From the personal memoirs of Kamiko Takahara
Ch 1: Honour And Revenge
My name is Kamiko Takahara and some of you reading this, maybe most of you, have probably heard or read something about me in the past. As in the case of many other famous people, much of what’s written about me is either exaggerated or completely fabricated, but unfortunately most of it is true. I was, am and will ever be a noose-slut. I will always be turned on by the sight of being dropped through a trap or kicked off a stool or chair with rope around his or her neck. I will always feel something most people never feels when the condemned hits the bottom of the rope and has his or her neck snapped, or better still, doesn’t and spends those last conscious moments kicking and struggling as the noose fulfills its purpose.Iwill always wonder if that fate is also my fate and if I am destined to die by the rope die quietly in my bed. I hope it’s the latter rather than the former for it’s never been my intention to die by the noose. Yet if it is my fate to die by the rope, I hope that I shall die naked, in front of an appreciative audience who gain every bit as much pleasure from my demise as that which I have gained from the demise of others. I would be honoured to die this way, even though I do not wish it. Perhaps the one thing going most in my favour of dying in my bed is that I am as I write this, seventy-five years old, and there probably just aren't that many people who’ll get turned on by seeing a naked septuagenarian dangle by the neck buck naked. Still, I doubt I’ll ever stop being slutty, so anything could happen.
That being said, I’m probably the hottest seventy-five year-old bimbo you could ever meet, just as I was the one of the hottest twenty-five year old chicks. I’m not trying to brag you see, for it was nature and my parents genes that gave me my good looks. Sure, I worked out and stayed fit, but I frankly cannot take the lion’s share of the credit for my drop-dead gorgeous looks. I never had to do much to get a guys attention; not even snap my fingers. I’d whistle and they came running. Several told me they’d die for a chance to sleep with me, though I never set the standard quite that high. If anybody told you that the price for fucking me was death by hanging it’s a lie. The part that’s not a lie, is that by some time in my twenties, if a man wanted to sleep with me, he’d have to prove his devotion by experiencing the noose and risking that I wouldn’t cut him down once he’d proven how much he wanted me. But if a man did that; if he put his head in the noose and jumped off the stool to prove himself, I’d always cut him down after a few seconds, maybe ten or fifteen at most, then give him the best fuck he’d ever had in his life.
One fuck was all that any guy ever got with me. I’d give each one a hundred percent and make sure he remembered me for the rest of his life, as if that excruciating moment at the end of the rope wasn’t enough, but by morning, he’d be hitting the road and would never share my bed again. There were just too many guys out there to tie myself down to one, and ever the slut i wanted to feel as many different dicks go up my joy trail as I could before my time was up. In those days you see, I figured I’d never live past thirty or thirty five. There were one or two of them that fell in love with me for our single encounter and hanged themselves to death in despair the when it became clear to them that I’d never fuck them again, but I never told any of them that I loved them, never encouraged any of them to do so, and made it completely clear that I wasn’t nearly sentimental enough to give a shit if they lived or died. That was enough to convince most of them of the idiocy killing themselves over me, but there were a few who were beyond stupid and killed themselves anyway. But I’m not the first and I won’t be the last hot chick some lovesick cowboy ends his life over so I don’t let it get to me.
It’s much different with women incidentally. I’ve played noose games wit a lot of sisters, but never demanded one take her chances with the rope just to sleep with me. And there are quite a few I’ve fucked more than once. The reason is that to me, men are good for fucking and mowing the lawn. Some aren’t even good for either. On the other hand, I connect emotionally with other women right away. In most cases, I’ll either really like her or hate her and want her dead within a minute or two of meeting her. I don’t sleep with every woman I like, and I never hanged most of the women I’ve hated, but it’s probably good advice for even the nastiest little noose slut never to get on my bad side. One who did was Simona Valverde and the story merits telling.
Simona, who I’d never liked to begin with, had made a foolish bet with my equally foolish friend Darlene Carmichael, who’d served with me in the 1st California Mechanized Cavalry Regiment during the the Great Anarchy and whom like both Simona and myself, was something of a noose-slut. The bet was truly stupid too; over the outcome of a US presidential election. Darlene and Simona had supported rival candidates, both jokingly claiming they’d rather hang themselves rather than live in a country run by the schmuck the other supported. But as the election drew nearer and Simona’s Schmuck appeared likely to win, she pressed the issue with Darlene.
Darlene was under no obligation whatsoever to pay any attention to this as no contract of any sort had ever been signed, but she likewise detested Simona would have loved to see her hang and so, hoping the polls were wrong, shook hands and the two agreed to hang themselves in the other’s presence if the other’s candidate won. That was the biggest mistake of Darlene’s life; her candidate lost, and though no contract had been signed, she felt honour-bound to keep her word. Simona of course, could simply have let Darlene off the hook. This is exactly what her twin sister Maria, who had served with both Darlene and I in the 1st California Cav had urged her to do, even pleaded with her, but Simona insisted collecting the debt, and collecting it on her birthday so that Darlene’s suicide could be considered a birthday present. She even hired a photographer to photograph the event.
