Subject:      CODY: KAMP
From: (Mithryl)
Date:         1997/02/26
Message-Id:   <5f1sb5$>
Newsgroups:   alt.personals.bondage,,rec.arts.prose


February 25, 1997

	Well, I'm back, and wondering what to do.  I was at my
grandmother's in Florida for two months.  It was part of the plea bargain
they worked out.  She had custody.  How was I supposed to know it was a
crime to impersonate a congresswoman?  I only did it as a joke.  I mean,
come on, we all make mistakes.  As my role model and favorite fantasy sex
object said, I may have made misleading statements, but I didn't lie. 
Well... I lied.  But ten weeks locked in a twenty-five foot trailer with a
ninety year old woman mesmerized by her toilet habits, talk about cruel
and unusual punishment.  The real sadists in this country are not hanging
out in the Hellfire Club or the Vault.  Try the federal courthouse if
you're looking for the real sickos.  Timmy McVeigh was right.  Some of
those guys really do belong under ten floors of broken concrete. 

	But enough of me.  Tell me what you think I ought to do.

	I feel I'm at a crossroads.  On one hand, I don't want to give up
my old life as a teenage prostitute and on the other, I'm about to turn
forty.  So you can see the conflict right there.  (Joke, fellas.) Also,
there's the matter of this body.  People ju st naturally get the wrong
idea.  I mean, is she or isn't she?  Does she or doesn't she?  Like,
what's inside?  What happens when we take her apart? 

	I thought what I might do is take some of my old stories and
rewrite them.  Like, maybe put some thought into what happened.  Like,
when I wrote them the first time, I wrote them on the stove.  So to speak. 
What went down is what when down.  As she live d it and as she wrote it,
so to speak.  Lorilei Kilburn.  Of the Daily Planet.  Steve Wilson of the
Illustrated Press.  I began to look around and ask, do I really want to be
here?  Gran's trailer is in a trailer park right on the ocean.  You could
see th e sea from her front door if the other trailers weren't in the way. 
The trailers are lined up up and down the road like humpback whales.  I
had to wear an electronic collar and not go more than fifty feet from the
monitor.  So I could never see the sea.  But I could hear it.  And I could
hear Gran wondering why she couldn't stop shitting in her pants. 

	God, you can't imagine.  I have to tell you, one of the stories I
can remember my father telling me was what it was like as a boy whenever
he messed his pants.  Gran would go into hysterics.  For some reason, she
has always been totally freaked out on sh it.  His brother used to hide
his underpants all over the house rather than let Gran find out he hadn't
wiped himself enough and there was a brown stain in his underdrawers.  Of
course, Gran would find them, I mean, he was always out of underwear, my
Uncl e Tom, and then she would kill him.  Gran killed everyone around her. 
Her husband.  Her two sons.  Her whole life.  The trailer is like a motel
room.  It is so fucking sterile.  Nothing lives in it.  I can't tell you
what it was like to live there.  Fuck ing Nazis. 

	The whole park is full of them.

	Old camp guards.  Scared shitless someone will find out.

	Gran was at Buechenwald.  I think that's how you spell it.  You've
heard of the Bitch of Buchwald?  She still likes to put on her uniform and
walk around the park.  With the other old Nazis.  They all do.  After
dark.  I would look out the trailer window and see them walking up and
down the street.  Nodding to each other.  Heil Hlller.  Heil Brunhilda. 
Heil schatzi.  Want some, Liebschen?  God, they're impossible.  During the
day, they're Jews. 

	If only.

	At least then they'd be alive.

	Not that I don't like Germans.  I like Germans.  Some of my best
friends are German.  I especially like to torment German women.  Make them
dress up like campguards.  Like domanatrixs.  And then... 

	Anyway, I thought I might pick out one of my earlier...

	I uh like I was the writer.  The author.  Maybe change the names. 
And the story would be by me about someone else.  A different name.  I
could take a story and do a search and replace Cody with...  Helen?  Sue. 
Anything.  The narrator could be me.  Or someone else.  In other words,
there would be a definite division between me and what was actually
happening.  Not like Christopher Isherwood or Norman Mailer.  I would be
Cody and the story would be about... whoever. 

