At last there’s some activity. The guard returns and opens the cell door allowing Assessor Black to enter. Assessor Black turns out to be nothing like I imagined him. For a start, ‘he’ is actually a ‘she’. A young, blonde and glamorous ‘she’ too. Her hair is slicked back and tied in a long, plaited pony tail and she is heavily made-up with lots of foundation, black eye-liner and dark lipstick. She wears a snug fitting, black pinstripe skirt suit over a white blouse and incredibly high stiletto heeled shoes. She looks like a female version of a Gestapo officer and she eyes up both Sarah and me with a malevolent glare. I try to think it’s good that she’s a woman and that she will sympathise with us, we were after all protesting for her rights too, but everything about her fills me with dread.

 

She has a laptop which she places on the table and then prowls around us, looking us up and down, from in front and from behind. I try to avoid making eye contact and stand absolutely still as she walks behind us and then back to the table. She sits down and opens up her laptop. For an age she looks at its screen and occasionally clicks the trackpad. Every now and then she looks up at one or both of us. Eventually she sits back in her chair, folds her arms under her ample breasts and pierces Sarah and me with her eyes.

 

“Fucking feminists,” she says at last in a venomous sounding Northern accent.

 

A lump forms in my throat. This bitch is apparently not on our side.

 

“If I look up the word ‘equality’ in a dictionary, you know what it says? It says ‘just the same’.” She pauses and glares at us both. “Now do I want to be just the fucking same as a man? Do I look like I want to fix engines or drive tractors for a living? That’s the sort of fucked-up world you feminists tried to create though, wasn’t it?” She stands up and strikes a pose in front of us. “This body, does this look like a man’s body?... Well does it?”

 

I hear a tiny ‘no’ slip out of my mouth.

 

“No indeed. And do you think I want this body to have to mix cement on building sites, or empty fucking dustbins? Men and women are absolutely not ‘just the same’. When I have a shitty job that needs to be done, that’s what men are for. When my car needs to be mended, that’s what men are for. When my minge needs attention, that’s what men are for. And when I have a child and need to someone to provide for it, that’s what fucking men are for. And you lot tried to fuck all that up. You made the world a boring, sexless place where no-one could even speak without being scared they might say something offensive or inappropriate. Would you believe that this body sometimes struggled to pull on a Saturday night because everyone was so terrified of being accused of rape? I had a man pull out a consent form once. Imagine that, you’re just getting wet and ready, he feels good, it’s all go go go, and then suddenly he waves a pen at me and asks me to sign. That was the world that you lot wanted. Well I’m glad it’s gone and I’m here to make sure you fuckers never get to bring it back.”

 

She sits back down and consults her laptop again.

 

“I see you’re both teachers. You can both consider yourselves very lucky that you teach in a college, not a school, and all your pupils are over eighteen. If you had abused your trusted positions with underage girls and tried to fill their heads with your poison, I would have applied to get you both locked away for a very long time. As it is, your pupils are legally considered to be adults and capable of making up their own minds, and so I will not apply for compulsory prison sentences for you.”

 

The very mention of prison sentences sends shivers through me. I can hear Sarah whimper slightly. I want to hold her hand, but I know I can’t reach her, even if this she-devil in front of us allowed it.

 

“However,” the she-devil continues, “I do feel that your positions of trust with young people must be considered in your sentences. I will require your restraints to be very clear and visible so that your pupils will see the error of your ways. You, Melstrom, you teach music?”

 

“Err, yes. Ma’am.” I add the ‘Ma’am’ at the end without really thinking about it and it makes me realise how scared I am of her.

 

“And you, Thomson, history?”

 

“Yes Ma’am,” replies Sarah quietly.

 

“So history, that’s just talking about the past, about dates and wars and stuff?”

 

“Something like that Ma’am.”

 

“So no special physical activity required then?”

 

“I suppose not, Ma’am,” says Sarah after a long pause. We both know the meaning of that question.

 

“In that case Thomson, you shall be subject to the following: For the duration of your sentence you will wear a level three monitoring collar. Your wrists will be linked by a 250mm chain and your ankles by a 300mm chain. Your wrist and ankle chains will be linked to make your restraints more visible to your pupils. Neither your restraints nor collar will have timed released periods allowed. In addition you will wear a denial belt for the duration of your sentence. If you refuse these terms you will be incarcerated in prison for the whole of your sentence and there will be no shortening for compliance. Do you understand the terms I have just informed you of?”

 

“Err, I think so Ma’am,” says Sarah shakily. I look at her and see tears on her cheeks.

 

“You think so? Not good enough. Do you understand? Yes or no.”

 

“Yes Ma’am.”

 

“Good. You will have some time to consider whether you wish to accept restriction or be incarcerated. I would advise you not to choose incarceration. Now, Melstrom. So you teach music do you? What kind of music?”

