Pillory Frustration
It’s late at night, and I am being mercilessly interrogated by a bright and beautiful young woman and her boyfriend as I languish in the town square pillory. The young woman is pretending to ‘come on to me’ and is asking me whether I don’t ‘want’ her? She knows full well, of course, that I do fancy her (any heterosexual man would!), but that I am in no position to do anything about it!
Her boyfriend, meanwhile, far from being jealous of his girlfriend’s mock sexual overtures towards me, joins in with her female ridicule of my male impotence. He points out to his girlfriend that the words written around my head on the pillory suggest that I like people’s socks, and that perhaps I would prefer to make love to her bright, blue socks?
The young woman then asks me if that’s true – do I fancy her socks? I reply, in all slavish humility and honesty, that I do indeed like her blue socks, if she would be so kind and understanding, and the couple both laugh out loud at me and call me a ‘pathetic socks liker’. The young woman then asks me if I like the patterns in the stitching of her blue socks from where I’m standing, and I am obliged to reply that, most regrettably, my confined face is too far away from her socks for me to be able to make out the individual lines of stitching. She feigns sympathy for me and says that’s a shame. Then she mockingly suggests that I try stretching down my neck a bit further to try to get a better look at her socks, as she ‘can’t be bothered’ to lift her foot up ‘towards my ugly face’. I do indeed try, but the couple both laugh out loud as I grimace with the consequent pain from my efforts since, having been confined in the pillory for over 10 hours now, my neck has inevitably become very sore and stiff.
The young woman then feigns anger at my inability to study her socks in detail and her boyfriend seeks to placate her by telling her not to worry as they can always report me to the authorities for insolence in the morning, and then they will both be able to watch me being whipped! The attractive young woman says she would like that and asks me how I feel about the fact that I’m going to be whipped because I have 'disrespected' her blue socks? I reply that I am feeling very frightened by the prospect of being whipped, and beg her to intercede with the authorities on my humble behalf, so that the whipping might be merciful. She laughingly orders me to beg her socks directly for mercy, and I do so in all seriousness and humility, apologising to her socks for my impotence and inability to admire them from a-near.
Unfortunately for me, the young woman insists that her bright blue socks are not inclined to show me any mercy, and, indeed, her socks then physically turn their backs on me as she happily walks off with her boyfriend leaving me alone, afraid and frustrated in the pillory, with only a severe whipping to look forward to in the morning – should the young woman and her boyfriend remember to report me to the authorities.
I weep tears of self-loathing and frustration, for I would have dearly loved to study that young woman’s bright blue bootsocks in close-up detail! Such is the frustration of the pillory. I would much prefer to be confined in the kneeling stocks!
