My Roman Crucifixion (Part 2) - Bystanders and Soldiers Account

A Woman’s Account: I Watched Him Fall Apart

And I Liked It

Yes, I was there.

I didn’t stumble on it by chance, like the merchants and fishwives who pretend to be shocked while clutching their pearls. No — I heard there’d be a scourging that morning and made sure to be there early, front row. I’ve learned how to weave through the crowd to find the best place: close enough to see blood, not close enough to be splashed.

And when they brought him out?

Oh, I knew I’d chosen well.

He wasn’t much to look at — at first. Dirty, gaunt, sunken from time in the cells. But he had something behind the eyes - defiance, maybe. That made it better. It’s always more satisfying when there’s a little pride to crush.

They dragged him forward. Two soldiers. Silent. Efficient. And then - the part I love - they stripped him.

Always they seem surprised and shocked by this, they are confused and unsure when it will end, will they be left in there most personal cloth or stripped completely. It’s also the first time they have seen the crowd and they are overwhelmed by the shear number of people - men, women and children, their eyes fixed on the condemned, studying every part of their body. 

I love the suspense and drama. The erotica of nakedness. 

His robe fell easily. The undercloth took more work. He tried to resist, clutching at it, turning his hips. But they ripped it down. It caught on his knees, then tore away. He was naked. Utterly.

And the crowd drank him in. I drunk it in. 

They had shaved him. Everywhere. No hair to hide behind, not even a hint of shadow across his loins. His penis hung small and pinkish-red, shrivelled from fear and cold. The glans was fully exposed, the skin drawn back - perhaps from the lash, perhaps from humiliation. His testicles sagged tightly beneath, small and insignificant. The whole thing twitched as he tried to turn away.

I laughed.

So did others. But for me, it wasn’t just amusement - it was pleasure. The raw vulnerability of a man who thought he’d matter. And now here he was: naked, shaved, on display.

I chose my position wisely, I was to the right hand side of him, it was fun to see his little genitals bounce and flop around during the scourging. You see when they are tied to the post they draw themselves closely, using the post to provide some modesty cover. However as they are whipped they usually twist and turn, especially if they see where the whip is likely to fall. This provides a small glimpse of their manhood. 

Obviously all this hiding is in vain as the next phases provide full exposure, but many don’t know what is next so they hang on to the believe that they should try to maintain modesty the best they can. They also usually smash their private members into the post as they flex, which adds another layer of pain and humiliation. 

My position also provides an ideal position to see his face, his expressions, his gaze. 

When they tied him to the post, I leaned forward. I watched his buttocks tense as the first lash landed. I heard his breath catch. Then came the scream, sharp, involuntary.

The whip tore him apart. Each strike painted him red: shoulders, ribs, back, thighs. When it wrapped around to his belly and loins - oh, that was art. One lash caught the side of his groin. He jerked, his penis bouncing helplessly. Another landed squarely across his buttocks, leaving two deep cuts. The crowd groaned in pleasure. One old woman covered her mouth, gasping.

But I smiled.

Today the crowd had a larger contingent of women, I suspect this was due to his apparent rape of a young girl. The crowd seemed more angry and rowdy than usual, this made me more excited than ever. I suspect they would want more. 

Some wanted him gelded, one woman shouted to the soldier to de-man him. The crowd joined in shouting “geld him, geld him”. I joined in too. 

I had never seen the gelding of a man before so was very excited. I had seen this happen to animals, and the thought of this man having his most sensitive part removed in such a public manner was exciting and erotic. The senate refused as it was not part of the initial sentence and could not be added retrospectively. 

I watched the way his body squirmed, how his hips twisted in useless attempts to shield himself. But there was no hiding. The shaved skin made everything visible - the lash marks, the swelling, the shaking in his thighs.

The forced shaving was given to some prisoners but most were left intact. You see body shaving was very personal and unpleasant for the condemned, however provided another level of public degradation. This allows more ridicule from the crowd. For the soldiers it would show they worked harder than usual for the justice system. As one of the proponents of his crimes was a chief magistrate, the powers above would look favourably on the soldiers for their extra creative efforts. 

