Boxed In and Beguiled By Night

I was once loved in a way that I thought no man could ever love a woman. To me he was the wrap that warmed, the anvil that stood solid, the smile that lifted my spirits. I was touched and held, excited and needed. I was respected and appreciated. I was toyed with and encouraged to ‘stretch’ my limits. I happily complied. I enjoyed it. I loved it, I needed it.

He was lost, and so began my descent into darkness the unwanted transition from happy housewife into something else altogether. I’m not sure whether the two were related whether his passing led to something dying in me but life changed.

In those heady days of wealth and prosperity I was suckered in to living beyond my means, accumulating debt, enjoying the good life but it wasn’t long before the walls caved in, the ceiling came crashing down and like a character in a fairy tale who promises to betroth the ugly or repay a debt with their first born child I was awash with the desperation of my own folly and faced a demise engineered by my own greed.

That demon on my shoulder speaks of ‘consequences’ and tells me that I must pay. I made my bed and now it’s time to perform. It’s time to lie . . roll over . . play dead or turn a trick and if necessary, to beg. Time to smile at the sullen, suck up to the powerful, take it on the chin or wherever else they choose. And so I do as I’m told no matter how demeaning the task.

Touch it, turn it, fill it, stick it, push it, bend it, get it, work it, book it, fetch it . .jump however high and sink however low . . . just do ‘it’.

Now I am accomplished in a craft not beguiled by night but one which takes place in the bold fluorescent light of day. I am humiliated, broken and practising manoeuvres that belie my character, make a mockery of my education. I endure in a profession that belittles, reduces and disempowers. A livelihood as old as the hills dominated by men and frequently borne by women.

Sometimes I work my wiles among many but more often, with one or two or maybe three. I don't discriminate between genders, race or creed. All have their way with me, all are equal in their lack of respect and demeanour. Each smile and pretend that I’m of value to them in the heat of the moment. Both are amenable when they think I have satisfaction to offer and can fulfil their needs. With me, their expectations are met often exceeded. I'm good at what I do, very good.

I don’t complain that I have a headache or it’s ‘that time of the month’ impairing my functionality. I just do as I am asked no matter how slavish that might be. The workload varies, sometimes steamy and hot, never passionate, frequently hurried and fervent, always timed and diarised. It’s largely tolerable, polite and impersonal. They come, they leave. Repeat, rinse, repeat. They share nothing of themselves other than their gaping mouths and flailing arms, their licked fingers turning the pages. They ask nothing about me. My sole purpose is to sate whatever appetite they have and send them on their corporate way smiling and satisfied. They never ask about me, who I am, what I am, they aren’t interested in my personal life or my past, what makes me tick, laugh, cry. Their only interest is in what I offer, how I can service their needs, meet their expectations, save their bacon, and offer gratification.

I have become something I’m not. Submissive and compliant. Whatever they want, they can have. I let them pull and push me, I let them argue over me. I let them dictate the terms of play, lay down the rules while I just lay down. I let them berate. I pretend I enjoy their compliments, flirting and flattery but I don’t care. I am impervious to them. They mean nothing to me. They’re soulless and needy. Demanding and cowardly, conniving and competitive.

In the end, they pay me for my efforts. It never varies and the payment is always made on time. Clean and easy, direct into my account. No emotion, no bouquets, no 'thank you’s' no interest.

Yes I have a degree. And I use it fetching coffee, sticking tabs on board paper dividers, smiling at Chairmen, complying with fools and putting up with patronisation from princesses. I work in a job I dislike but it pays the bills. Prostitution of the worst kind. All the ‘fun’ of wifely duties and none of the benefits! Time to start thinking outside the box!

This is a joint entry in Tenth Daughter of Memory and Theme Thursday thingies so pop along to both if you have time and check out how they're taking on, "Beguiled by Night" and "Box"

I've been a bit quiet on the ether recently thanks to delightful and very persistent young man who has been badgering me daily to have a bash at something creative. He nags worse than any woman I know! Don't worry, I'm not making a habit of it. This after all a personal blog but in the absence of my inner muse, I've stolen him as a fill-in for a while!

Ironically I arrived in my soulless little corner this morning and was given two pleasant surprises - I'll receive a back-dated partial higher duties allowance as PA to the MD and and also an email from the
Chairman of the Board telling me that I'm an "Angel" Thank God they don't read the blog!