It was by custom, Darlene’s right to have a friend present as a second, and in fact to serve as hangman and she asked me. As a true and blue noose-slut myself, I was or course deeply honoured by the request, but as a friend, I truly hated the idea. Darlene and I had shared a bed more than once over the years and were very intimate, but what choice did I have but to accept. So I helped my friend hang herself in front of someone we both detested, smiling outwardly at my friend as she kept her debt of honour while seething for revenge inside.
Darlene died well, I’ll say that, and though I wanted nothing more than to leave the party just then, I resolved to stay around until Simona cut her body down, which she did not do before making a calamitous mistake herself. I was quietly stewing in a corner nursing a martini when Simona, drunk with both liquor and a sense of victory came up to me and started talking. It’s never a good idea for a noose-slut to talk too much when she’s had too much to drink.
“I’m so glad you came, Kamiko,” that bitch said. “I had doubts you would, of course, seeing that Darlene was such a good friend. It can’t be easy seeing a friend die like that, can it?”
“I’ve seen friends die before,” I replied icily. “Lots of them. More than I think you can imagine,” I added. I was driving home the point that while Darlene, Maria and I had all volunteered for service in the California Guard during the great anarchy and had all lost friends in combat, Simona had not.
“Well, that’s all ancient history, isn’t it?’ she replied. “I’ve seen plenty of people die too, and I can imagine quite a lot, ” she continued, alluding no doubt to her attendance at necktie parties, and who she wanted to die at one. Of course when you attend a necktie party, you never know walking in as a guest if you’ll be walking out or be carried out on a gurney as the main attraction. She took another sip of her drink, then crossed over the line of no return as I hoped she would. She was trying to bait me of course, but I just decided to allow her enough rope to hang herself with, and not just figuratively.
“I can imagine you dying at the end of a rope Kamiko. That's something easy to imagine.Fun even. Do you ever think that might happen to you? Oh you can’t believehow much I’d love that! The great and famous Kamiko Takahara shuffling off her mortal coil at one of my parties. That would be capital.”
“Are you a betting woman?’ I asked in reply.
“Oh, I think you know I am,” Simona replied. “Just what exactly are you proposing?’
“A noose off,” I replied. “You, me, two ropes, right here, right now, in front of everyone. Self-hanging. Whoever lets go of the rope first and touches the ground first hangs for real the next day at dawn, down at Hangman’s Beach.” Hangman’s beach was a private beach with a gallows set up so that noose-sluts and noose-jigs (short for noose-gigolo’s) could have necktie parties by the ocean.
“You must be joking,” she snorted derisively back at me.
“Is that what you think?” I answered back. I picked up a spreading knife from a platter of hors d’oeuvres that was siting nearby and tapped my glass until everyone’s attention was turned towards me.
“Hey listen everyone,” I started once I had the room’s attention. Simona just told me she’d like to see me swing at the end of the rope. Is there any else in the room who feels that way?” Not surprisingly in a room filled with her friends, there was a lot of agreement that my slow and painful death would be a fun thing to watch.
“I thought so,” I replied. So here’s the deal. I’ve just challenged Simona to a noose-off. If she accepts, we’ll both self hang-right here in front of you. Whichever one lets go of the rope and falls to the floor first loses. The loser has to hang to death at the convenience of the winner. If Simona wins, I agree to hang to death wherever and whenever she pleases. If she loses, she dies tomorrow at dawn at Hangman’s Beach. Who’s in favour of this bargain?”
The room exploded in applause as Simona turned red. There was no backing out now.
“I hate you Kamiko,” Simona said quietly, as Darlene’s body was cut down and two new ropes tossed over what passed for a gallows beam. At my insistence, we signed a contract binding the loser to hang and then both shook hands. For my part, I had not the slightest doubt that if I lost, I would be hanged fore real within a minute or two of losing, but then again, Simona I didn’t put it above Simona to have something far fore fiendish an humiliating in mind. For instance, she might insist I hang myself in front of my friends as well, as an unquestionable signal of her triumph over me. The thing is, I had no intention of letting her win. Since I’m the one writing this and not her, you already know who won the contest, if not how. I’ll get to that in a moment.
Since for contest purposes, it was extremely important we start hanging at the same split second, two chairs were pulled out and spread a distance apart. A plank long enough to hold us both was laid on top of them and we each climbed up on top of it, shoulder to shoulder, and were noosed in exactly the same way. We were each handed the free end of the rope to hold on to and the only thing determining how long we would dangle was just how much excruciating pain we could stand. The first one whose feet touched the ground was the loser and would soon be repeating this with no reprieve. I had a slight advantage in being a good ten pounds lighter than Simona but my real advantage was that I had been self hanging very regularly for since I was a teenager as part of my sexual games. Anyone who’s done this knows just how excruciatingly painful it is and that most people can’t do it for more than a second or two. I knew going in, I could hold it a lot longer than that, though I had no real way of knowing how long Simona cold stand the pain.