	But who?  And which story?  There were so many.  I decided to let
my mind decide.  You know, what's inside.  Me.  Maybe the real Cody.  The
one who writes what I write.  I decided to start with the interludes.  I
don't think I ever published them.  My IN P was down for a whole week
once, so while I was waiting to get back on, I amused myself writing
replies to different guys who had written to me. 

	So this is one of them:

                             -  -  -

                      BY CODY ANN MICHAELS
                    (c.) All rights reserved.

Dear Cody,

       Your post interested me. I have never wanted to admit it, but I
have had fantasies about raping a woman.  Maybe we could work out a little
role-play together. If you are interested, please write back. 



	It's interesting the way men write when they don't want to commit
themselves.  Take this note from Darian.  In a few short sentences, Darian
lays himself bare.  You know, you can interpret bondage letters the way
you interpret dreams.  That's what makes the Soon-Hee files such an
important contribution to the annals of sexual abberation.  Anyone could
take one of those letters and know everything about the author. 
Especially if he included his address and phone number. 

	In this case, however, Darian didn't.  But it is not important. 
What we are really interested in is what he has written.  My post
interested him.  For instance.  A sexy 16 year old nymphomaniac writes an
advertisement asking to be raped and beaten, and Darian is "interested." 
Darian is dead.  From the neck down. 

	However, he has fantasies.  He is not braindead.  He fantasizes
about raping a woman.  And he does not want to admit it.  Except, of
course, he just has.  To me.  Like, why?  Am I supposed to exonerate him? 
Say it's okay?  Try me?  But then, it wouldn't exactly be rape, would it? 
If I said it was okay.  It would be consensual.  Come on, Darian.  Let's
get our wagons in a straight line.  Either you do or you don't. 

	Next sentence: "Maybe..."  Get that?  Maybe...  Darian is not
giving anything away.  "we..."  We?  Darian, who's rape is this?  "could
work out..."  Right.  Let's not be too hasty.  "a little..."  Boy, talk
about scared.  "...roleplay..."  Like it's no t real.  "together..."  Oh,
you mean us?  The two of us? 

	If I am interested, I should write back.  It's hard to resist
someone who comes on that strong, Darian, but I'm going to try. 

	On the other hand, let's consider the possibility that Darian is
constructing a character.  A rather timid person, maybe an accountant. 
Someone who's not prone to taking chances.  Who sits at the end of a bar,
and watches the girls, but is too shy to ac tually try to make one.  Until
he meets me.  I'm bartending.  And I have to talk to him.  And he tells me
a lot of stuff about himself.  How he's into role playing.  Have I ever
done bondage?  I'd like it.  I have a nice body.  Did anyone ever tell
you?  I say thanks.  Later, I buy him one.  He takes it the wrong way. 
And follows me home. 

	Look, Mister.  It's the shy ones you have to watch out for.  I
hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks.  Ever since I made him look like a
fool in front of the other guys.  He'd tried to come on to me, and I
pushed him away.  Told him to get lost.  Somethi ng told me I hadn't seen
the last of him.  Now I was walking home at three in the morning.  Alone. 
I had the feeling I was being followed.  I walked faster, but it wasn't so
easy in high heels and a tight skirt.  Then I started to run.  I was
breathing h eavily.  After awhile I slowed down.  I didn't hear anything. 
The fog was closing in. 

	A hand covered my mouth and dragged me into an alley.  I broke
free and ran, but a foot tripped me.  I went down hard.  A hand in my hair
jerked me up.  And hurled me against a brick wall.  I slammed into it face
first.  A knife flashed in the darkness.  I knew I was cut.  "Please, I'll
do anything."  I slept with him.  What the hell.  It was easier than
trying to get loose.  He slammed me up against the wall and said, Listen,
Sister, you've had it.  I tried to fight back.  That just made it worse. 
I ga ve up trying and let him stab me.  I could feel the blood running
down my legs.  Darian, don't.  I pushed him away.  He spit at me. Get up
you foul pig.  I rooted around there inb the mud of old Chijhaw haw on the
way out of town, where are they going to rob the Glendale Train.  Lot's of
luck, boys, come back soon.  She was lying on the floor of the dusty cafe
while the two men fought over her.  Hey, listen, don't fight you take her. 
She's yours.  What?  No way.  You fucked her. You have her.  He pushed the
little baggage towards the door.  Get up you, Cody slut, you're going to
your new master.  Thgey sold me there in the red dog saloon and my new
owner dragged me down the street, screaching and hollaring.  He'd soon
fist that.  Get up on the horse.  Fuyck you.  You don't own me.  Get on
the horse.  She backed away.  He jerked on the leash and put his fist up
at the same time and her face followed it.  Now you going to mount?  No! 
Blood pouring out of her nose.  He threw her up over the horse and they
rode out of town. 


