Here's the third extract from Spanks For The Memories, my brief account of a thoroughly enjoyable life as a writer of spanko porno. The book itself is now available on the electronic bookshelves at a very reasonable £3.00.
Although the web has created many more opportunities for the fakes and fraudsters to operate, it has also created a quite wonderful space within which ordinary people can interact. This is something that the kinky communities have adopted with abandon. For instance the idea of a munch, a word which combines meeting with lunch, did not even exist when I bade farewell to Britain’s shores, but they are now the mainstay of the BDSM world. Originally they existed as lunchtime meetings, but now they have become the shorthand expression for any group of BDSM inclined people who decide to get together to socialise. Often held in otherwise vanilla pubs with an A to Z atlas or something on the table so that newcomers know which people to approach they are a great way to meet like minded people in a new town.
Needless to say, possibilities exist for things to get seriously misunderstood and with me around that is invariably what happens. I remember going to an evening munch in a vanilla pub and being introduced to a waif-like girl in her very early thirties who asked some polite questions about my book, A Spanking Good Life. Some time later a thick-set giant of a man introduced himself in a broad Ulster accent and after the usual pleasantries were over, told me that he was a former Royal Ulster Constabulary officer. I planned to sit back and listen to his tales of thrashing Fenians within an inch of their miserable lives or something, when Mr Ulsterman asked me if I had a wife or girlfriend. I replied that my wife was in Mexico, and that Raven, my mistress was out of the country. With that someone else started to talk to me and the Ulsterman also turned his head to chat to someone so I forgot the exchange.
About half an hour later I saw Mr Ulsterman and Miss Waif deep in conversation, and then they both turned to look at me, with Miss Waif asking the question that was clearly on both their minds:
“You are a dominant man, aren’t you?”
“Of course, just like him” I replied, gesturing to the man mountain who probably made the entire Falls Road collectively shit itself at the mere mention of his name back in the day.
“You said that you had a mistress,” said Mr Ulsterman, with a puzzled look on his face.
“Well, yes, I do. I’m married, so my lovers are my mistresses. That’s what the girlfriend of a married man is called, a mistress,” I replied, thoroughly puzzled by the question.
“You see,” said Miss Waif. “I told you he wasn’t a naughty boy like you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, mistress,” replied the by now very subdued, totally fucking submissive, Mr Ulsterman.
“Yes, but this mistake has earned you twelve with the cane when we get home, I’m sorry to have to tell you,” explained Miss Waif, who was by then very much in control of this muscle-bound giant who could have crushed her in one hand had he been so minded.
Mr Ulsterman did not say a word, and contented himself with a nod, but I noticed that his hooded eyes were glinting darkly in anticipation of the punishment to come…
