my sanity, but there you have it.

It certainly was a fascinating day, as you might well
imagine.  Yes, I did find I was being avoided, both men and
women, and when I did interact with someone, they kept it
studiously impersonal.  It was amazing to realize that the
news had spread so rapidly and so completely.

Lina, bless her, was the exception. She wasn't showy about
it, but she never avoided me in the least, and in the
morning she squeezed my hand. Thank you, Lina; you now
obviously know who you are, and you are a treasure. Almost
all the other women, as I said, avoided me all day and kept
any conversation to a minimum. I did see Jane eying me,
almost slyly, which had me wondering. And Cathy tried
bravely to be friendly, but the poor thing couldn't manage
it. I caught her watching me once, but seeming more shy than
sly.

The men mostly left me alone though for some of them it
might have been just their normal attitude. I'll bet some
hadn't even heard the news. We aren't a particularly with-it
bunch. I was a bit afraid of come-ons, but received only a
couple, and I was surprised how subtle they were. I didn't
know the guys had it in them.  Not that I was the least bit
comfortable with what was implied.

Michael wasn't one of them, thank God. In fact, I hardly saw
him, and I even thought about whether he was finding ways to
avoid me completely. It physically *hurt* when I did see him
and thought about what he'd undoubtedly read and thought of
me. Michael, *please* notice me, that I'm too shy to give
you any real hint.  And that all this stuff means nothing,
really. After you figure out that you are Michael, of
course.

But fortunately, my work is the sort I can do alone, and
when I could pull my mind off my weird circumstances, it was
a good day to concentrate. A few more such days, and I might
finish a draft soon. But believe me, that was *not* by
design.

After work, it was supper alone. Again. I guess it's all out
now that I'm a lonely woman, and I can't imagine that this
will help in any way that I'd be willing to pursue. I still
can't believe this happened.

With nothing going on that would provide me with an
evening's entertainment, I fell back on catching up on my
reading. As I've said, I hate to write at home when I've
been at it all day so I read instead. I'd made a bit of
progress on last month's journals when *she* showed up.

I'd had a distinct feeling she'd be along given yesterday's
*outing*.  I'd been so certain I'd been careful enough to
keep my identity secret, changing people's names, place
names, even times, when doing so seemed prudent. You can't
believe how much I wish I could take yesterday back. Or
perhaps you can.

Anyhow, I heard the knock at my door, and was pretty much
certain who would be standing there. And yes, there was
Cheryl. Looking at me in that way she has, for several
seconds, until I was so nervous I was unable to hold her
gaze. "What the fuck are you doing wearing clothes?" were
her first words.

I think I trembled in panic. Her look brooked no nonsense,
yet we were standing there with my front door open to the
corridor.  Her voice was loud enough that neighbors might
well have heard it.  I thought for just a second, then
pulled them off as fast as I could.

She deliberately remained standing there with the door open.
I could tell she knew exactly what she was doing, and was
testing me.  I hate that. And she knows that too. But there
was no way I was going to cross her.

So I stood there, totally naked, as she stood in my open
doorway.  I prayed that no one would walk by. Taking her
time, she finally came in, slowly pulling the door closed.
"So, the slut's been making a fucking muddle of things," she
finally said.

I was more frightened than I'd been of the open door at this
confirmation of her attitude about the whole thing. "Yes
Ma'am," I managed to mumble.

"Did I ask you to fucking talk?" she said. I stood there
mute, not sure what do for a second. I'd answered her but
she hadn't asked a question, which is what she'd called me
on. But this time it was, in fact, a question. "No Ma'am," I
said.

I saw her smile. She knew *exactly* what I was going
through.  "So," she said, "did the fucking slut miss me?"

"Yes Ma'am," I said, quickly.

"Knees," she said and I immediately dropped to mine. She
continued to stand, looking down at me. "Play with your
tits," she said. I raised my hands and obediently fingered
them. "I want you fucking hot and bothered."

I wondered why she had to talk like that. It made me
uncomfortable.  I found myself somehow aroused when she was
around, but her crude choice of words seemed to make me feel
all the more guilty about her, and uneasy in other ways too.
I felt my nipples stiffen. She laughed at me. "Waiting for
the chance to lick me?" she said.

"Yes Ma'am," I said. God I hated the way she used me.

She laughed and said, "First things first. Up against the
table, slut." As I quickly obeyed, she laughed again. I
could tell she wasn't going to hold back on the whipping.

I heard her move around the room, but I knew I'd better not
stir.  "At least the slut knows her place," she said. "I'll
bet you had quite a day today. Find you had any *new
friends*?"

"No Ma'am," I said. I wondered if she meant come-ons from
the men.  I had indeed detected something there.

"What? No one to do lines of your cosmic dust with you?"

"No Ma'am," I said, refraining from making anything of her
crude comment. It was her idea of a little joke on
absorption lines and interstellar dust. I wished she didn't
know enough about what I do to get so sarcastic about it.

She laughed again. "Whatever turns you on," she said. Then
she let me have it.

God it hurt. She has the skill and has no compunction about
using it. She gave me another, and another. As usual, all I
could wonder at was what possessed me to accept this
treatment. I still can't understand.

As you undoubtedly know, I always count. Twelve, it was this
time, and by then I was beside myself. "You know, you have
weird tastes, slut," she said as she eyed me afterward. I
knew not to respond.  "On the floor," she added.