At first I thought they had just shaved his underarms and pubis, however as I was so close I could see he was completely bare, his arms, his legs, all smooth as a baby. 

During the frequent twisting and turning I was able to study his manhood. It was the smallest I had seen, while most of the time only the glans were visible, with the majority buried in his loins. Behind the glans was many folds of excess skin. I didn’t think he was circumcised, he just had a short foreskin which had retracted due to the cold and fear, or by the hands of the guards. I had noticed before on other occasions that the guards had placed a very fine hemp string around the penis behind the glans to stop the foreskin from returning to its natural position. This was done to further expose the person and adds more layers of ridicule. The string was well hidden so no one really knew the guards had done the deed, it’s just I am very inquisitive. 

By the end, his back was pulp. His legs slick with blood. His manhood was no longer part of him - it was part of the spectacle.

Those closest to him had blood spattered on their clothes, their faces, even in their hair. For some this was an accident as they had got too close, however many others choose this position for this reason. For me I didn’t like the idea of being splashed as I didn’t have many cloths that could be washed. However some wore old cloths of a darker cloth so didn’t mind. 

Some were proud to receive a shower of human blood and flesh. Some would happily pick off pieces of skin and flesh and show it to their friends and neighbours in the crowd. It was their trophy. 

At this stage he had received twenty lashes and was hanging from his bounded wrists. He had twisted and all his parts were visible. A soldier pored some water over his head and he recovered and stood up in front of the pole.

I thought he would be unbound and the procession would start - however the crowd wanted more. I could tell the soldiers were tired and wanted to move on, however the senior agreed with the crowd and said ten more. They had already untied the condemned. 

As they went to retie his wrists to the post the senator told them to spin him around to the front as he deserved a full service. The crowd laughed and clapped, shouting “more, more, more”.

The already broken man stood facing the soldier, he was trembling severely, I could see him looking into the soldiers face, perhaps asking for pity, but there was no pity. The soldier had to be tough, it could mean promotion, more money, greater status - the seniors were looking  on and the soldiers must impress. 

This was more fun for the crowd, seeing the condemned react and try to protect himself. He started by following the eyes of the soldier, it give him an idea of where the soldier would stick, however the soldier realised this and would divert his eyes to play games. 

At the beginning the condemned would twist or raise his knee to protect the most sensitive parts, the groin, stomach, but eventually he was caught out by the soldiers eye games. 

This was so much fun. 

The best bit was seeing his small boy parts bounce and flick around as part of the voluntary and involuntary movements. 

By now he was bleeding all over, but still he tried to remain composed and dignified. At the end of each run of ten strikes he would stand with his head up high. During the scourging he was a wreck, all over the place, flailing his body, pissing himself, screaming like a girl, but during the rest periods he showed a small amount of pride. By now he realised he was exposed and could not really hide himself. When he realised his nudity he would draw his legs together and try to hide his boy bits, but we had all seen them, mocked them. 

The crowd sensed his defiance, they wanted more. The soldier was tired and sat down for some water while the condemned was untied - he immediately dropped to the ground. His eyes were still open and scanning the crowd. 

As before one man shouted “geld him, he raped a girl”, whist others joined in “geld him, geld him, geld him”. One shouted to the senator to change the sentence but the senator said he couldn’t. 

In the excitement I shouted that they should whip him there until it’s destroyed. I was surprised by my outburst, but such is the draw of the event. Others in the crowd suggested the same, the senator agreed and told the soldier to do ten more. 

The crowd shouted “destroy it, destroy it, destroy it”…

You see I had seen this happen before - a previous criminal had raped many women in the community including some girls and boys. Gelding was not part of the rules for crucifixion so could not be used, however the soldier used the whip to continually beat the criminal on the private area. Eventually his penis was a mush and his scrotum split open. It was the most grotesque event I had ever experienced as his testicles fell from his sack. They were not cut off by the soldiers and he walked the procession with them hanging half way down his leg. Unfortunately he was not crucified as he died before he reached the site. The trauma caused too much blood loss. 