	Hmmmm.  Have to admit.  I forgot how that ended.  I also was going
to change the name.  Wasn't I?  Not Cody.  Claude.  Pretty blonde. 
Overpacked into a tight skirt and blouse.  I began to see there were
possibilities.  But I doubt she would have had the brains for that. 
Claude (pronounce "cload") was into pain, but she didn't intellectualize
about it.  I often envied her ability to be hurt.  I could never get down
that deep.  She was like butter.  You could go all the way.  When Claude
hurt everyone in the room felt it.  She was like total cinerama.  A
hologram.  All that pink flesh.  Oozing out of her clothes.  Short,
bell-shaped Teutonic school girl haircut.  What a campguard.  What revenge. 

	In Claude, the German race reached it's highest pinacle of pure
consciousness as we took her apart. 

	We who had suffered under her boot heel.

	I was not Jewish, but I, too, got my kicks.  Gran told me about
what had happened to the young Cherokee princess the night the... 

	But there I go again.  Gran was born in Eagle Pass, Texas, but her
father took her back to Ireland when the uprising started.  That's when
she met Michael.  They grew up together.  Molly Ringwold played her in the
movie.  In 1933, she went to Germany, Be rlin.  I don't know why.  She
never told.  Her first husband was killed in the war.  She knew Eva Braun. 
I won't say they were friends.  But she got in pretty close to the inner
circle.  She got to sleep at Bertchtesgarten more than once.  The fact
that she was an American spy saved her from being tried as a war criminal. 
She moved to Long Island.  Something about it reminded her of Ireland. 
There, my father grew up in a big house with a front yard.  After my
grandfather died, she moved to Florida to b e closer to my dad.  She told
me many stories about the war.  I couldn't shut her up.  It was worse than
cable.  What Hitler said.  And the funny story Martin told.  And what
Goring had.  God, the diseases.  My gran is a walking medical
encyclopedia.  You know.  The ones with all the gruesome pictures,
especially of skin diseases.  Bormann had a rash...  Gran, shutup.  I
don't want to hear it. 

	I would not have made a good Nazi.  I mean, I like the uniform and
all that, but the insatiable rigid anality of it; all those people talk
about is shit.  And dying.  Ways to do it.  Talk about war criminals. 
It's the peace ones that really need to be s hot. 

	What else?

	Phone call.  Michael.  Found out I was back in town.  Get
together.  Like before.  Was I going to be home tonight?  I said I didn't
think so.  I'm not ready to start again.  Not this time.  I tell myself. 
Not this time around.  No.  It won't be the same .  Things will be
different.  He got a new camera.  Digital.  We can take pictures.  Put
them on the net.  Wham. 

	Want to see what I look like getting hit?  Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid.  I'm still trying to figure it out.  What hit me.  And then
I get it again.  The camera clicks every fifteen seconds.  So he times his
blows to land just before.  Click.  Then pulls back.  Gives me a rest. 
And wham.  Click.  They experiement with different time sequences.  Wham. 
Click.  Wham. Click.  Wham. Wham.  Click. 

slap slap slap

five.  Ten.  Twenty.  17.3544556.....  Microtonal
Hilary was like a living collage
better not use that name
don't want to get in crash.
she went down on the floor
she still didn't know my name
I was aster.  Lady Astor.  Penelope, by name, was the younger daughter of
an old man who lived out by Gaston. 

on tyhe highway that travesla best
get upir col;s gagag

the girl was ga ga and we took her out back to the latrine
Frau Elke was not laughing now
Gran looked up from her sewing.  "They're here."

