The Story of O

When I was a university student, I had a casual job working as a waitress and one evening after my shift, I went to the movies alone after the shift. I went to see a movie called 'The Story of O'. It is a long time ago now, but I suspect that I knew the vaguest of outlines of the story I was about to see. If it was about a relationship between a man and woman, then it would have interested me. I remember that the theatre was full.

I feel certain that I did not move an inch for the entire screening of the movie. I was completely captivated. I had never seen, and never thought I would see such things on a movie screen. I loved every single second of the movie. I suspect if I saw it again today, I might think it not so wonderful, but to my young mind, that had been filled with visions of being manhandled in such ways, it was intoxicating. As I think back to the moment I got up and joined the crowd leaving the theatre, I remember being still and silent. As usual, my brain told me that to be still and silent was to keep my secret firmly locked away from any discovery. I heard a woman say to the man beside her, "What a lot of rubbish that was." He did not answer her, and neither did I.

Alone in my bed that evening, I masturbated to the scenes of the movie in my head and it goes without saying, surely, that I had exquisite orgasms. I was layered in sweat.

I don't remember exactly when I bought a copy of 'The Story of O' but I think it was soon after seeing the movie. I was already going out with my husband, and from time to time, he noticed that I delved into that particular novel pretty regularly. I did my best to delve into the novel when he was not around.

Time passed and we passed into another era; young children and life in another country. My copy of 'The Story of O' came with me, of course. As my life gave itself over to my children, there was little time to delve into novels of any sort, but the truth is that by now, my copy was well worn.

One day, when I went for it, it was not there. I looked everywhere for it and ultimately I asked my husband if he has seen it. He informed me that he had, but that it was gone. He had thrown it away. When I asked him why he had done that he told me that I was acting strangely and that the book was having a negative effect on me. It was time for it to go.

I honestly don't think I even responded to this. I may have said that it was my book, but little else. I was really quite shaken that I had been exposed in some way and I committed to going further down into my shell; hiding myself and my thoughts better from the world at large, including him. I never even contemplated for a moment buying another copy.

A few years went by. I really don't know any more how many years went by. One day, when he arrived home from work he had a small gift for me. I opened the parcel to find there a brand new copy of 'The Story of O'. He was sorry, he said, to have taken away my book. He was wrong. This was a replacement and he hoped that I would enjoy delving into it again.

You know, I don't have to tell you, that I was deeply moved, and at that moment, much that had not been right inside of me, was put right. I had been accepted for who I was; in some measure, at least.

More years would go by before I would have the courage to admit to him who I truly was, what I truly wanted. Yet, it was an important landmark in our life together.

'The Story of O' is not a perfect story. Sir Stephen is not the perfect dominant. We all know that. But when Pauline was writing down her story, she was writing it for her lover. It was her insurance policy that he would return to her waiting arms. She was not too concerned with the perfect story but rather the most erotic story for the two of them.

In the newspaper sometimes, there is a page devoted to a person and the five most important items of their life. I can assure you, that if I were to be asked about the five most important possessions of my life, one of them would be my copy of 'The Story of O'.