matter what she does."
"How then do you control your women?" she asked.
I shrugged. "We don't," I said.
"You men of Earth well deserve the lives you lead," she laughed.
"Mistress," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"Why does Lola so hate me?" I asked.
"You are different from the other men she has known," said the Lady Gina. "She finds you despicable. You do not master the slave in her."
"She is a person," I said. "She has feelings."
"Of course she has feelings," said the Lady Gina. "She has the deep, exciting, profound feelings of a woman who knows herself a slave. Have you answered those feelings in her?"
"No, of course not," I said.
"You area male of Earth," she smiled.
"Yes!" I said. "She is not supposed to have those feelings!" I said. "She is supposed to be a person!"
"Women are slaves," said the Lady Gina. "They long for their masters. That is far deeper than your myths and political inventions, regardless of their expediency in your form of society."
"How can you speak in such a fashion?" I demanded. "You yourself area woman!"
"Look upon me, Jason," she said. "See my size and strength, my severity. I am not as other women. I am for all practical purposes a man, but one trapped by some cruel trick of nature in a woman's body. It is painful, Jason. That is perhaps why I hate both men and women so."
"I do not think, Mistress," I said, "that you truly hate either."
She looked at me, puzzled. Then she said, "Beware how you speak, lest you be lashed and burned with irons."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Yet I think you are, strangely, a woman of both vision and kindness."
"Beware, Slave," she warned me.
"Forgive me, Mistress," I said.
"Keep clearly in mind, Jason," she said, "that women are slaves, longing for their masters."
"They are persons!" I insisted.
"You insist on seeing women through sexless and demeaning categories," she said. "By doing so, you will prevent yourself from knowing them and understanding them. You will, by using such categories, miss their richness, their depth, their latency, their womanhood, and you will be forever unable to satisfy them in the fullness of their biological needs, which include the need to submit themselves as a slave to a strong male."
"False! False!" I cried. "False! False! False!"
"I am sorry if I have caused you distress, Jason," she said. "That was not my intention. You have had a difficult and cruel day. Doubtless I should not speak to you as I sometimes do. Sometimes, for some reason, I seem to forget that you are only a male of Earth, and a slave."
I did not speak.
"You are large and strong to be a slave, Jason," she said. "Perhaps that is why I sometimes forget that, as a male of Earth, you are small and weak inside."
"It requires courage and strength to be small and weak," I said, angrily.
"Perhaps," she said. "I would not know. I am neither small nor weak."
I put my head down, angrily.
"It is an interesting way to view matters," she said. "Perhaps the fool has the strength to be a fool. Perhaps the coward has the courage to be cowardly."
I looked at her.
"It is sad enough to be a fool and a coward," she said, "without making virtues of these sorry flaws. Can you not see that you have been conditioned into a morality of weakness, an invention of the weak to undermine and inhibit the strong? Is not the social utility of such a device, so congenial to the fears of the small and weak, obvious? Can you not see that a morality designed to cripple and thwart the strong, to turn them against themselves, is an ideal instrument to advance the ambitions of the small and weak? While the strong lacerate themselves and tear themselves apart with misery and guilt the small and weak, swarming unabated over the world, proceed unimpeded with their small projects and gnawings."
"No, no," I said.
"Rest now, Jason," she said. "Tomorrow you are to be appraised by woman slavers from the market of Tima."
"What is the market of Tima?" I asked.
"You will discover, soon
"How then do you control your women?" she asked.
I shrugged. "We don't," I said.
"You men of Earth well deserve the lives you lead," she laughed.
"Mistress," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"Why does Lola so hate me?" I asked.
"You are different from the other men she has known," said the Lady Gina. "She finds you despicable. You do not master the slave in her."
"She is a person," I said. "She has feelings."
"Of course she has feelings," said the Lady Gina. "She has the deep, exciting, profound feelings of a woman who knows herself a slave. Have you answered those feelings in her?"
"No, of course not," I said.
"You area male of Earth," she smiled.
"Yes!" I said. "She is not supposed to have those feelings!" I said. "She is supposed to be a person!"
"Women are slaves," said the Lady Gina. "They long for their masters. That is far deeper than your myths and political inventions, regardless of their expediency in your form of society."
"How can you speak in such a fashion?" I demanded. "You yourself area woman!"
"Look upon me, Jason," she said. "See my size and strength, my severity. I am not as other women. I am for all practical purposes a man, but one trapped by some cruel trick of nature in a woman's body. It is painful, Jason. That is perhaps why I hate both men and women so."
"I do not think, Mistress," I said, "that you truly hate either."
She looked at me, puzzled. Then she said, "Beware how you speak, lest you be lashed and burned with irons."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Yet I think you are, strangely, a woman of both vision and kindness."
"Beware, Slave," she warned me.
"Forgive me, Mistress," I said.
"Keep clearly in mind, Jason," she said, "that women are slaves, longing for their masters."
"They are persons!" I insisted.
"You insist on seeing women through sexless and demeaning categories," she said. "By doing so, you will prevent yourself from knowing them and understanding them. You will, by using such categories, miss their richness, their depth, their latency, their womanhood, and you will be forever unable to satisfy them in the fullness of their biological needs, which include the need to submit themselves as a slave to a strong male."
"False! False!" I cried. "False! False! False!"
"I am sorry if I have caused you distress, Jason," she said. "That was not my intention. You have had a difficult and cruel day. Doubtless I should not speak to you as I sometimes do. Sometimes, for some reason, I seem to forget that you are only a male of Earth, and a slave."
I did not speak.
"You are large and strong to be a slave, Jason," she said. "Perhaps that is why I sometimes forget that, as a male of Earth, you are small and weak inside."
"It requires courage and strength to be small and weak," I said, angrily.
"Perhaps," she said. "I would not know. I am neither small nor weak."
I put my head down, angrily.
"It is an interesting way to view matters," she said. "Perhaps the fool has the strength to be a fool. Perhaps the coward has the courage to be cowardly."
I looked at her.
"It is sad enough to be a fool and a coward," she said, "without making virtues of these sorry flaws. Can you not see that you have been conditioned into a morality of weakness, an invention of the weak to undermine and inhibit the strong? Is not the social utility of such a device, so congenial to the fears of the small and weak, obvious? Can you not see that a morality designed to cripple and thwart the strong, to turn them against themselves, is an ideal instrument to advance the ambitions of the small and weak? While the strong lacerate themselves and tear themselves apart with misery and guilt the small and weak, swarming unabated over the world, proceed unimpeded with their small projects and gnawings."
"No, no," I said.
"Rest now, Jason," she said. "Tomorrow you are to be appraised by woman slavers from the market of Tima."
"What is the market of Tima?" I asked.
"You will discover, soon
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