Character Monologue

In response to this task:
"Flip through some magazines and find a picture of a person who looks interesting. Don't chose a celebrity or anyone famous cos you know stuff about them already. Cut the picture out and put it on your desk. Now write about that person, their life, her problems, his goals, background , whatever comes to mind. Move towards some conflict in which the character can be involved. Then write a scene to explore that conflict."
I found an image in a newspaper, of a stern looking older man. He has white beard and hair, though is balding. Very smartly dressed in a business suit and tie. I decided on a monologue, trying to bring out aspects of this person's character. I won't post the image here as I wouldn't want to offend anyone who knows him in real life :-)

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Does she have any idea what pressure I am under at the moment? I have that bloody young whipper snapper watching my every move at work and then I come home and have to deal with this nonsense.

What the hell is she talking about? How the hell can she just decide that, after 10 years of adult life? She’s never been good with relationships – one boyfriend after another, and there’s always some problem with them - although they’ve always been nothing but charming with me and her mother.

Her mother. Her bloody mother. Pandering to her, never off that bloody phone. It’s almost as though Karen condones this nonsense. “She’s still our daughter, Johnny”. If I hear that sentence one more time, I’ll walk out. I am not to be patronised: I am quite aware of the children I have raised. A son who wasted his education and can only make a living as a gardener and a daughter who has suddenly decided to have sex with women and become a pervert.

And all the hard work. Never away from that office, living for the company. They never wanted for anything. The best schools, the best childcare, the house, flats at university. And all for what? To find out that all the effort has led to a drop-out sexual deviant for a daughter.

And while she “finds herself” in whatever depraved way she sees fit, I’m still working all hours, having to “justify” myself. Having to “justify” the last 30 years? How dare they. How dare they suggest that they have no need for me. Who won the first overseas contract? Who turned this company around when everyone said it was over? 19 million pound turnover, from just 10 million 3 years ago. And yet, I am being asked by a business graduate - young enough to be my worthless son, who covers himself in cheap polyester suits and excessive aftershave – to “justify” my job. The bastards. They will pay.

I cannot relax. I cannot switch off at home. That bloody mousey woman who can’t see a thing wrong with her daughter’s behaviour. You know, it’s months since she threw a proper dinner party. I can’t recall the last time she cooked anything that wasn’t out of a packet. It’s not as if she has anything to do all day – pill popping, reality television and chatting to her boring friends about the latest diet fad, for God’s sake. She wants for nothing. She has her dream house, her garden full of expensive rose bushes, her cleaning lady and her new car. And all she can do is mooch and moan and worry about her perverted daughter. What about me? Does she ever worry about me? Does she ever ask about the office?

So I cannot relax at home. She won’t allow me. I have to find other ways. It is not my fault. It’s hers – and that stupid girl’s. It’s their fault I need to look elsewhere for relaxation.

This is exactly what I was saying to Maria last night, just before she tightened the eye mask and gag. We always have a chat before we start and she is a good listener. I think that must be part of the job. And I know she agrees with me – although it’s all the same to her: she gets paid either way. Though she does understand why I come to her. She knows it’s not my fault: it’s the stress - of the job, of the hopeless wife, of the sexual deviant of a daughter.

So I’m able to relax. She keeps the lights off, although the eye mask is always so tight I wouldn’t know. Her voice in the dark. The vile things she says, the way she tells me I am her dirty worthless slave. Her stiletto heels digging into my back. The smell of the leather in the air…

It is the only way for me to relax. I have no other choice. It’s completely natural for someone in my position.