We got married very young, by normal standards, and neither of us had ever even kissed anyone else; that’s the culture we were brought up in, and that was what we expected. It wasn’t an arranged marriage, as such, but our options were fairly limited. At the time, I considered myself lucky that he was so handsome; and I realised afterwards that I was also lucky he was kind and solvent.
Family is very important in our community, so it wasn’t long between meeting and getting married. Quite suddenly, the two of us were all set up in our own apartment, surrounded by cast-off furniture and an air of expectation. That was when we started to get to know each other, and I found it was easy to love him, and looked forward to having a happy, peaceful life with him.
I’m certain that he had no more experience than I did, but his expectations were quite different to mine. It worked, though: he constantly surprised me with new ideas, and it was always pleasant. I wasn’t so naïve as to expect to lie back and think of England while he did his business, but I didn’t know it would be so much fun. Our son was born before our first wedding anniversary.
We’ve had a computer in the house for years. He’s a printer and an artist, so it’s the sort of thing he finds interesting. When the child was born, we got it connected to the internet, and it made up for the fact that I didn’t have as much time for him as I used to. He didn’t seem to miss me; in fact, he was thrilled: there was so much out there for him. He’s into mythological stuff, Dungeons & Dragons, knights and damsels and castles. It didn’t take him long to find his way into the chatrooms.
He told me he was chatting in a fantasy room, so of course I imagined them all pretending to be kings and queens, and having virtual jousting matches. Sometimes he showed me what he was doing, but I couldn’t really keep up with it. While I was feeding or playing with the baby, or cleaning the house, or cooking, he would be up in his study, surrounded by papers and books and the little lead figures that he used to paint; these days it wasn’t the clatter of tiny paint-pots, but the rattle of his fingers on the keyboard, that I could hear from the kitchen below.
He came to bed late one night, and I moved over to kiss him. Baby was sleeping in his own room by then, and I thought it was nice to have our privacy back. He had left me alone for long enough, and I wanted his attention again. I stroked his cheek with my fingers, and he grasped hold of my wrist, suddenly animated, as though someone else’s strength was taking over his body. He pushed me down, pinning my arms to the bed, and I tried to wriggle away from him, but I felt the weight of his knee across my thighs, making it impossible for me to move. He kissed me ferociously, and it frightened me.
I think you’ve been naughty and should be punished. His breath was hot in my ear, and his fingers twisted painfully in my hair. I grabbed the chance to ask him what he thought he was doing, and he slapped my face – not hard – but it didn’t need to hurt to shock me into silence for a moment.
But only a moment; I wasn’t going to let this go any further. I gathered myself and wrenched free of him, and crouched, breathing hard, beside the bed. What’s got into you? What are you trying to do?
His breath was ragged too, and he seemed dazed. I stepped further away from the bed, and he shook his head, as though to clear it. You don’t like it? He almost sounded puzzled.
If you ever try to hit me again, I will leave you. I had no idea if I would ever be able to follow through such a threat. Our families would be horrified if I was to upset our happy home. And what if this was normal too, and I was just being naïve?
Come back to bed. I promise I won’t hurt you.
Cautiously, I crept back beneath the covers, and lay down with my back to him. Don’t touch me.
I lay awake for a long time, wondering about his strange behaviour. In the morning I refused to discuss it with him, and as soon as he left for work, I went upstairs and logged on to his computer. Lots of things opened automatically on the screen, and I waited for it all to settle down, before I looked at the history page. Last night he had done nothing except visit one chatroom, so I simply clicked on the link, and waited for it to load.
Things immediately started to become clear. The room’s title was Rough Fantasies, and I was signed in as George the Destroyer. I saw greetings appeared on the screen, so I typed hello, and then sat quietly and watched.
Before long, little flashing windows were popping up in front of me, mostly from chatters with female names. Some of them were very friendly, as though they knew me; and others were, quite simply, obscene. The overall tone was hardly one of romance. My jaw dropped as I watched the main window scroll past; it may have been virtual reality, but the casual brutality I was witnessing was incredible.
I switched off the computer, and spent a long time thinking about what I should do. There are guidelines in the collective unconscious, for dealing with discovering your husband’s stash of porn, or finding out that he’s having an affair; but nothing for this. I couldn’t consult with my mother or my friends, because they would understand it even less than I did. The only person I could ask was him.
That evening we had the strangest of conversations. First he apologised for springing it on me. He said he had been all fired up and carried away by events in the chatroom, and he tried to explain how involved you could get. I told him what I had done, and in the circumstances, he couldn’t really be angry that I had looked into his computer.
I get into character, he said. I act like a great big warrior, and all these maidens fall at my feet. In the chatroom, men are lords and women are there for the taking, and it just… kind of… spilled over. I’ve been talking to a girl online, who calls her boyfriend Master, and she’s his slave, and he ties her up, and I wanted to see if we could be like that…
He tailed off, and I just stared at him. Wasn’t it enough that I kept house for him, ran around after him, brought up his child, while he sat at his computer before and after meals? I do all these things because that’s my role in the world, and I’m happy enough, but I don’t relish the idea of describing it as slavery. And as for this tying up business; I may be inexperienced, but I do know that some things are outside the normal range of behaviour.
His kind brown eyes looked at me sadly. Darling, you don’t understand how much I want to do this. I think it’s part of me that I need to explore, and I can’t do it without you.
You want to tie me up?
And… hit you.
Have you gone completely mad?
He sighed. You used to like the games we played.
We had never played anything like that, though, and I thought, from the seriousness in his face, that it was more than a game to him. Why did he have to bring something like this into our perfectly happy world? I stood up. I want nothing to do with it. And we won’t discuss it any further.
I went into the kitchen, to prepare supper and try to calm myself down. The baby babbled at me softly, from his chair on the floor nearby. Our cat rubbed against my ankles, requesting to be fed. And I heard George go upstairs to his study, and switch on his computer.