Unapologeticically, I have to admit that I sometimes like to read steamy, fantasy about slave girls. I have written those sorts of stories.

Today, I was looking for a story by a certain author whose male protagonists are mostly benevolent slave masters, and when the site came up, I was face to face with a very attractive blond woman who I know? I was completely taken aback; not really thinking anything for a while. I have worked with her on a number of community service projects and musical venues and she has always seemed extremely nice. We have danced together to middle eastern sounding Indirock. My own differences have never even seemed to be on her radar. We have had a great time just doing what people do.

So here this woman is sitting on a bed, buck naked, with another woman and it makes me curious, so I start the video. As it progresses, her voice just underlines that I do in fact know her and she really is who I think she is. She eventually winds up fisting the other woman through both orifices. At that point, things seemed extremely surreal.

Now, I really need to walk deeply into the woods somewhere, sit down and remain quiet for a long time. I don't know what to say. The fact that I say I feel shocked is inadequate. I know this girl. I have met her father, and he lives right here in this town. She is a professional photographer, but I had never expected to see her on that side of the lens.

I can't moralize about it without confronting my own conduct. I have really been struggling with the glaring conflict between what I write, read, and what I practice as a religion. The two things are mutually exclusive and to say that this has all given me pause seems really inadequate.

I am not going to have some sort of emotional crisis over this, but I am going to contemplate and even struggle with how I address these things in my life. This in the midst of contemplating my becoming a collared slave or spending new years eve in debauchery, were it available.

Sigh!

Gwen