My first wife was just out of high school when I married her in 1971.† We were married only a little more than one year and then I divorced her.

†

†

Figure 1 : My wife,† a year after we were married, when she worked for Mr. Miller. She was just barely twenty years old
at the time of the incidents in this story.

†

†

She had gotten so she could not help herself and I just could not stand it.† I am thinking maybe it was the repressed up-bringing, being a Mormon, that made her the way she was, but I don't know.† Even at the end she seemed so confused about her feelings.† She was ashamed of it of course and very emotional when I found out and made her tell me all about it, but she just didn't seem to understand what had happened.† She had not wanted me to be hurt.† She had just wanted me to love her.

†

For that matter she just wanted Mr. Miller to like her or love her.† Or at least that is how it started, she said.† He said he loved her and she wanted him to love her.† He was her boss at the Jewelry store where she worked.† And I should have guessed by the way she was kept hours after closing and the jewelry he let her "borrow."† What she did, she said to me tearfully, she did because he loved her. . . it didn't mean anything. But, I wondered bitterly, why did she do it for the others?

†

She said to me, sobbing, that it was only because she wanted Mr. Miller to be happy. And he had wanted her to do those things. And then a few of his friends got involved, and he said they only wanted to look, but she nodded that there was more.† She was not sure why she did what she did for them, men she did not love, but she confessed she had not refused; she had wanted to please Mr. Miller, she said, and they too told her that they loved her and said they were lonely like Mr. Miller had said, and she thought what she was doing would make them love her.† She just wanted to be loved.† She believed it, I think. That is really what got her into the mess.†

†

To think that I often met her after work, after things had happened with Mr. Miller, and he met me and talked to me and so on, all the while thinking about what he had done to her, and sheóI don't know what she was thinkingóI mean she must still have the taste of his cum in her mouth, but she acted like nothing was odd. She looked flushed, and she was often very quiet going home and unresponsive in bed.† I did wonder. I did begin to suspect things.

†

Then the "big event" happened.† She started inventory at the jewelry store and had to work a Saturday.† She came home very late, exhausted, was obviously drunk and went to the bedroom, put on her nightgown, and got into bed and went to sleep without a word.

They next morning she did not want to go to work.† I don't know why but I looked in her purse and found roll of cash, ten-dollar bills, one-hundred and seventy dollars in all. I asked her where she got it from and she was evasive.† Then told me Mr. Miller had given it to her instead of paying her overtime.† This made some sense but then when she got up and took off her nightgown to take a bath, I saw what they had done to her and now I had a very good reason to be suspicious and I asked her again and she broke down crying and confessed.

†

She told me a lot of it, but not all of it. She confessed her "affair" with Mr. Miller and then with much sobbing and tears she admitted that was not all, that he had persuaded her to take her clothes off in front of some men at a bar.† That is where the money came from.†

†

The bar, as it turned out, was Bob's bar.† A bar that I and many of my friends used to hang out at, and where one of my friends still worked as a bartender.

†

I was certain she had not told me everything.† There had been several late nights, as well as that Saturday.† More than just stripping for some of Miller's friends had taken place.† But she just wept when I pressed her and said how sorry she was.

†

I got upset enough that I slapped her.† I called her a slut.† I said many terrible things to her.† I don't know that I would have reacted this way once I was older.† But what she had done really hurt and sickened me.† An affair with a man old enough to be her father or my father was very hurtful, but letting herself be displayed naked to strangersóand, I suspected, letting them do things to heróI felt I could not forgive her.† I left the house angrily.† I saw her only once more to confront her with more painful details.† We separated and divorced.

†

I wanted to confront Miller, but I did not have the guts.† But out of spite or some twisted prurient curiosity I ultimately went down to the bar, to see what Bob knew.