The soldiers were punished for not obeying the crucifixion order. 

The soldiers begrudgingly tied him back up to the post for the final session. The soldiers must have been aware of the event where the prisoner died and decided to change the whip. The senator agreed to their request. The whip was heavier and had only one large thong, there were no weights or bone in the tips, therefore there would be no additional bleeding, just the raw weight crashing on soft tissue.

The prisoner was scared and surprised as I guess he hadn’t heard the earlier comments. He didn’t know what to expect until the supporting soldiers tied ropes around his ankles and pulled his legs apart. 

He now knew what was next. He looked up at the sky as if to say “take me away”. But there was no respite, only more pain. 

The crowd was silent, bracing themselves for the scream. 

The soldiers started slowly, he hit the inner thighs of the condemned, left and then right and just below the sensitive centre area. They still hurt as he used much force, but worse was to come. 

The soldiers lined himself up along the centreline whilst the condemned closed his eyes in anticipation. The soldiers struck from below with much force, the single heavy thong struck the underside of his genitals. His balls and penis head were hit from below, they bounced many times in sympathy. The screams were deafening, emanating from his gut, hollow and raw. The crowd were initially quiet, but then laughed loudly. 

The next was to the man’s stomach, again a raw cry. He was weeping now, I think all pride gone. 

The next strike was to the front of the genitals. The man, seeing the soldiers posture tried to turn but his leg bounds were held firm by the assisting soldiers. 

The soldier now played with him. The soldier raised the whip and in anticipation the condemned closed his eyes. The soldier pretended to hit the condemned but held back. Once the condemned opened his eyes to check, the soldier let rip with much force, completely surprising the condemned. Again there was a shrill, piercing scream from the condemned. He tried to bend over to relieve the pain deep in his stomach but the bonds stopped him. 

Before he had time to take a breath, the solder hit him on the outer thigh, not so painful accept he used much force. 

The last strike came, much like the first, to the underside of the genital, crashing into his small tight ball sack. I thought they would split due to such force but the skin held them firmly in place. At this time the man fainted. He was let down and some more water thrown on him to awaken his soul. He was broken now and lay there for a while. 

I felt high with excitement, this was the best scourging I had seen, it was extremely erotic, I think the crowd were delighted too. 

And then - the walk.

They tied the patibulum to his arms, and he stumbled forward. Naked still. His genitals swayed with each step, darker now from bruising, the glans angry and raw. I followed. Of course I did.

People taunted him, but I didn’t speak. I just watched. I let my eyes trace the tremble of his legs, the twitch in his belly. Once, he fell - and the crossbeam slammed down on his back. He groaned. I felt a thrill run down my spine.

This was the best event I had seen, I vowed to attend all executions I could from now on. I don’t know why I enjoyed this so much, but I did in a sexual way. I felt very aroused the whole time, I guess it was also the suspense. I felt a bit dirty, did others feel the same way, is this why they were here. Anyway it was my secret and no one needed to know. 

I think one of the reasons is the slow unraveling of a man, what you see, how they react to each situation. Nothing is part of a usual routine, they are completely abandoned by the world, by time, by decency - it’s like unraveling an onion, one layer at a time. 

In his case the first layer was imprisonment, the lose of liberty, then the whipping and forced confession. No one believes the confessions are forced but they are, there are never any witnesses, the victim of the crime sometimes never sees the accused. The state just wants someone to blame, someone to punish, anyone as long as it’s public and all see - that keeps discipline in Rome, nothing else. 

The next layer of peeling the spirit is the sentence. Most slaves don’t understand what will happen to them. What is crucifixion? What is scourging? They don’t understand the words. It’s all a shock when it happens. You can see the surprise on their faces. 

The next layer for this criminal is the forced shaving. Hair makes a man, a man. Without body hair they are boys, or perhaps women who commonly shave their private parts if they have the resources. Hair hides the cuts and bruises from the crowd. The guards pretext is that it purifies the man, but really it’s just for humiliation - it draws the crowds eyes to the groin area and subjects the accused to further ridicule. 