I closed my eyes and pulled the rope nice and tight so that I wouldn't add to the pain by falling even a few inches. I closed my eyes, told a deep breath, and said “Ready.”
“Simona, are you ready also,” asked Betty Stapleton, our mutually agreed upon neutral hangman or executrix if you prefer, as she carefully placed her foot on the edge of the plank, to be ready to kick it out from under us. It took sever seconds for Simona to reply, but finally she gasped “ready” and within a fraction of a second, both Simona and I were kicking at the end of the rope. The pain…well, if you’ve ever done this sort of thing, you know exactly what it feels like, and if you haven’t there is simply no way to describe it. In the first few seconds, I kept my eyes closed as I fought the pain but I could feel Simona’s jerking at the end of the rope, smell her perfume even. Both our bodies swung around such that we were facing each other, eyes open, our mutual hatred of each other driving us to hold on to that rope, and for a brief instant I wondered if I had made a colossal mistake. But no, I didn’t. As I stared into Simona’s eyes, I could see she was losing the battle, and a split second later it was over and she dropped to the floor with a loud thump.
Knowing I had won, I closed my eyes again and held onto the rope for what seemed like an eternity but was surely no more than three seconds before I too failed and let go of the rope. I too fell to the ground and once there, struggled to loosen the noose. I wasn’t out of breath or anything; I had only been up there eight seconds, but Simona had been up there less than five and I was the winner. Tomorrow morning, Simona would die and she would die according to my will. It had been agreed upon.
I pulled myself up slowly and pulled the noose up over my head, throwing it to the ground. Simon took longer to get back up and was assisted by two friends, one of whom was trying to console her, the other trying to convince her that our agreement was non-binding the contract had not been yet been faxed or mailed to the authories. To her credit, Simona would have none of it. To back out now would be seen as the worst form of cowardice and something that was simply not accepted in the noose-slut community. Our golden rule was that if you accept the risk and lose, you die stoically and people speak well of you ever afterwards. If you chicken out, you’ll be forever marked as a coward; ostracized, excommunicated by our community. Believe it or not, very few sluts ever chickened out. I think this probably because most of us understand that we’re living on borrowed time anyway.
“Tomorrow morning, Hangman’s beach, 6.00AM,” I said. “Don’t make me come after you,” I added with my eyes.
“Don’t worry, bitch. I’ll be there,” she responded, still in a state of shock over what had just happened.
“Make sure you are,” I replied. “None of you are invited; it will be a private affair,” I added aloud, somewhat to the disappointment of the audience. It’s not so much that I gave a shit about Simona’s feelings which I didn’t but rather that I preferred not to hang her in front of her friends. I really didn’t need this room hating me more than they already did.
I had enough enemies already.
Oh, how my throat hurt just then and how my neck was raw. I asked someone for some ice cubes to cool down the burning where the rope had torn a bit of flesh from my neck. My neck cooled down a bit, I left the party and went home, put more ice on my neck and drank some whisky. Just to be sure no-one would interfere with us in the morning, I called upon Chiyo Watanabe, one of my old Tokyo crew who returned to California with me after my self-imposed exile in the Japanese Islands at the end of the Great Anarchy. I asked her to bring an assault rifle or shotgun or whatever she had lying around that was very nasty and then I went back to drinking. I drank a fair amount that night. There was a lot of residual pain as my trachea was badly bruised, but I stayed away from the pain pills. A long, hot shower and more whisky and I was out like a light.
We hanged Simona the next day. She showed up on time and died well. I’ll give her that. once the rope was around her neck, we had the chance to be frank and express our mutual animosity towards one another and if there is but a single thing that we could agree on was that this world was just not big enough for the both of us and she seemed happy enough to leave it so as not to have share it with me. I was fine with that, but lest anyone think I hanged her because I hated her, go back to the beginning of the chapter where I point out that I never hanged most of the women I hated. I hanged Simona in revenge for her insistence that Darlene commit suicide. That’s the Japanese-samurai side of me taking control of my actions. Though the notion of redemption through honourable suicide runs deep within my ancestors, within my own veins and spirit, so to does the notion of revenge.
The story of that hanging itself has been told elsewhere by the artist who did the rendering above, and it’s fairly accurate insofar as I related the details to him in person, and by the police who checked who investigated the hanging to make certain that everything was done according to law, so I won't bother repeating them here. If you don’t know the details, just look for Photobygary's blog post “In The Shadow of The Noose.” His only important omission in relating the story is that after watching Simona die, Chiyo and I went for a nude swim, made love in the surf, then went for another swim before finally calling the authorities to confirm Simon’a death and take away the body. Once the police were satisfied that everything had been done in accordance with the law, Chiyo and I dressed and drove off to have brunch in a nearby restaurant and talked as though we’d spent the morning shopping for shoes or something. My revenge was complete and the bitch Simona was already forgotten.
"I closed my eyes and pulled the rope nice and tight so that I would add to the pain by falling even a few inches"
I'm guessing you meant "wouldn't"?
implacably, as she would if she was in your situation.
Nice chapter.