I lay down immediately, on my back. I couldn't help but
notice that she had her pants and underpants off already. As
soon as I was on my back, she stood, straddling me, then
lowered herself on my face. "OK, my slut," she said, "time
to show me why I put up with you."

I licked. As I've told you before, I find myself actually
struggling to do the best I can when she makes me do this.
Of course, I wonder at myself for participating in it at
all. What's wrong with me?  But now, everyone who knows me
can ponder the same question. God, I wish I could take
yesterday back.

As soon as she'd come, she was ready to leave. "Oh, does the
slut want an orgasm too?" she said sarcastically as she
dressed. "Let's see you jerk off, slut," she continued
before I'd answered.

Of course, I didn't hesitate. I embarrassed myself right in
front of her, touching myself as I lay naked on the floor.
She grinned.  When I was nearly coming, she said "Have fun,
slut," and walked out. Her momentary opening of the front
door reawakened my real fear, but she shut it immediately.

Moments later I came. Then I lay there, still naked,
wondering at myself.

March 19

Lying awake in the morning, I thought about how much more of
this I could take? How could I face yet another day?

I was very glad to see Lina as soon as I got in. She had a
technical question for me, and soon I saw that she was
acting a little wary of me. My heart sank. Finally I said
something to her, which basically confirmed my outing in
full, but I badly needed to thank her for sticking by me.
Unfortunately, it seemed to make her even more embarrassed
and when she quickly left I almost cried.

How can I be doing this to myself? I felt I *had* to do
something, maybe just stop writing this. But I can't. It's
like the story isn't finished. I can't leave you hanging, I
just can't do it.

I saw Jane later in the morning. I *hated* the grin she had.
I swear, she looked like she would love nothing more than to
watch.  I got away from her as quickly as I could.

Cathy was friendlier than the day before. She greeted me,
but looked abashed about doing it. I wondered if she'd
deliberately chosen a time when no one else was around. The
truth is, I could feel for her since I feel shy like her so
much of the time. In fact, it feels funny to have a
friendship with someone where I have to play the role of the
more outgoing one.

I came away from that encounter wondering what Cheryl would
make of Cathy. Cheryl would take advantage of her reticent
nature, her lack of confidence, and bully her into the same
kinds of things I end up doing. Cheryl would yell and scream
at her, embarrass her to no end, and make her do sexual
things she never imagined. And cajole her into taking the
whip. I wondered what it would be like to order her to
strip, repeatedly yelling it, until she nervously obeyed.

Most of the others still avoided me. One guy gave me a weird
smile, though.  It was one of the guys I'd thought might be
coming on to me the day before.

I saw Michael. He greeted me, the angel, seeming to talk to
me easier than the others. I could have gone down on him
that second, I tell you. Michael, do you hear me? I can't
believe I just wrote that. Of course, I couldn't let him
notice anything about what I really feel.  God, I hate
myself.

And then it was back to my apartment, another solitary
night, of studying, and *her*.

I tried to read, but I thought about her, how she'd come to
me.  What sort of crude wisecrack she'd come up with.

"Get the fucking clothes off," were her first words. When I
was naked, she simply walked around me, as if taking me all
in.  Why, I don't know: I certainly don't have the body-type
that anyone drools over and I've put on a few too many
pounds too. Sedentary work. I felt doubly embarrassed that
she stared at my body, such as it is. "Grab your ankles,"
she finally said, having circled me.

Of course, I knew what was coming. She wasn't talking so
much.  Sometimes she's like that, just barking orders, no
extra chat.  I heard her getting the whip. I shivered.

It was twelve, like the night before. Why twelve? Few enough
enough that you could stand but not so many as to be truly
abusive? I have no desire for actual injury. As always, she
proved how well she could use the thing.

"On your stomach, on the bed," she said. I put my hands
behind my neck the way I know she wants me. I thought about
whether this would be the way she'd treat Cathy. She got up
on the bed, straddling my thighs. Of course, I knew exactly
what was coming.

I felt her fingers lubricating my rear. I did wonder whether
this time she was going to wear the dildo. I felt her skin
against mine and sensed she was undressed. She'd surely lie
on top of me to take me. "You want me to take you, bitch?"
she said.

Finally, some extraneous chat. "Yes, Ma'am," I said. She
slapped my rear cheek with her hand as if I weren't supposed
to talk, even though she'd asked me a direct question. It
stung. Then she laughed.  She knew exactly what she was
doing.

"Well, bitch, sometimes you get your wish," she said and
laughed again in her nasty way. I felt her shift her body. I
felt her skin against my thighs. I felt her place the thing
on my anus and begin applying pressure. I felt her shove it
in fast and hard.  But I was ready.

Or maybe it was slow, easing into me over excruciating
seconds, minutes even. And the feel of her breath on my neck
and her body on my back, and a little devious laugh close to
my ear. And a whispered "hold still" as she slowly does my
rear, in and out.

I pulled the sheet over me, still naked, the lights out,
exhausted, contented. And wondered at myself again, at what
I do, and what I write. And what sort of desires bring me to
this. I thought once more about yet another day of stares,
of the problem I'd created for myself. What did they really
think of me now? The mousy, geeky girl who'd always talked
only about a paper she was reading or a problem she was
working on. Who'd never talk about normal things outside
astrophysics. Who'd definitely never talk about something
like sex. What kind of girl is she?