Whok, grandmama

This is little Orkney.  He comes from Saskatchewan.  Tell them how it is,
what did she do to you? They would put me away for life if they found out. 
I did it. 
I can't deny it.  There's no tomorrow where I come from.  Touch her.
Olga ratchited around the warehouse
where they had taken her

down behind the docks where they could dispose of her body.  She sank
beneath the waves in a steel container we had shot full of holes so she
could breathe but they let in the water as she sank. Cody's tits were all
over the place.  Did you take your pill s?  Yes, mama./
My mother made me take them to make my breasts big.  So you can see what I
am.  A total slut.  A stinking Barbie slut.  Tiptoe stilletos.  A knife
carving me out.  Barbie pig is going to crawl up Fifth Aveneue dragging
her tits in the dirt.  They tied a rope around her kneck and dragged her
down the street.  Until the collar went off and she lost consciousness. 
When she woke up, she screamed.  It was sitting on top of her.  A big slab
of concrete and muscle.  Caved in on top of me.  Linda, get out!  The
thousand year reich was crumbling about her as she stood in the Reigstag
and screamed.  Hitler was on top of her.  Ripping her dress.  Tearing at
her breasts.  He was only five years old and he was ripping her apart. 
uyga yaga g meing schatatzeraee I woke up.  I was back in New York. 

	I hate kids.  They think they can do anything to you and get away
with it.  And nobody cares.  I mean, this kid, some Nazi's grandson, he
was like a little hitler.  I had to fuck with him, because if I didn't, he
would say I had, and I would violate my p role agreement, which was not to
sleep with kids who are less than seven.  Well, I'm eight.  So it's okay. 
Well, this kid was two and a half, mentally.  Fifteen, biologically.  And
totally brain dead, except in the area of hurting women.  Girls.  There,
he was Einstein.  Like, I had to crawl on razor blades for him.  I had to
eat glass.  I had to eat some of the most disgusting things you can
imagine, including his jism.  And everyone just laughed and thought it was
a big joke.  Like I didn't mind.  Like I don't have feelings.  Just
because I'm pretty, with long curly red hair and a cute face.  I'm just a
dumb sex pig.  It's alright to hit me and throw me up against the trainer
wall.  And I'd bounce off and hit the other trailer.  That's how close
they w ere.  Just sweletering in the heat like big hump back wails.  And
Cody bashing in the back yard.  Which was about two feet wide.  Larry
liked to get me back there.  It was just forty nine feet away from Gran's. 
Because that's exactly where the choker wou ld go off and I'd turn blue as
my brain fried.  L:arry clopuld play me like a chello.  Tweaking me back
and forth over the line.  He was really good at it.  The trailer walls set
up a harmonic as I screamed.  Reverberating in the echo chamber as her
howls drifted out over the moor.  Cody began to see herself coming and
going.  She was out of sync with the time.  Between the scream and the
bounce.  She was beyond begging.  She began to get feedback in her ears. 
She was coming through.  Scream.  Again.  Sc ream.  Again.  Scream. 
Scream.  click.  Cody bounced.  The metal siding was ripping holes in her
skin.  This is not about me.  I'm not doing it.  It was the other one. 
The echo.  She was seeing.  In her ears.  The girl snapped.  As if she was
on a bung ee cord.  But it was totally acoustic.  The walls weren't.  They
were real.  Totally.  He could do other things.  Like with a cigarette. 
Where he touched her.  It made a mark.  She swallowed it.  He hit her
again.  She doubled up.  She was down on her kn ees.  She was back up. 
The collar gave her a warning.  She took evasive action.  It wasn't
enough.  He was waiting for her.  God, it was like a total violation of my
parole.  Now get up.  Please, Joey.  Oncoming.  aaaaaggh. He pushed her
face against the scrreen.  See.  It's you. babe.  It's really you.  WHAM. 