†

Going into the bar, knowing that these regulars knew me, who also evidently knew my wife, and may have even been among those who saw her "show" was hard to do.† But I had to know more.††

†

I told Bob what I knew, not knowing the half of it really.† He commiserated with me, called me "pal" (like my Dad used to) and gave me free liquor and got me very drunk.† Then I asked him to tell me what he knew.†

†

He said he had something to show me.† He took me to the backroom of the bar where he kept his extra booze, and actually it was another part of the bar, closed off, a private club that used to be there during prohibition era, I guess.†

†

He did not use it, he said. It was much smaller than his main bar and set up with a built-in bar on one side and a row of booths opposite it and in between maybe one half dozen or so small rounds with wooden chairs. At the back of the room was a kind of low rise, a sort of stage.†† He said they used to have strippers there; a couple round tables were pushed up close to it, a chair or two or three to each.† But what was really odd. . . there was a Formica-topped kitchen table alone on the center of the stage and a single matching kitchen chair next to it.† He turned on lights.† Overhead lights lit up the kitchen tableóa hot harsh lightówhile the rest of the room was lit in dim ambience by golden sconces above the booths and behind the bar.† He made us drinks and I stood looking up near the stage looking at that kitchen table with the lights glaring on it.

†

He brought the bottle over and some glasses and we sat at a round table directly in front of the stage and he also brought out a big oblong ledger, except that it wasn't a ledger.†

†

He put it in front of me and turned it about so I could see.† It was a photo album.†

†

He flipped open to the first page.† Then I saw what he wanted me to see.† Pictures of my wife right here in this room, this bar.† Standing about with maybe a group of five or six or seven different men in small groups, or some of her alone, looking like a deer in headlights or some with her sipping her glass while two or three of them teased her.† Talking. Drinking.† Posing in some pictures like a vacation snap shot.† Or, it reminded me, like those photos of the guys out hunting with their dead doe hung up between them.† Trophy photos.† There would be some real trophy photos at the end.† Where she stood again between these "sportsmen" on real display.

†

Black and white and color snapshots, taken by more than one camera, fixed into pasted photo corners onto black construction paper. 5 inch by 5 inch snapshots and some larger but all taken by an ordinary camera.† Taken with flash bulbs.† They were all neatly fit, two or three along two rows, laid it out sequentially, laid out to tell a story.

†

I could see how the flash startled her sometimes.† She looked like she'd already had drunk too much even before the "action" began.† A little goofy in some of the shots.† Her smile looked awkward or pretended and her eyes looked like she could not focus.† None of the men looked as drunk.† I wondered what they had given her to drink.

†

In some shots she seemed so self-conscious that it made her look really pathetic.† She is like that.† She does not like her photo taken; she does not think she is pretty.† But she is pretty.† She worries she is fat.† But she is not fat. The men obviously liked the way she looks. They are solicitous to her, if not a little rapacious. There were some who just leered at her.

†

Bob flipped the page.† More of the same.

†

Bob said it was just brandy, brandy and water.† "Scout's honor," and makes the sign of the cross for good measure.†

†

"No, she knew what was up " and nodded at a picture, "That there is just her . . . what you want to call, anticipation . . . she just figured out what was going on, is all, see . . . lookee here . . ."†

†

In this snapshot she looked at a man who had turned away from herópresumably after having given her another drinkóand her expression is like that ofóI almost can't describe itóshe looks anxiously at him as he walks away but she looks also so intense and thoughtful.† Bob said, "She knew what was going on. . . Don't kid yourself."

†

The date was printed on the white border. So these had to come from just a plain camera and even had to have been commercially developed, which when I think of it now is almost scary.† I mean, the lab had to have seen what they were.

†

The dateóa month and yearójust last month.† She had gone to work on a Saturday afternoon to do inventory, she had said.† I remembered that day.†

†

I recognized the clothing that she wore. A partly buttoned up light grey cardigan sweater over a simple short-sleeved white blouse, the button at the top modestly closed, the waist of the sweater fit to her hips. A plaid pleated wool skirt.† Her white cotton bobby socks, her penny loafers.

†

She had taken the time after her shower in the morning to put on a little makeup, as she stood before the mirror thoughtfully combing her hair.† I thought that a bit much, since she was just doing inventory, but I knew that Mr. Miller had a crush on her and so I thought it was to please him. She wore an old-fashioned candy-red lipstick, like the movie stars wore in glamor photos.† And she seemed cheerful if a bit preoccupied when she left and stood at the door and hesitated to leave and actually said maybe she shouldn't go, but I kissed her and said we could use the money.† She nodded.† She really looked a little sad to leave.

†

I was shocked speechless to see these pictures of her and all these men in the bar. Even before he turned the pages, I could easily guess what was coming.† And I felt sick to my stomach that this man was going to show them to me.† My† wife with these men.† He was not showing me this because he liked me.† Bob poured me another stiff one.† "Hey fella," he said, "Nothing to be ashamed about† You're a lucky guy."† I really did almost want to throw up.

†

I said: "How did you get her to do it?"

†

"It was Al. Al did it. He just told her. Of course we all knew about what she and Al had been doing. And I'm sure she knew what was up. She had to know. He brought here her and there was all these old guys just oggling her. She knew."

†

He poured more booze into my drink. I drank a big swallow. He watched me patting the page of the photoalbum. There were a lot more pages under this one. He said: "Drink some more."

†

I did.

†

Bob said: "So anyway, I'm pretty sure she knew. Al got her up onto the stage, turned her about to face us, like she was on auction, and told us all it was time and so we all sat and he introduced her. He made her tell about herself. She told us about you too. Then Al looked at her seriously and said everybody here liked her and said we had all promised not to tell you what she did here. She looked confused, but I think she was faking it.

†

My hands were trembling.

†

Bob was fingering the page, ready to turn it. He looked at Karen in the photographs.

†

He sighed, remembering, and added, "She's pretty, your wife. She doesn't think so, you know."

†

Bob continued talking as he lifted the page to turn it. "Well, anyway Al kissed her and said, 'You know what,' and looked out at the crowd and announced 'Karen wants to do a show for you.'

†

Bob held the page up, but I knew what was coming. He looked me in the eye to tell me the climax of his story, what I had come to him to find out:† 'She just stood there waiting. I mean, how could she not know. She said nothing.

†

'So then Al said to her: '... They've all seen the pictures anyway.'

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"What pictures?" I asked.

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"Oh, some Polaroids I took... I'll show you later... but anyway, that cinched it. She must have known what was coming next.

†

She knew what was up, she knew what he wanted, but she asked him, like she did not know, 'What do you want?'

†

So Al said it to her straight out: 'Take off your clothes, Karen.'

†

"What did she say?"

†

"What could she say?" Bob said, "O, she looked or pretended to look like she was confused, you know.† Being embarrassed, I 'spose. Feeling ashamed of what she was going to do, I 'spose."

†

" I asked: "Didn't she object?"

†

†

"Not much," shrugged Bob, grinning.

†

Al said it again: "Take off your clothes . . ." And she stood there.† Deer in headlights. Literally. . . with the spotlight on her . . . He nodded at the hot overhead lights glaring on the table top where he said she stood.†

†

Al told her out right that that's why they had come, to see her take off her clothes for them† He pointed around the room at all of us and said:† 'My friends all wanna see you with your clothes off . . . like you did for me . . . and for Bob . . . and for that man in the store . . . you remember ?'

†

"What man?" I asked.† Bob grinned and went on to say that my wife did not comply right away, but did not argue either, did not try to get off the table, did not try to leave.†

†

She asked him why are you doing this? †I understood, even if Al didn't.† She thought Al loved her.

†

But Bob said Al replied sarcastically: 'Stupid question,í And everybody laughed at her.† Al said: 'Why do you think? '

†

Al added then, 'Anyway they've already seen you without your clothes . . .'† She looked shocked.

†

Al explained: '. . . in the pictures you did . . .† Why'd you do that, if you didn't guys to see them? You knew I'd show them to my friends . . . I told you I would . . .'† He shrugged at her and she shook her head. 'But the picture's not the same as the real live girl,' he went on, 'Is it guys?'

†

Everybody shook his head.† Some of them spoke up and that frightened her. She saw they all wanted her to do it; she saw that is why they had come here, and that is why Al had brought her here.† To do this.† To take her clothes off for them.†

†

Al turned back to her, folding his arms, grinned up at her, winked aside at us. 'Go on . . .' Man, your wife just stood there looking at him. Staring in disbelief at him. Wide eyed and a little scared. Looking like a deer caught in headlights. And I think Al was getting pissed off at her. And all us guys getting hard-on's just thinking of it and getting anxious and some of the guys started to complain. Some of them mentioned the money. She heard it and it hurt her feelings and she looked like she might cry.† She started to beg him to let her go. He shook his head. When she did not act, he insisted again. ëTake your clothes off,í he said again.

†

She begged pathetically.

†

'Don't be that way,' Al said. She begged him not to make her do it.† Al shook his head, 'Nope.† You can't go until you do it.'

†

I think the guys began to think she wasn't going to do it, we could see that.† Some of them got out of their chairs and were ready to just make her do it. But Al looked at them and they sat down.† So Al let it all hang out and used his hole card: 'You got to do it, honey . .† . I mean .† . . You don't want your husband to see the pictures . . .'