 

“Err, I… All kinds Ma’am.” I can hardly get myself to speak after hearing what has just been handed out to Sarah.

 

“So theory of music or practical playing of instruments?”

 

“Both Ma’am.”

 

“And you need to play instruments in the course of this?”

 

“I need to demonstrate how to play, yes Ma’am.”

 

“And what instruments do you play?”

 

“Err, there are quite a few, but piano, clarinet, violin, viola, and my speciality is the cello. Ma’am.”

 

Come on then you bitch, chain me up and expect me to play all them. I know she has guidelines. The whole point of corrective restraint is that offenders can keep doing their jobs rather than costing the taxpayer money in prison. She can’t chain me up like Sarah.

 

“It says in your file that you conduct the college orchestra. Is that true?”

 

As the she-devil reads that out I wonder where she has got that information from because it’s only slightly true. I did conduct the orchestra, but only for one concert. I’m not the regular conductor. And the thought that somebody, somewhere is on my side gives me a strange sort of hope and emboldens me against the spawn of Satan in front of me.

 

“Err, yes Ma’am,” I say. I don’t see why I should say ‘Ma’am’ all the time to this snotty, blonde bitch who apparently needs a truck load of foundation on her face to make her look human, except of course that she does have almost total power over my life for the next year.

 

The she-devil fiddles with her computer and I hear music come from it. Beethoven’s Symphony Number One in C Major. She watches it for a while and then turns the screen to me.

 

“You conduct like this?” she asks.

 

I watch and see a conductor I don’t recognise going for it with extravagant arm gestures. I know straight away the bitch is trying to catch me out.

 

“A bit like that Ma’am. But I don’t usually wave my arms about that much.”

 

Blonde Bitch starts to quiz me about every aspect of my job. What are my working hours, how long is my commute, do I just teach or do I perform music too? The questions come thick and fast. I answer mostly truthfully and while I know I should be scared of this woman, she has such power over me after all, I can’t help feeling contempt and hatred for her and there is a tiny pleasure that comes with each answer I give that obviously spoils her plans to get me chained up like Sarah will be. It starts to feel like a game even though I know it most definitely isn’t. Eventually the questions stop and she glares at me before consulting her computer again.

 

“I see you have been a music teacher for just two years,” she says. “And before that it says ‘classified’. Were you a spy or something?”

 

“I… I’m not allowed to say Ma’am.”

 

I can see how much that pissed her off. But what else could I say? I signed the official secrets act, and I could be charged with a crime if spouted classified information to an agent of the devil with no security clearance. Especially if I did it in front of that fucking camera that’s looking in on all this. Suddenly that same agent of the devil pulls out a phone and calls someone.

 

“Gerald, Suzanna Black. … Yes, good thanks. I have an awkward case I would like to consult you about. I was thinking it might be a good candidate for the new SDC. Is everything up and running for that yet? … Yes. … Okay, this afternoon. I will see you then.”

 

“I am going to have to consult my superior about you,” she says to me in her horrible voice. “I could just fit you with timed release chains that would leave you free while you work and restrained at other times, but I have something special in mind for a smug and secretive feminist who thinks she can’t be restrained just because she does music.”

 

She stands and picks up her laptop.

 

“I’m done here for now,” she says to the guard. “This one can be processed straight away. The other one will have to stay until I have consulted on her.”

 

She leaves the cell and the guard unlocks me and Sarah from the rings in the floor.  She picks up the table and chair, gives me a look that says something like ‘you stupid bitch’ and then follows the she-devil out of the cell. The bars slide shut behind her.

 

Oh Christ. What the fuck just happened? Did I just play poke the wasp’s nest with the Devil’s own representative on Earth? Stupid Jem, just stupid. I turn and look at Sarah. She seems to be in a daze.

 

“You okay?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. I can see she’s not okay.

 

“I can’t remember Jem. I can’t remember what we got.”

 

“Hey, hey. Come on, sit down and we’ll talk about it.”

 

We sit down on the bed together and I do my best to comfort Sarah. She soon remembers what happened and what she got, but she seems more concerned about me. We sit and lean on each other and even manage to hold hands a little, even though it pulls at our cuffs uncomfortably. I try to big myself up and make like I’m confident I’ll be okay. Inside I feel anything but. I’m filled with dread of what my own stupid ego has gotten me into, but I can’t let it show. My friend needs me, or so I think.

 

“I’m going to be very horny,” she suddenly declares. “All those chains, and a chastity belt.” She smiles, but I can see her hiding her fear.

 

“And a collar,” I add, smiling too.

 

“Oh yes, a collar. Make that ultra horny then,” she jokes. “Did I hear something about level three?”

 

“Level three collar? Didn’t you read up on all this?”

