Beginnings
I find myself in a situation that is both very simple and yet far more
complicated than I'd thought possible.
Perhaps it would help me clarify my thoughts if I put down for the first time
how I came to be in this place and situation. Once my name was Joy Fiona McGinty.
Fiona for my grandmother, a sparkling, tiny bird of a woman. I inherited her
spirit and the color of her hair.
In another life, in another place, I was a senior in college, a journalism major
with a strong bent toward photojournalism. My camera was an extension of my
hands and eyes. Every part of my life was recorded ... friends, events, the
beauty or tragedy of things I came upon as I walked or drove around. I had
dreams of going to dangerous places and capturing *the* photo that would move
people to tears or inspire them to make some needed world shaking change. It was
my life and far more important to me than getting a degree.
Then there was Michael. We had been together for two years when "it" happened. I
used to think it was his fault that I ended up here, but later came to realize
that I had been watched for some time and that if I wasn't taken that night, it
simply would have been the next week ... or the next month. Regardless, it would
have happened.
During winter break, Michael and I went to stay with friends for a long weekend.
The first night we got into a fight ... who remembers why anymore ... and I
grabbed my bag and stormed out. They snatched me almost immediately. I have a
vague memory of two men, large, coming out of seemingly nowhere ... a vile smell
and then everything going black.
There is also something that tickles at the edges of my mind of a taxi driver
and a vain attempt to rescue me from the inevitably of my coming to Gor.
This was the earth date, December, just over two years ago. Nothing that
precedes that date matters. The barbarian girl was brought to Gor. Life as she
knew it ended.
My first clear memory is the day I stumbled into the area I now know as the
Waterfalls. There were several girls there, two or three Warriors. If there had
been a little dog with me I probably would have said, "Toto, I have a feeling
we're not in Kansas anymore."
It was not pleasant. I asked for help. I was mocked as being ignorant by a girl
who talked of how beautiful she was and how desirable. I threatened to push her
in the falls and told her that perhaps on the outside she was packaged nicely,
but inside, she was rude and ugly and that made her ugly on the outside as well.
A Master asked me to leave the area... and escorted by another Master, I did. He
was kind enough to offer instruction and protection. I ultimately begged to be
put in his collar. I became the slave joy. He allowed me to keep my name.
I did not understand the implications of being a kajira or the meaning of
slavery then and am only beginning to understand it now.