O.K, they  came to me out of the mists the other night at 3:00A.M., also out of the forensic wards of a major educational hospital located in the environs of the Province’s Capital. And if that isn’t vague enough for you, let me also say that this event was long ago and far away ha! ha! and well beyond the statute of limitations of all independent nations which speak in recognizable tongues.
               What was being said to me in the middle of the night was scarcely recognizable. But it sounded like this: “There is a woman who feels she must be branded…. in order to achieve what all women wish to achieve.” (This blog is now available to all ages, so we must be delicate)
                “We’ve had her locked up for the past seven months, but we really do not feel justified in holding her any longer. She’s basically an intelligent, witty, delightful person – with just one horrible and monstrous and psychic black hole of an obsession.”
                 “Sound’s interesting,” said I. I just happened to be up at that hour, the  “hour of the dead”
in most hospitals, “Tell me more.”
                 “Well, we tried ECT on her. (This means electrical shock therapy) And she seemed to enjoy it! Not the shock itself, of course, because she could scarcely feel that – but the idea of being strapped down to a table, fed a tongue depressor, and being hit with something that made her quiver and spasm…”
                  “I understand! I understand!” I say. I believe in shock therapy myself, but I am not licensed to administer electro-shock. I believe more in what I call,  MINDSHOCKS, sudden,
surprising moments that blow all thought out of the human brain, rather like a high pressure hose cleaning out the cylinders and pistons of the gasoline engine. I guess you can say I believe in “Blowing The Mind” as we used to call it, but only in a positive way and for a positive result – to facilitate further and better flow.
                    “She got it in her mind,” the Good Doctor was saying, “That only by being tried down naked over a rock and branded on the buttock… could she ever achieve the orgasm she very definitely needs, and one might even say, ‘ requires’.”
                      This called for a drink from the office bottle, which I keep in several hidden drawyers
in the counter beside my desk. (There is more than one office bottle). I pass the goblets around and I pour the brandy. Only brandy will do at such a time of inveterate introspection.
                        I asked the psychologist if she understood the direction this conversation was taking, and boy did she ever! She was ahead of me.  She said, “I vill go downstairs ‘maintenant’ and light
ze bed of coals.”
                         “First a toast!” We all stand. And raise our glasses… “To science!” I say. We all clink glasses and drain our cups.”
                          Our psychologist went downstairs. I heard a door slam and then the sound of the heavy garage door opening slowly at the end of its chains.
                           You must light the coals in an airy space.
                            “Where is she?” I ask the altruistic scientist.
                             “Over there!” he points out the window. I walk over and look down. Ye Gods there is a paddy wagon parked in the middle of my driveway!
                              “Of course, she must be restrained… always.” says the good doctor.
                               “Underst00d,” I say, “But at least let’s turn off the lights!” Flashing blue lights were circling across the trees and the lake and my
neighbour’s bedroom window. Oh, and there was my neighbour sitting on his porch steps, staring listlessly at the emergency vehicle.
                                It’s O.K. My neighbour is also a medical man. He understands such urgencies. But was he questioning his association with me, even back then?
It was impossible for me to tell.
                               The psychiatrist spoke into a small radio in the inside of his lapel. The lights went off immediately.
                                I do not think it’s prudent that I finish reporting this entire case at this time. But let me only say, the woman was unshackled and then shackled again in a more compromising position. She did achieve her goal, but it was not exactly as she had imagined it would be.
                                 I must caution my readers that Fetish and reality can be disappointingly different. And only a very rare person will achieve orgasm the moment a branding iron touches her bare flesh. The pain is extreme and intense beyond all imagining, and not really conducive to pleasure of any kind.
                                   It is the aftermath which is sometimes rewarding.   
                                                                                              Case 7:  Respectfully submitted.

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