As the lash falls on Camille and my heart pounds at the sight and the sounds of her suffering, I'm invaded with questions ... or maybe just one question in many forms.

At this point I still hesitate. I haven't made any of this known to anyone in my life except those who participate with me, my women. I wonder about the tapes I'm making with Camille, what if.

Yes, what if they are ever found, what if someone sees them.

I have four, five tapes, all VHS, all locked away in my room all very telling of an experience that grows.

What if.

She's totally in touch with her body, her nudity. She has no qualms about it.

Perhaps a different education, not so charged with concepts of sin and sex as evil.

In fact, for her, sex is good, very good. I envy her freedom.

I fought in my youth to achieve exactly that feeling of total freedom within and without. I mostly managed to display my freedom as a statement with the way I dressed or behaved but it was only a pose because inside I still had to battle with those mental shackles I was bound with at an early age.

That was not the case with Camille. Camille was enjoying the fruits of my generation's labor....

For her, the binds that kept us do not exist, that's why she could jump into this adventure and didn't worry about the tapes.

"Leticia was uncommon." I told her. "She was a free woman in the midst of slave minded fools, that's why she had to be eliminated."

Camille did not immediately identify with Leticia. To know how defiant and free she was, she had to know how others were, she didn't know how the mind of a slave worked.

I pulled the rags again, unable to rip them off, but I exposed her breasts.

The soldier was whipping a free woman, he was aware of that. Leticia was suffering the fate of slaves, not of free Romans. It was insulting but there it was.

He thought that her crime was deserving of crucifixion, after all she had her husband killed and her husband was a senator of the empire. She deserved the fate she faced but still she was a free woman.

The soldier could see in her demeanor that she was not like the slave they crucified two or three days before, she was nothing like the servant who was tortured and humiliated, treated like a dog, even as she was being crucified.

Leticia was dignified, even as the whip ripped her skin in shreds, even as her nakedness was becoming more apparent as the whip cut through her garment exposing her breasts.

When the servant managed to get on her knees, the soldiers placed the long crossbar under her arms, on her back. The weight of the timber made her fall on her face again.

They tied her arms to the timber and forced her to move forward, on her knees away from the erected post. She was trying to move, pushing herself with her knees but it was difficult.

At every move she fell on her face and could not move further. They whipped her until she finally had to move on her belly, pushing herself with the help of her legs.

To add to their game they built a bonfire and made her wait while they prepared a trail of burning coals and ashes from the spot where she waited and all the way to the post.

The servant could not see what they were preparing for her, she had fainted and was laying face down hardly breathing.