Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown (9 page)

They clinked classes and drank to it. They would be partners not competitors. George liked that. He liked Catherine. She reminded him of Pem, or how he had imagined her, when she was that age. And Catherine liked George, she liked a man she could have a good laugh with.
And it
'
s always useful to have friends at town hall.

Next morning, as he left his flat in Pimlico to begin his research, he felt strangely elated. His destination was London Olympia and the opening day of what was billed as the world
'
s largest erotica exhibition.
It promised to lay out before him
"
the entire spectrum of human sexuality
"
and all for twenty-five quid admission. Yet despite the anticipation he felt and the promise – the promise of what, he wondered – it was the journey not the destination that excited him. For the first time in years George had a real job, a project. He was no longer a retired civil servant.
He was a writer. And if he was going to write erotic literature after a lengthy absence as it were from the field of play, he could do worse than to get acquainted with what
'
s out there.

But what should he wear? How do you dress appropriately for the entire spectrum of human sexuality? A suit seemed too formal, a blazer too sporty and a raincoat, well, too pervy. He settled on beige corduroy trousers, a blue and white striped shirt and a suede jacket he had bought 20 years ago in
Istanbul
when he attended a conference on new engineering concepts in storm water drainage. Over the decades the jacket had lost its buttons, but George felt the unbuttoned look to be slightly rakish and he wore with it his best fedora, the one that been blown off by the wind and run over by a yellow cab two years ago in Brooklyn leaving tire marks and a crease in the brim that mercifully had all but healed.

He felt prepared for anything as he joined the throng on
Wilton Road
hurrying towards Victoria Station. Draped around his neck was the broad strap of his notebook computer now securely stowed under his jacket and in his pocket there was a ballpoint pen and stenographers
'
notebook with which he would jot down his impressions.

"
Olympia
, here I come,
"
he said to himself.

On arrival he followed the signs to the Grand Hall where he joined a queue that was already forming behind a man wearing a top hat and a black felt smoking jacket. In his right hand the man carried a silver-topped cane and in his left a blue sports bag as if later he might go for a jog. George hopped from foot to foot, not in anticipation of acres of erotica, but because he needed a bathroom. Behind him was a scruffy young man in a wheelchair clutching a bouquet of red roses extravagantly tied with ribbon. The young man
'
s stockinged toes poked out incongruously through the frayed ruin of his runners.

As advertised, the doors opened precisely at noon and the crowd fanned out into the red carpeted exhibition hall. Towering overhead suspended on wires were two giant inflatable figures, one male one female, both naked, positioned as if tumbling or about to fall to their knees. Vast breasts bore down on George from above and buttocks the size of hot air balloons thrust upwards towards the glass domed ceiling. He took one astonished look and hurried in search of the facilities. Thus, greatly relieved, he dug out his notebook from his jacket pocket and embarked on a journey of discovery.

First thing: Oh dear, something called the Rackmaster, apparently the latest thing in suburban torture. George would have liked to have started with something a little gentler, but there it was front and center framed by a plasterboard wall papered in a faux stone motif that George could only describe as early dungeon. Beside it, looking bored, a man with a heavily bandaged index finger pecked away at a portable calculator. George wondered if the damaged digit had somehow got squashed in the Rackmaster. He felt sure that, like the spice cabinet he had once bought from Ikea, some assembly was required if the Rackmaster were to realize its full potential and in any event it was not immediately obvious how the device might be operated. But just as he was about to consult a brochure presented to him by a bandaged hand, a young woman in a skimpy gold lame bikini accompanied by a white-haired man dressed entirely in black obligingly arrived to demonstrate.
Carefully and precisely, like a homeless person assuming proprietorship of a park bench, she lay on the rack to await her fate. It was not long coming. The man in black spread her legs and bound her ankles with the Rackmaster
'
s imposing leather restraints. Thus spread-eagled, her head and arms were imprisoned in what looked to George like the mediaeval stocks in a village square. From his vantage point he noted that in such a position the poor girl
'
s bikini offered little in the way of privacy quite possibly in violation of several workplace bylaws, but just as he was recording this observation in his notebook she started to giggle. Perhaps, he thought, she was being tickled to death.
"
Wot you larfin
'
for?
"
said the man in black, not unkindly.
"
You
'
re s
'
posed to be in agony.
"

George chuckled and noted this down. He moved on. He bypassed a display offering intimate area shaving kits –
'
Dare To Go Completely Bare
'
– declined an opportunity to sign up for a swinging holiday in south west France in
'
a paradise created for liberated couples,
'
and he passed on a free shoe shine at a booth from west Sussex that offered
'
the ultimate leather protection.
'
"
Can I do something nice for your shoes, sir?
"
a woman had asked him, hopefully. A couple hurried by hand-in-hand, she carrying her shopping bag jauntily over her shoulder, and George couldn
'
t help overhearing a snippet of conversation.
"
Blow job and a shoe shine at the same time,
"
the man was saying.
"
Not bad.
"