†

She understood then.† He repeated when she did not act: 'Just take off your clothes, Karen . . . And your husband need never know. I promise . . .† We all promise . . .'

†

She looked at him sadly and asked him please to let her go.† He shook his head: 'Really. Nobody wants to tell your husband. We promise. Really'

†

Everybody nodded and said "yeah", "sure thing," and "we promiseÖ" I don't 'spose she believed them.† Anyway she looked like she might cry, but Al looked at her hard and said it like he was angry: 'Take your clothes off, Karen . . . Maybe those pictures go up on wall for the customers . . . Maybe next time your husband comes to the bar . . .'

†

She did began to cry.† Al shook his head.† Some of the men looked like they thought maybe it was a mistake.† But Al said to them that she wanted to do it.† She was just nervous. He looked at severely and now as he walked back to the stage said again: 'Take off your clothes. . ."

†

As he spoke this, he walked back up to the table where she stood, to stand right in front of her. She looked down at him, tears on her cheeks, she said something I couldn't hear, but we could see she was going to give in.† She was fidgeting with the buttons on her blouse; she's unbuttoned the top button.

†

He leaned over the table and took the shoes off her feet.† He coaxed her kindly then to do the rest, and was trying to pull down her socks, when she bent over and reached for his hand, to stop him, and nodded.† She said something else I did not hear.† Anyway, Al sighed and replied, smiling at her: 'Okay, honey, keep your socks on . . .'††

†

He stepped back, smirking triumphantly when she at last, with tears still welling in her eyes, she looked out at us pathetically, the poor thing, and began to unbutton her blouse, then confusedly stopped and unbuttoned the bottom of her sweater.

†

And as she removed her sweater and held it, looking at Al, sniffling, he encouraged her, 'That's a good girl.'

†

She wiped her face of tears and sniffled. Al gestured. 'Take your clothes off . . . but your socks, you can keep the socks, honey (He turned to us and explained: 'She says she's cold . . . '

†

"I think she was worried," Bob flipped the pages, showing me as she undressed herself for them, "I think she worried they would think she was fat--she always used to ask Al and me if we thought she was fat, you know, when she did it for us--and so we kept telling her--all the guys there--you know, how pretty she is and that we liked how she looked"óhe nodded at her photo, grinningó"you know, to keep her going." Bob winked at me. "I don't know, maybe she is a little chubby..."

†

"Well, of course," Bob sighed while I studied the pictures, "She asked us again while she was standing in her underpants and bra, to promise that we wouldn't tell you if she did what we wanted. But no, she said nothing more. She just stood up there, right there on top of the table under that bright light, and piece by piece she took off all her clothes while we watched her. Sweater, blouse, skirt. Dropped. Plop. Plop. Plop.'

†

Bob flipped the page and there was my "pretty little wife", just as he said. Standing up on that table on the stage. Standing on top of the table! That is where they made her strip. So that she would feel even more helplessly on display, I suppose. I could not believe it. Taking her clothes off in front of this whole bar full of old friends of Al. Dropping her clothes onto the table. The pictures were in a series as a she undressed herself; some pictures too of the men watching her undressing in front of them, looking up at her from the dark, standing in the light on the table. She did not look up at them. She looked very unhappy. In the last picture in the series she finally looked up at them, standing in the stark light in her underpants and bra, brushing the hair back from her face, while Al, gesturing, encouraged her to finish.

†

'She cried some. Ashamed of herself, I think. But she wanted to do it.† I could see it by the look in her face, you know, the way she looked up at us when she was standing there in her underpants and bra and looking at us looking at her and teasing us, you know. And she makes us promise again not to tell you and we do and then Al said for her to just get it over and she looks down and unhooks her bra and off it goes to show us her tits--love those nipples--and right away she shoves down her underpants to her feet and then just stands there. And there she is..."

†

Bob gestured up at the table, the light glancing off its Formica top, "...your pretty little wife, right up there . . . there. . . under that light. . . completely naked. . . naked for all of us to see and do what we want . . . Naked. . . 'cept for those silly bobby socks . . . and her underpants about her ankles. But then Al took grabbed up her underpants, took them off her feet.† He took all her clothes away and left her stark naked for us to stare at and tease.† She stood there while we all teased her and said dirty things to her. Everybody had a hard-on. She really looked great up there. Naked. See. . ." And he turned the pages to show me, how she stood for them, abjectly, naked, arms at her sides, looking out over their heads, all eyes on her nakedness, or glancing nervously at up-turned grinning faces. Naked for them. Ashamed and aroused to be naked for them, at the same time; I could see it in her face. He laughed.