Most men are not shaved, hence this criminal has been subject to further punishment. 

Layer five was the removal of the cloths, this was a complete surprise to the criminal, I could see it in his eyes, he looked confused and although he tried to hold on to his underwear, the soldier were too strong. Besides they do the de-frocking so quickly there is little time to react. I call this layer exposure. 

Exposure is one of the primary aims of the sentence and execution. 

The next layer to remove was bodily control. His arms were outstretched above his head so he could not move. Sometimes his legs were affixed too. He had no way to control his body, he was at the mercy of the guards. 

The seventh layer to be unraveled is the control of a persons senses and personal dignity - their bodily functions. He tries to maintain control over his bodily functions including uncontrolled speech, urination, and deification. However the pain of the scourge always results in uncontrolled screams, always peeing himself and sometimes shitting himself. The last two are always done in private so remain highly humiliating. These functions are now conducted in pubic, in full view of hundreds of strangers. There is no way also to clean afterwards so the stains are there to see until the end. The crowd ridicule and shout abuse while this happens, they love the spectacle. 

Bodily function also includes the lose of blood. When a person is injured or cut they wish to hide away, to rest, to tend their wounds or to seek help from others. Here the body is subjected to severe beating and blood lose. Some in the crowd enjoy being splashed by the condemned man’s blood, some pick up and examine pieces of their flesh. Nothing is out of bounds, their body is not theirs anymore, it’s owned by Rome, by the soldiers, by the crowd. 

We arrived, the final part of the journey, his last steps. 

I often ask myself why do I enjoy this so much, there are multiple reasons. Firstly I am married to an old man, he is a drunk, he hits me when he wants and gives me money when he wants something. We never sleep together and don’t have children despite me wanting some previously. I cannot leave as I have no money and no work skills. 

My father had the same manner as him, beating my mama and me, always drunk. 

I like to see nudity: nudity is not allowed in Roman society, men may bath together but it is done discreetly and separate from woman. Woman may bath together too. Seeing nude men in this situation is the only option available. I know we see appalling brutality but that is part of the enjoyment. 

At the hill, they nailed him.

He thrashed when the spikes went in. Not from surprise, but from realization - this was final. This was it. He had no more chances to resist, no clothes to hide behind, no breath that wasn’t borrowed in agony.

When they raised the cross, his body sagged - and everything sagged with it.

His penis pulled downward from the weight, flaccid and swollen, the glans dull and bruised. His testicles hung like overripe fruit. I saw the sweat glisten on his thighs. I saw the way he tried - and failed - to hold himself up for breath.

Although I had seen all the pain, the humiliation he went through, I wanted more. I wanted a trophy, I am not sure why but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to be quiet, to not raise my profile so I approached one of the guards. 

I told the guard he should be gelded. The guard said why, hadn’t he been through enough already. I said “no, he raped a girl”. The guard said “if you pay me enough, I’ll do anything for you”.

I walked away, I had no money, I was a poor housewife. But a vowed to save money for a future crucifixion. 

People laughed. Others threw stones. I said nothing.

But inside, I felt… warm.

A form of erotica flowed from my loins. 

It wasn’t lust, exactly. It was something older. Deeper. The pleasure of watching a man undone - slowly, publicly, irrevocably.

He’d been someone once. A speaker, maybe. A braggart. A man who used his words like weapons. But Rome took his words. Then his clothes. Then his skin. Then his life.

By the time he died, he wasn’t a man. He was a message.

And I heard it loud and clear:

No one is too proud to bleed.

I turned and walked away, calm, content, satisfied, happy. 

And that night - when I closed my eyes - I saw him still.

Dangling.

Dripping.

Exposed to the gods and everyone else.

With a smile, I recalled that I was the girl he raped, only I made it up and the authorities believed me. 

When I first saw him, I thought he was a worthy contender for the special treatment. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time - it was his fault. 

I slept happy.