And all I felt was a certain social embarrassment. A soft, squirmy self-consciousness, devoid of shame’s sweet-sharp sting or the self-annihilating rush of humiliation. It had been like this before, but I’d always managed to subvert it. I’d even found it slightly piquant—a private scourging of my self-respect—to be so utterly controlled by my physical needs that I would not only allow this, but seek it, and cede mastership of my body to a man who needed a title to claim it.