That incomprehensible look that we all strive for.  When we're just
brothers under the glove.  They followed her as she crawled back to her
gran's trailer.  Knowing they could have her anytime.  One gave her a good
kick just before she crossed the line, a nd told her she'd be wise not to
comne backj.  Cody crawled up onto the porch.  Like a dog that's just been
run over and doesn't quite know how to cope with it.  The broke ribs.  The
bleeding cunt hole.  Like, it's not normal.  Her bloody face and the wet
matted hair. 

he'd broken her nose
she felt totally degraded
now everyone in the camp knew what she was.
An American Cowgirl in King Arthur's Court.  What's it all about, Alfie,
were we just born to rule or tool or what, bitch? she was face to face. 
Linda I didn't mean it.  I swear.  Linda hit her.  Her juggs bounced on
the floor.  Would she fit in with that crowd down there, or would she
stand out like a sore thumb.  That one does it and that one does, and that
one doesn't.  S he knew it all from looking out the windows and telling
someone what she saw.  She saw Hitler hanging from a ten foot pole in the
garden of mein uncle's villa.  What I wanted to tell you was the plot
failed.  Cut him down.  Thus we played as children befo re the war, never
knowing that all would come to pass and she would enter into the kingdowm
of k They warned me not to tell where it was or anything that would lead
you to it.  Dona S. is well.  Thank you.  She understands the situation
fully.  In all o f these places there is someone who knows.  And I met
her.  She was very kind and encouraging, and urge me to do more.  Where am

	You are in in Logres.  oh
	You mean this isn't California?

	the plane crashed.  I died.  I ended up in k.
They were trying to get out of Germany.  Before it all fell apart.  I had
to leave her behind.  Who?  Elsa.  Her daughter.  She doesn't know where
she is.  Unt Elsa.  Yeah.  My father's sister.  How old would she be? 
Sixty.  She was twelve when the war e nded.  You can imagine.  In the
Russian sector.  Blonde.  Blue eyed.  German.  Sig Heil.  A total Nazi sex
freak.  A wide open runway to the future.  The Future Germany.  STupid
fools.  We will control them.  Direct hit.  Power glide.  Morph.  Die. 
Someone was buying up property around the camp.  Trying to get in close. 
Feel the heat.  The radiation burn.  We bombed Berlin.  Nagasaki was just
for starters.  You with me, babe?  Don't ever go outside of camp.  Beyond
the domb was waste.  Nothing lived.  Total burnout. 

At least that's how I see it.  I wanted to be back in New York.  With my
friends.  Hanging out.  Going to the movies.  I could see the same movies
in Florida, but they weren't the same.  Reservoir Dogs does not mean as
much when you see it with your grand mother as with some guy who's looking
for pointers.  Moves to try out.  New ways to inflict pain.  Whose role
model is Steve Buscemi.  Larry did not need Tarantino to give him ideas
about what to do with me.  As a matter of fact, Tarantino should see Larr
y in action.  Special effects is a specialty with Larry.  Hitler couldn't
have been this good.  I swear, I didn't know what hit me.  The collar was
just the warmup.  A testing out.  A seeing how to play me through all
those thrailers so everyone could get a hit.  I read something once about
singing in my chains by the sea.  Well, I was doing it.  With the wild
ocean in the background, whipping up the trees.  So Sue Me.  You hear it a
lot down there.  Two guys screaming soooo me.  With a German t at the
start of it, and I thought they were two old Jews having a fight.  But it
was a real tital wave.  Of sound that washed over me as I heard myself
coming back through the chords.  Other guys were positioned at the walls
with guitars.  And they would play as s oon as Larry jousted me up, so
there would be a time interval, and then we would heard them.  Soon the
entire domb ululated with their weird chanting.  Sig Heil.  What did it
mean?  Was it a mantram?  Was it dangerous?  How should I look at it?  I
took it down.  We pegged it and took it out.  They heard her again as she
took the hit.  A little after.  Each guitar answered with a sound of its
own voice.  The camp perimeter was irregularly shaped, so the guitars were
always out of sync.  Each guitar could hear the others and each sound
would reach them at a different interval, and there would also be the
echoes, both its own and of the others.  Sue me.  Cliclk. 
she looked up.
was that you?
as far as she was capable of doing it, and all she saw was water.

Larry hit her again
keyboards joined in.

Cody comes with her own set of keys and the car to drive it.  She looked
up.  You ready for this?  No.