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almost as if you want me to treat you badly,” she said. “It looks as though you are excited by the idea of being maltreated by me. Does the thought excite you?”
    My mouth was suddenly dry. "Yes,” I said softly. “It may sound strange to you, but the thought of suffering at your hands arouses and excites me immeasurably.”
    "Perhaps not so strange. Don’t sexual love and cruelty go hand in hand?"
    " Yes,” I replied softly. “I feel that most keenly.”
    " Are you submissive by nature?"
    " I appreciate martyrdom,” I said slowly. My voice sounded strange to my ears. “Throughout history, weren’t martyrs gentle and sensual by nature?"
    She frowned. "Martyrs?"
    " Martyrs are sensual men by nature, they find enjoyment in suffering. Throughout history martyrs have sought out the most horrific tortures, even death itself, just as others would seek out joy and pleasure. There is a deep and profound sexual pleasure in pain."
    “It sounds as if you have experienced it.”
    I nodded. “Yes, I have.”
    " So you want to become a martyr to love? To submit yourself to a cruel and heartless woman?"
    “Yes, ” I said softy. “That is my fantasy.”
     
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
    " I want to put myself absolutely at your mercy for good or evil without any condition, without any limit to your power ."- Leopold von Sacher-Masoch
     
    We walked back to the hotel in silence. As we walked, she took my hand but did not speak. She seemed deep in thought.
    When we got back we went up to her room and then out onto her balcony. The evening was fragrant and surprisingly warm and we sat in silence, listening to the crickets and an owl hooting in the forest in the distance. The sky was clear as the last daylight faded away and the vaulted heavens above became sown with innumerable stars.
    “Tell me about yourself ,” she said suddenly, her voice as soft and as mellow as the cool evening. Who was the first woman you ever loved?”
    I laughed. “The first woman I ever loved was a stone statue. As a boy I was very shy around women. I think I was afraid of them. My father had a full-sized marble statue of Venus in his study and I used to sneak in there late at night and kneel before her as though she were a goddess.”
    “Ah,” she said, nodding. “That explains your preoccupation with Venus.”
    "Yes. She was my goddess and my friend. Sometimes I would leave my bed and visit her in the dark. Moonlight through the open window would bathe the goddess in a pale-blue cold light and I would kneel before her and kiss her cold feet and say my prayers. As I grew older an irresistible yearning began to take hold of me. After kneeling at her feet I would get up and embrace the beautiful cold body and kiss the stony unyielding lips. And I would go back to my bed, overwhelmed with longing.” And masturbate , I thought, but did not say it aloud.
    “Poor lonely boy,” she murmured and took my hand. “How did it end?”
    “My stepmother didn’t like the statue . When she married my father it was one of the first things she got rid of.”
    “So you lost your first love.”
    “Yes, I lost her.
    “Tell me about your stepmother. Tell me about your childhood.”
    I hesitated, then said carefully, "My mother died when I was young. My father was always away on business, so I was alone most of the time. My father remarried when I was nine, to a woman younger than himself.”
    “Was she nice, your stepmother?”
    “She was a bitch from hell,” I said softly. “After his marriage, I was left in the care of my stepmother most of the time. I grew to despise and fear her.
    “What was your first sexual experience with a woman?”
    I sat for a long time saying nothing and just stared introspectively into the dark night. There were secrets that I kept locked away inside me, secrets that I rarely allowed myself to think about, let alone discuss with anyone else. What had happened was in the past, but the memories still had a profound power to haunt