 

“Well sort of, but I thought it might be better not to know too much in advance.”

 

“You want me to tell you?”

 

“Go on.”

 

“It’s sort of a medium. You’ll be fine in it.”

 

While calling a level three collar a ‘medium’ might technically be true, I think it’s a rather optimistic way of looking at it, but I don’t see any point in scaring Sarah. According to my research there are five collar levels. One is the basic, it’s just big enough to carry the bugging and spying gear. Then two three four and five get taller, more restrictive to wear and more visible to others, five being the worst. Most people get a two. I think Sarah got a three because she’s a teacher and the she-devil wants her pupils to really see it. I reckon I could be in for a five after my little performance, but I’m trying not to think about that at the moment.

 

“Oh, thanks,” she says. “Maybe you shouldn’t have told me.”

 

“You’ll be finding out soon anyway.”

 

“I don’t know if I can do it Jem. I know I said it turns me on, but that’s just fantasy or sexy play. This is going to be for real. I’ll be chained up like she said all the time. Maybe I should ask for prison.”

 

“No! Don’t you even think about that. You think this cell is bad, imagine what it would be like after a whole year. Take the restraint Sarah, however bad it is at least you’ll be home with Jack.”

 

“I know. You’re right. It’s just the thought of having to stand in front of my classes and try to teach them while I’m chained up. I can’t imagine being able to do it.”

 

“Well I’ll be there to help. We’re just across the grass from each other. I’ll wave out of the music room window at you.”

 

“Well don’t misunderstand if I don’t wave back. Wrist and ankle chains linked remember?”

 

“Ah, yes. Well waving in a metaphorical sense. And besides, if you were in prison I wouldn’t be able to come round to your place with Rob and make love to you in our chains on the living room floor while he and Jack watch.”

 

“For a moment I thought you were serious there.”

 

“Well you won’t find out how serious if you’re in prison will you.”

 

“Don’t worry about me Jem, I’m not going to ask for prison. It’s you we need to worry about. That blonde poison dwarf’s got it in for you. You shouldn’t have wound her up like that.”

 

“I just answered her questions.”

 

“Yeah, but it was obvious what you were doing. You were sparring with her and you won. But she’ll have the last laugh, you know that don’t you?”

 

“I guess so, but she’s supposed to let me keep my job. How bad can she get? Maybe you shouldn’t answer that.”

 

“Were you really a spy before you came to the college Jem?”

 

“No. I used to work in a lab and some of what I worked on had defence-related uses, so it was classified. That’s all.”

 

“Hmmm. I believe you. Jem Bond.

 

“Yeah, right. Well if you’ve got a thing for me then that would make you Moneypenny wouldn’t it.”

 

“No, I could be M and be your boss.”

 

“You’re not old and wrinkly enough.”

 

“I’d like to be your boss though.”

 

“Easy tiger…”

 

 

“You two, Thomson and Melstrom. On your feet and stand at the back of the cell facing the wall.”

 

The instructions from the guard take us by surprise as neither of us heard her approach, but we know the drill now and scramble to our feet and to the back of the cell. The door slides open and the guard enters.

 

“Thomson, which one is you?” barks the guard.

 

“Err, I’m Thomson,” says Sarah nervously.

 

The guard approaches behind us and turns Sarah around. She takes a photograph of her on a tablet and waits.

 

“Good,” says the guard smugly after a few seconds. “Computer agrees. You are Thomson. Well done. You get a cookie as a reward. I’ll eat it at my next coffee break. And you also get a trip to see your solicitor and then if you’ve any sense, a little visit to Corrective Restraint.” The guard reads something on the tablet. “Oh dear, someone seems to have annoyed Assessor Black. Level three, wrists and ankles and a link. You have been a naughty girl haven’t you. Well let’s get on with it. Turn and face the wall again.”

 

Sarah shakily turns her back to the guard and looks at me with a worried expression.

 

“I guess this is it Jem,” she says quietly.

 

I watch as the guard takes a strap and loops it through Sarah’s arms and behind her back. She buckles its ends together and then pulls it tight, drawing Sarah’s elbows behind her until her wrists pull tight against her handcuffs. Sarah’s gasps and I don’t know if it’s from surprise or pain. The guard secures the strap and then tugs at Sarah’s arms, checking that every last little bit of freedom they had has been removed. Seemingly satisfied she takes out a blindfold and fastens it over Sarah’s eyes.

 

“Come on then Thomson,” says the guard, tugging at Sarah’s new strap. “We haven’t got all day.”

 

Sarah is ushered blindly out of the cell and the door is slid back closed. The guard locks it and pushes Sarah slowly away down the corridor. And that’s it, she’s gone. As the sound of her T-bar stilettos fades away to nothing I’m left feeling more alone that I have ever felt.

 

Continued in The Accidental Feminist, Part Five