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Could it be I was somehow his, I asked myself, that I belonged to him as an object to its owner, as a slave to her master? Had I not sensed such things before, of this callous, uncompromising, dominant brute, many times? Could I return, somehow, retrace my steps, seek him out, put myself to his feet, begging forgiveness as a penitent slave? Then I cried out in fury that such thoughts could even occur to me. I hated him, hated him! Was he not the monster who had brought me to the marking iron and collar, the longed-for, ecstatic degradation of bondage, and had then dismissed me, as he must have a thousand others, processed like cattle for the girl markets of Gor? How I hated him, but even on Earth I had sensed, in the profound female of me, that I belonged in a man's collar. Then I did my best to thrust such thoughts from my mind. How different were the men of Gor from so many of the men I had known on Earth! So many of the men of Earth had disappointed me; so many seemed pathetically devirilized, so reduced and robbed of their masculinity. Did they not know they were men? Did they think we longed for "persons," neuters, identicals, or imitation women? Were they ashamed of their blood? Did they fear it? Why did so many strive to diminish and betray themselves in order to please and satisfy those pathological ideologues who feared and hated them? What rewards, I wondered, could repay them for this reductive, stunting, biological treason? On the other hand, I had met many Gorean men, masculine, powerful, and formidable, before whom a woman knew herself as, and could be but, a slave. On Earth it was hard for a woman to be a woman. On Gor, collared, and put to her knees, she had no choice, nor wanted any. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter )