I lay handcuffed to a bench in the basement, listening to the woman’s high heels click toward me. She paused to adjust her corset and raised a whip above my spine.
At this point I wondered if I had made a mistake.
UF students have about three chances to forge lasting summer memories. Aware of this, many of us feel pressured to seek out unusual — maybe even crazy — experiences, whether they pertain to partying, traveling or hunting for internships.
This is a true story about how the most unforgettable of summer memories can stem from events we least suspect. A few summers ago I was in an Olive Garden in my hometown, Boston, with my friend, Jake. Halfway through our meal Jake got a phone call.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, returning to the table.
Jake was a film student working on a documentary that explored the psychology of the dominatrix profession. One of his actors, who was supposed to star in a dramatic re-enactment, had gotten cold feet.
Jake had a reputation for taking re-enactments seriously. In fact, his mom once nearly screamed and dropped a basket of laundry because she found bazookas in the basement — replicas for a drama involving an African warlord.
For his latest movie, my friend had taken realism to new heights: He found an actual dominatrix.
Intrigued, I asked Jake about the woman’s clients. He said they were powerful men who secretly craved an excuse to forfeit control. In one instance, according to the dominatrix, a federal agent stripped and asked her to call her friends. The agent wanted women to insult him as he crawled naked.
“Wait,” Jake said, his eyes lighting up. “Didn’t you say earlier you wanted to do something crazy this summer?”
My friend kept pressing me to fill in for the actor as we left the restaurant and boarded the Red Line. Strangers on the subway stared at us. Presumably, they weren’t used to hearing a man chat about being slapped, whipped and verbally belittled.
I woke at 5:40 a.m. Sunday, hours before the shoot, because I was too anxious to sleep. As the sun rose, a Honda Civic sputtered up to my doorstep. Jake, a cameraman and I rode to a brick apartment complex in Watertown.
Although it was sunny, I imagined thunder crackling and the foghorn-heavy soundtrack from “Inception.” The 20-something woman who climbed into the back seat was about five feet tall, with a tightly wound bun of black hair and a lace corset protruding from her jacket.
We traveled in awkward silence to Jake’s parents’ basement, where a five-man crew strung up crimson colored spotlights. Meanwhile, I changed into a suit to look more like a masochistic Wall Street tycoon.
I held my breath as the cameras started, realizing the first take would set a precedent for the shoot. Suddenly, a horse whip stung my shoulder, and I blurted out four-letter words that aren’t appropriate for a newspaper column, even one about dominatrices.
Just as I was about to inhale, the whip cracked against my spine and lower back. She yanked my hair, pulled me toward her and kicked over the bench for the coup de grace.
For the next 180 minutes I endured swats and slaps. When a camera man complimented my acting abilities, I told him I was talentless. The yelling was real. Although I didn’t speak to the dominatrix during the shoot, I thought I should say something later that day when we finally dropped her off.
“I met you a few hours ago,” I said, shaking her hand. “But I feel like I’ve known you for a really long time.”
Once my bruises faded, I realized that woman in a corset taught me a valuable lesson, which may benefit other UF seniors: There will be times when life binds, gags and whips you, but at least you’ll get a story out of it.
Cody Romano is a UF public relations senior. His columns appear Thursdays.
