(Being an occasional excerpt from my novel Spank – The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown)
They were sitting on her antique Chippendale chairs across from each other at the dining room table of her cozy little flat near the Ebury Street Bridge. As he had expected it was heady with the fragrance of flowers. Dolly Bloom, looking her usual ample self in a floral frock trimmed with several yards of Belgian lace nudged a plate of chocolate digestives in his direction with a plump elbow and poured him a cup of her finest Sri Lankan tea.
“Out with it,” she demanded. “What sort of a novel are you writing, romance, suspense, crime, comedy, a whodunit – I love whodunits – what’s it all about, Georgie?”
George took a deep breath, making a quick check on the crook in his little finger.
“The genre is erotica,” he said. “Erotic discipline, spanking really, there’s quite a bit of that, but there’s lots of other sex in it too.” George thought it best if he came right out with it.
Dolly put down her chocolate biscuit and slowly raised an empty hand to her mouth. She was blushing like a prize-winning petunia.
“Oh, my, is it now? Spanking, you say.” She said the word carefully as if she might break it. It was not something she herself was accustomed to saying. She shifted uneasily on her Chippendale chair.
“Yes, but it’s more than that,” George said. “It also has some of the other elements you mentioned, comedy, satire, history. My intent is not just to titillate, but to entertain.”
“Go on, I must say it all sounds rather interesting.”
So he explained to her about his hero Dr. Whom and his adventures in space and time with some of history’s most famous characters.
Dolly poured him some more tea from her china teapot.
“These women that he meets on his travels, Cleopatra and the like, does he spank them?” She was now saying the word with resonance, giving it the full percussive treatment. If you did not know her to be a very proper lady you might surmise she was beginning to like the sound of it.
“Not all of them, most of them.”
“So these….. spankings….. Dolly seems to be having trouble sitting still, are all in historical context, then?”
He told her about Catherine de Medici, his visits to the National Museum and all the research he had done. When he had finished and she re-filled the teapot. George noticed she seemed flushed. But why? Flushed with excitement, perhaps?
“Is it possible?” he thought to himself.
He knew that Dolly Bloom was a stickler for protocol and rule No.1 of the Pimlico Literary Appreciation Society was No Sex, meaning no hanky panky between members. Experience had taught them that little affairs led to petty jealousies and then people invariably took sides and the whole thing got nasty and the next thing you knew the Book Club was in group therapy and the whole sorry mess was a distraction to their literary discussions.
But George was not visiting Dolly solely to enjoy her company over tea
and biscuits. He needed to test the theory, as the American writer had suggested, that in the right time and place women like to be spanked, revelling in “the helpless display” of their bottoms.
“Well” George thought to himself. “Dolly has more than enough in the display department.
It was time to assert his assertiveness.
“Ahem,” he begins. “Dolly I have been meaning to speak to you about your behavior at Book Club. Do you really think it was fair to suggest to Mrs. Prenderghast that she was an illiterate dimwit simply because she seemedto be of the opinion that Michael Ondaatje’s And No Birds Sang was an anthology of disappearing songbirds. And suggesting to Mr. Horowitz that he should stick to Readers Digest if the comparisons with Rousseau in William Boyd’s True Confessions were beyond him, was, well, belittling. And, and,” his voice rose in
timbre just a little, “to propose to club members that our next book should be Feuchtgebiete, knowing full well that it’s totally concerned with the vaginal and other bodily secretions of a German talk show hostess and that during public readings women have actually fainted, was beyond the pale. For these transgressions you deserve to be soundly…”
But Dolly was joyously and spontaneously ahead of him. Hoisting her considerable skirts she ran around to his side of the table and settled contentedly over his knee.