†

"What happened then?" I asked. Bob laughed at my shocked expression and slapped my back and grinned at me.

†

"Nothing. She just stood there, naked like that, nothing on but her socks, while they took dozens and dozens of different pictures of her--everybody wanted some, you know; while the flashes popped, some of the guys teased her about how hard and pointy her nipples were getting, asked her if she liked sucking cock and so on. Someone in the know said they should try fucking her up her butt. She looked upset then and begged Al to give back her clothes, to let her get dressed, but Al told her to get down off the table and go walk all around the room, stand naked in front of each of the guys and let 'em feel her up."

†

Bob flipped the page and said: "...and so she did."

†

That was the very next picture. My "pretty little wife" as Bob called her: not a stitch of clothes on, naked but for her dirty bobby socks and her obvious wedding ring: nervous maybe, but ambiguously smiling, I thought: parading herself around the room, naked, in front of these old guys, a dozen of them, maybe more. I felt sick at heart.

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Figure 2 : An original color Kodak snapshot from Bob's collection. My "pretty little wife" in Bob's backroom bar, having taken off all her clothes for Mr. Miller's friends, as he had insisted, now paraded herself naked around the room for them, stepping up to each table and each man, giving herself up for them to enjoy with their hands and mouths and everything else. Everybody in the room got souvenir pictures like this one of my naked wife. Bob thought it only fair I had one too.

†

Bob explained: "She stopped in front of every table. Stood up real close to each guy, you know, he'd grab her bare butt and pull her up between his legs where he sat, looking her over closely. Everybody got a real good close up look at her naked, and Al encouraged them to feel her titties or slobber and lick and suck on her nipples and said to finger-fuck her cunt to get her wet and ready and willing to fuck. She just stood still, with her arms at her sides, and let 'em do whatever they wanted, until Al drew her off to go stand in front of the next guy."

†

Bob said: "She never said no to anybody. Not once. Not even to the guy who put one finger up her asshole and another up her cunt. Hell, seemed to me she liked it."

†

Still, in the pictures, she did not look happy about it.†

†

She looked worried and even afraid, and in some she looked like she'd been crying. Bob saw that it bothered me to see her looking so distressed, especially the next page he flipped to where clearly she was crying.

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My naked wife, down on her knees on that cold linoleum floor in front of one of the tables, while some man I had never seen held her hands behind her back and some old guy sitting on a chair in front of her, had got his pants and underpants shoved down to his shoes and was holding his thickening penis out for her, she looking anxiously at the swollen thing, while some men around her were obviously teasing her and coaxing her to open up her mouth for it and take it in. And in the pictures I saw next she did take it into her mouth. Sucking on it, and crying tears, but not fighting what they wanted her to do. I saw that too. Just as Bob said.

†

He winked at me and reassured me, "Hey, you know, she cried a litle at first, you know, but she never said she didn't want to it.† She said yes, if we asked . . . and we asked. We were nice to her. She liked it."†

†

They took dozens and dozens of pictures. As they--all of them--all took turns with her. On her knees. Bent over a table. Holding the seat of a chair. On her back on the floor.

†

Bob said everybody got some pictures as souvenirs.†

†

They'd made lots and lots of copies.†

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More photos, pages and pages of them, pasted into the book, taken that Saturday, in this same room, right here where I was sitting.† There were hundreds of pictures.† He flipped ahead and showed me other pictures, pictures of things she had not told me about.††

†

And as we looked at the pictures together, he told me about what happened, about what she did and what was done to her, with a certain ironic and mean-spirited attention to shameful and sexually explicit details.† That is how I learned about all the rest of it.†

†

She had told me almost none of this.† What she had told me was insignificant compared to what he showed me and told me.

†

"Hey, she did it 'cause she liked it, son. What can I say?† It's just how she is." Bob said to me, shutting the book. †"She did it 'cause she wanted to. No matter what she tells you."

†

But I will start where she started and explain it her way first.† Then I'll tell you what Bob told me.

†