We've had discussion from time to time about the psychological experience for a woman
of being stripped, paraded, exposed naked and subjected to all kinds of humiliation -
my own feeling is that simply being naked isn't in itself humiliating,
though of course the situation, and what's being said and done to me,
certainly would be.
But there's one aspect that's rarely been mentioned if at all,*
yet it's absolutely fundamental to being a woman....
“Take out your tampon!”
Cheeks burn, sharp sickness grips my womb.
No shame till now –
shit scared of course, shaking,
but not ashamed.
Not though these boys are ogling my breasts,
soon to be whipped,
seeing the urgent swelling fear can’t hide,
my sleek sweat shine.
Even with briefs down, kicked away,
I don’t feel shame.
(Do you prefer me shaved, Sirs,
or left lush?)
Flick back my hair, stand,
legs apart, displayed,
place hands on bum.
Inspected.
“Take out your tampon!”
Teen-taught,
I’ve learnt to play
My messy monthly ritual,
men never mention this -
Discuss my tits, my girl-parts,
all revealed,
how best to torture them,
how soft, how delicate...
But what goes on inside,
what makes me a woman,
that’s never named,
not in their cruellest fantasies.
Taboo, never transgressed,
till now. This guy’s an expert
breaker of girls.
He’s spied the tiny string.
“Take out your tampon!”
Slowly I trembling tug,
the boys seem scared to see,
between my thighs
my badge of shame brought forth –
Rag, redolent, imbued
with girl-juice, smell-smeared,
woman-blood,
all my uncleanness.
With it my pheromones
flow through the torment-place,
fill the arena,
dank air of Golgotha.
Pumping my girl-pipes,
hot hormones hurtling,
pallid I stand here,
perspiring, and petrified.
“Take out your tampon!”
Already roused
as they drink in my nakedness,
girl-scent meets male lust,
merciless mingling!
Humiliation.
Where shall I put it?
No bag or bin here,
no decent disposal.
No, let me wear it,
mark of my mockery,
tie it to me, ‘tween my tits,
token of your triumph,
Sign of submission,
flag of surrender,
tacked to my titulus,
girls, when we’re stripped bare,
“Take out your tampon!”
* I did in fact bring it into my contribution to Melissa's wonderful 'Whipping Sunday',
it was rediscovering that that got me thinking about the topic again:
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/whipping-sunday.2625/page-2#post-67769
Some more men had arrived in the enclosure now. An important-looking Officer was with the Guard, glaring at me, as the Guard asked his final question, "Any tampon?" I burnt with embarrassment. I'd thought when the letter came and I learnt the date, "Oh shit..." Just my luck, that time of the month. "Well, take it out, you know they're not allowed." I bowed my head and felt between my legs, performing in public, on camera, the most intimate, private bit of a girl's sanitary routine. I pulled it out, there was a bit of blood on it. What shall I do with it, I wondered. The men – all of them – smirking down at me. I tossed it alongside my clothes.
of being stripped, paraded, exposed naked and subjected to all kinds of humiliation -
my own feeling is that simply being naked isn't in itself humiliating,
though of course the situation, and what's being said and done to me,
certainly would be.
But there's one aspect that's rarely been mentioned if at all,*
yet it's absolutely fundamental to being a woman....
“Take out your tampon!”
Cheeks burn, sharp sickness grips my womb.
No shame till now –
shit scared of course, shaking,
but not ashamed.
Not though these boys are ogling my breasts,
soon to be whipped,
seeing the urgent swelling fear can’t hide,
my sleek sweat shine.
Even with briefs down, kicked away,
I don’t feel shame.
(Do you prefer me shaved, Sirs,
or left lush?)
Flick back my hair, stand,
legs apart, displayed,
place hands on bum.
Inspected.
“Take out your tampon!”
Teen-taught,
I’ve learnt to play
My messy monthly ritual,
men never mention this -
Discuss my tits, my girl-parts,
all revealed,
how best to torture them,
how soft, how delicate...
But what goes on inside,
what makes me a woman,
that’s never named,
not in their cruellest fantasies.
Taboo, never transgressed,
till now. This guy’s an expert
breaker of girls.
He’s spied the tiny string.
“Take out your tampon!”
Slowly I trembling tug,
the boys seem scared to see,
between my thighs
my badge of shame brought forth –
Rag, redolent, imbued
with girl-juice, smell-smeared,
woman-blood,
all my uncleanness.
With it my pheromones
flow through the torment-place,
fill the arena,
dank air of Golgotha.
Pumping my girl-pipes,
hot hormones hurtling,
pallid I stand here,
perspiring, and petrified.
“Take out your tampon!”
Already roused
as they drink in my nakedness,
girl-scent meets male lust,
merciless mingling!
Humiliation.
Where shall I put it?
No bag or bin here,
no decent disposal.
No, let me wear it,
mark of my mockery,
tie it to me, ‘tween my tits,
token of your triumph,
Sign of submission,
flag of surrender,
tacked to my titulus,
girls, when we’re stripped bare,
“Take out your tampon!”
* I did in fact bring it into my contribution to Melissa's wonderful 'Whipping Sunday',
it was rediscovering that that got me thinking about the topic again:
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/whipping-sunday.2625/page-2#post-67769
Some more men had arrived in the enclosure now. An important-looking Officer was with the Guard, glaring at me, as the Guard asked his final question, "Any tampon?" I burnt with embarrassment. I'd thought when the letter came and I learnt the date, "Oh shit..." Just my luck, that time of the month. "Well, take it out, you know they're not allowed." I bowed my head and felt between my legs, performing in public, on camera, the most intimate, private bit of a girl's sanitary routine. I pulled it out, there was a bit of blood on it. What shall I do with it, I wondered. The men – all of them – smirking down at me. I tossed it alongside my clothes.