He paid scant attention to Really Orgasmic Sweets, instead focusing his gaze on clothes by Naughty Janet, including a baby doll nightie for fifty quid that he would have dearly loved Pem to
have worn, although he knew full well she would never have done so and would have been cross with him for wasting his money.
'
All Goods Sold As Seen,
'
a sign said.
'
No Refunds.
'
A young couple, smiling shyly and whispering conspiratorially to each other, popped a Slap Leather paddle into their shopping bag and wandered over to a display of wrist restraints decorated with purple hearts. At Erotic Boutique, a blonde middle-aged sales woman with ample bosoms, most of which were on display, was rhythmically slapping her knee high vinyl boots with a riding crop adorned at the business end with a painted leather butterfly.
"
Hello, young man,
"
she said cheerily, as George passed.
"
Would you like to feel my whip?
"
"
No thank you,
"
he had replied, hastily stuffing his notebook out of sight.
"
Can
'
t say I blame you,
"
she said with a smile.
"
It
'
s a bit early for that sort of thing, isn
'
t it?
"

George marveled at the number of masks, paddles, whips, canes, floggers and handcuffs that were on display at every turn. He never thought of discipline as a national pastime and yet these instruments of every size, heft, hue and texture were flying off the shelves. He thought that some of the products on offer made wildly extravagant claims. The battery powered Monkey Spanker, for example, described itself as
'
a vibrator for men,
'
a
'
world famous male G-spot stimulator
'
promising
'
waves of intense orgasms for hours.
'
George thought that was probably a bit over the top and although he enjoyed a satisfactory sexual denouement as much as the next man, if he had hours to pass he would rather spend them at the pub.

However, work was work and after ninety minutes among the exhibits he had filled several pages of his notebook. He perused a gallery of erotic paintings and photographs and had been charmed by a tall blonde photographer
'
s model who towered above him, naked except for a pair of fishnet tights. Among scores of images of private parts in every possible configuration only one had struck him as mildly interesting, more amusing than erotic. It was a small black and white close-up of a woman
'
s thigh on which were balanced a tea cup and a half eaten digestive biscuit. As a backdrop to these prosaic items a mound of unruly pubic hair sprouted like a privet hedge.

But note taking aside, George soon realized that research required affirmative action and he reached the reluctant conclusion that if he were to broaden his knowledge on the subject of erotica he would have to cast his inhibitions aside and talk to an expert. Taking a deep breath, he dived in.

"
Excuse me,
"
he said to a woman who was stocking shelves at Everything Spanking New. She was on the third rung of a small stepladder, petite and very pretty in a vinyl nun
'
s headdress, and when she climbed down he was delighted to find she was half-an-inch shorter than he. She looked to be in her twenties.

"
Excuse me,
"
he began again.
"
Sorry to trouble you, I
'
m researching for a book on erotic discipline…
"

There, he had said it. It was a relief.

"
Would you have a moment to talk? Of course I won
'
t ask your name, I quite understand the need for privacy
...
"

She smiled sweetly at him, smoothed a wrinkle from an embroidered tank top that read Trust Me I
'
m a Pervert and returned it to its rack with the others.

"
I don
'
t mind telling you,
"
she said.
"
I
'
m Victoria Barnes. I
'
m the owner. How can I help you?
"

George decided she could help if he got straight to the point.
"
All this spanking paraphernalia, is it a best seller?
"

For a moment she said nothing as if wondering whether to call for security and George fervently hoped she wasn
'
t really a nun.

"
It
'
s one of them,
"
she replied, helpfully.
"
We sell many different things and fetish equipment is one of them. We also educate people on how to use these things, how to have fun, how to do it safely and, out of this whole range, which things would be best for them.
"

George scribbled this down like a real reporter, and sallied on.
"
So if I were new to spanking, which, ahem, I am not by the way, my wife and I enjoyed…
"
He was getting flustered, blurting things out.

"
I could help you, yes. I help a lot of older couples. The average age at our events is people in their 50s.
"

George felt his face blushing. He was definitely in the right demographic.

"
Is it true as I read somewhere that women like to be spanked?
"

"
I don
'
t. I
'
m a dom.
I can
'
t speak for other women.
"

This was not the answer George was hoping for.

"
Meaning you give, but don
'
t receive.
"

"
Correct.
"

He tried again.

"
But in your experience it is probably true that most women….
"
He was struggling. He hadn
'
t felt so tongue-tied since the very first time he got to his feet to table a report before Putney & District council.

Once more, she came to his rescue.

"
I think most
people,
male and female, have some interest in some elements of discipline, whether it's a fetish, or something different for them, something kinky. We sell accessories to couples mostly, because they enjoy buying these things together. But a lot of single women buy our products either for themselves or as a gift for their partners.
"