Dream of:02 November 2009 "The Whipping"
I was standing on the sidewalk outside a building on Scioto Trail in Portsmouth, waiting for Michelle to come out. As I contemplated a trip I was planning to take to Russia, an attractive woman (probably in her early 20s) stepped up and began flirting with me. Enticed (and since I had my doubts about whether Michelle was even going to come back out of the building), I hooked up with the woman. As the woman and I walked away from the building, I told her I would get my car, and when we walked around the corner, I saw my old 1986 red BMW sitting there. We both boarded the car, but we didn't leave. As I sat with her, I was definitely concerned about catching a sexually transmitted disease from her. I knew I would have to take that possibility into consideration if I were going to be involved with her.
The woman turned out to be an old friend of Michelle's. Since I was uneducated about so much of Michelle's inscrutable history, I wanted the woman to tell me everything she knew about Michelle's past. I asked her if Michelle had ever "sold herself," meaning if Michelle had ever prostituted herself. The woman indicated that Michelle hadn't prostituted herself, but that Michelle was in the habit of finding an older man who would take care of her, something which Michelle had apparently done numerous times. Michelle operated by finding an older man, being with him for a while, and then moving on. This behavior didn't sound nearly as bad to me as being a prostitute. I asked the woman more questions, but she didn't reveal anything outrageous about Michelle, and she didn't seem to think Michelle had done anything glaringly bad.
I also began having the feeling that something else was amiss. I looked back down the street, saw several people walking toward us, and thought (but wasn't sure) I saw Michelle among them. Suddenly I regretted being with the woman. I didn't want to hurt Michelle and I wanted to be back with her. Michelle seemed so beautiful and I wished I weren't with the other woman.
The woman and I stepped out of the car and I again looked at the group of people, but I didn't see Michelle. Suddenly, however, I did see her walking toward me. She was thin (about 20 years old) and very pretty. I realized that Michelle had seen the woman and that Michelle wasn't going to have anything else to do with me. I wanted to speak with Michelle for a moment, but obviously she didn't want to speak with me.
I abruptly wondered if the woman had set me up, if Michelle had arranged for the woman to entice me, just to see if I would fall for the woman's charms. Obviously I had fallen, but at the same time, I still hadn't consummated anything with the woman. I wanted to explain to Michelle that I had stopped before actually doing anything.
Several other women (all Michelle's age) showed up. Apparently Michelle knew them all and used to hang around with them. Three of them and Michelle all stood next to each other with their faces close together, apparently so someone could take their picture. I figured the women constituted another group of Michelle's friends about which I knew nothing.
A black-haired, heavy-set fellow (around 30 years old) walked next to Michelle and put his arms around her, as if he were protecting her. When I moved toward Michelle, hoping to placate her, he stepped in between us. A fight almost broke out between the fellow and me. Undaunted, I wasn't backing down from him - I would fight him if I had to. He finally stepped back, allowing me to step up to Michelle. She almost seemed frozen in her tracks. She fell over onto the ground and I picked her up.
The east side of Scioto Trail is a steep bank and at the top of the bank was a house. I carried Michelle up the stairs in front of the house, walked inside and laid her down on something. About 20 people all together also walked up the stairs and walked inside. The house appeared to be abandoned and I wasn't exactly sure what we were all doing together or what we were going to do. When the front door suddenly burst open and plain-clothes police officers rushed in, I knew we were definitely going to have trouble. Although the police rounded up everyone, they seemed to focus on me. In the confusion, I dropped a brown paper sack which I had been holding and tiny little chocolate candy bars fell onto the floor. Hungry, I looked longingly at the chocolate.
One police officer wearing a white shirt stepped up to me and told me I was under arrest. I wasn't sure, but I didn't think they were going to arrest anyone else except me. I asked him why I was being arrested and he said I was being arrested for burglary. Then he said I was being arrested for "initiation." By that, I thought he meant I was simply being arrested for trespassing. I suddenly realized that I indeed was in someone's house and that I didn't know whose house it was. Clearly the house was abandoned: junk and old furniture cluttered the room where I was. I was already trying to formulate my defense. I thought I might say one of the other fellows in my group had told me that he lived in the house. Or I could say that he knew a friend who lived in the house. I was confident I could beat the charge.
When the police officer told me I could make one phone call when I arrived at the police station, I wondered whom I could call. I thought I could call my father, but I didn't want to call him. I finally told the officer I didn't want to make a phone call. When the officer marched everyone out of the house, with me in the lead, I noted I hadn't been put in handcuffs. Seeing a lot of traffic on the street, I wondered if anyone saw me being escorted by the police out of the house. We walked to the side of the house and descended a different set of stairs from the ones I had earlier ascended. These steps were very steep and were made of metal. About half way down, a section of the stairs was missing and I had to jump down over the missing section. I thought the cops might think I would try to run when I jumped down, but I didn't.
At the bottom, the cop began leading me toward a vacant lot at the rear of the house. On the way, he told me that he had read my file and that I had the most extensive arrest warrants of anyone he had ever seen. I thought that was ridiculous. I had only been arrested about six times in my life, and all the offenses had been minor. He acted as if I were the most notorious criminal with whom he had ever come in contact. I reflected that I had been in jail in Iran once, and I figured he had probably read about that.
He started haranguing me about "the fetus" which I had helped get rid of in a country in southern Africa. I thought he said the country was "Kenya." Unsure what he was talking about, I asked, "What would I do with a fetus in Kenya?"
I thought he might be referring to the abortion my girlfriend Birdie had undergone when she and I had been teenagers, but I didn't recall Africa's having been involved in any way in the abortion. His statement was very disturbing. He seemed to have a vendetta against me and was out to get me for some reason. I thought at least I was a lawyer and I knew quite a bit about criminal law. I would know how to defend myself, which was what I intended to do. I said, "I don't know what he's talking about."
He led me around to the vacant lot where perhaps 10 other policemen were waiting. One cop was holding a long pole with a whip on the end. Sitting on the ground in front of the cop was a big wooden box. I immediately knew the police intended to have me kneel over on top of the box and then whip me. I thought it incredible that they would even try something like that.
I then realized there was a second wooden box. Two of the fellows who had been in the house with me were already abjectly kneeling over the box, one on each end. One of them at first looked like Wheat (my old attorney-friend from Dallas), but when I looked at him again, he didn't look like Wheat. The truculent cops pulled up a third shirtless fellow and made him kneel down on one end of the first box, the box on which I was also going to have to kneel down. At least I was wearing my brown checkered long-sleeved shirt, as well as a tee shirt. I figured the shirts would protect me somewhat from the whip. I wondered how the cops thought they were going to get away with whipping someone like that.
I thought I heard one of the cops protesting in the background that this wasn't a good idea. As I was getting ready to kneel down, one cop said to me, "Ok, now you've got a personal choice."
He then said something about the Scioto County jail's being overcrowded. He said I was either going to go to the jail, or I was going to undergo the whipping. I thought to myself that this was their way of getting around the law, by saying they had given people a choice of either going to jail or enduring the whipping. I immediately concluded that if I actually had a choice, I would choose to go to jail. I wasn't going to let them whip me.
Right in front of us was a tall building, with steps leading up to the second floor. I looked up and saw some well-dressed older women coming out a door on the second floor, as if they were exiting a meeting. The women and the building looked old, like something out of the early 1900s. I beseechingly hollered up to the women, "You women, do you care what they're doing here in Portsmouth, Ohio?! Are you going to allow this in Portsmouth?!"
I was still unsure whether the whipping was going to take place.
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