Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown (14 page)

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.

"
Dum, de dum dum,
"
she hummed.

"
Dolly!
"

"
What?
"

"
I can do without Beethoven's Fifth.
"

"
Sorry, that's more Music Club than Book Club. Never mind. Spank when ready!
"

From his perspective at Ground Zero, Dolly's silk panties and the wobbling buttocks there assembled seemed to billow like the Teflon roof of a covered stadium, but George was not about to concede defeat.

However, just as he was wondering where to begin, or indeed how to begin, he heard the faintest of cracks and then another louder this time and suddenly the Chippendale collapsed beneath them depositing George, Dolly and the splintered remains of antiquity in a heap together on the floor. George would reflect later that he felt like Jacques Cousteau in a close encounter with a beluga.

Fortunately, nobody was hurt and they picked themselves up helpless with embarrassment and laughter. Whatever was about to happen would clearly not happen, at least on this occasion. The mood and the moment had passed.

"
Don't feel badly,
"
she told him as he put on his hat and coat and apologized once again for the destruction he was leaving in his wake.
"
Those old chairs need replacing anyway. I'll have something a little sturdier to sit on next time you come round for tea.
"

And she gave him a friendly pat on the bottom as he set off down the garden path.

We are creatures of the forest

Spawned in the heat of primordial fires

Keepers of the flames of trust

In youth
'
s sweet innocent desires
From
Riding in the
New Forest
by CM Jones
I had a normal childhood, if being an only child is normal, growing up in a village in rural
Sussex
where there were still some thatched cottages among the modern brick houses and back garden swimming pools of the aspiring classes. Mum stayed home when I was little because she didn't approve of daycare, although she was always busy with her volunteer work fundraising for various charities.
She was in charge of parenting and cultural upbringing, which meant pottery and piano lessons, which I hated because the teacher was a shrew, and riding lessons which I loved because I adore horses and even today just the smell of a stable evokes a rush of happy memories.
Dad was a stockbroker, something to do with hedge funds that I really didn't understand, and commuted to
London
, striding off to the station every weekday morning in a suit and tie like most of the other fathers and often not coming home until after I was in bed.
His dad, Jefferson Mallory Jones, was a landscape artist and we had many of his paintings in our home. Grandfather Jones died when I was four and I don't remember much about him except the smell of his pipe when we went to visit and his whiskers that tickled my nose when he picked me up to kiss me. His wife, my
Nan
, was the singer and actress Norah Burton. Nan's stories of the
West End
theatre and the characters she worked with entranced me.
She was, and still is, one of the great influences in my life. So when I was 12 and I was sent off to boarding school at the Chiltern Hills Academy I was happy because Nan lived not far away and I could visit her on Sundays for tea and scones and I would ask her stuff I could never ask my mum.
I told her about my best friend at school Jennifer Emerson and how we had a crush on each other and sometimes she came to my bed after lights out and we cuddled under the sheets.

"
Perfectly normal, darling,
"
said
Nan
.
"
Although when I was a gal at public school we had to be very careful not to be caught canoodling. If we were caught we were sent to the headmistress's office. She made us pull our knickers down and bend over to be spanked with one of our own slippers.
I think she rather enjoyed it.
"

One time, I think I was about 16, I asked
Nan
how old she was when she lost her virginity.

"
I was 17, dear, a year older than you are now. I remember it well. I was just starting my stage career and I had a part in the chorus of a show at the London Palladium. The director took quite a shine to me and I must admit I was totally smitten. One day after rehearsals he asked me to stay behind to go over some dance moves and we ended up backstage making love on the set of
South
Pacifi
c
.
Even today I sometimes find myself singing songs from the show.
"
Nan
cleared her throat theatrically and sang a few bars of
Some
Enchanted
Evening,
her once powerful contralto still strong enough to reach the cheap seats. She settled back in her chair and took a bite of a watercress sandwich.

"
Yes, it was all quite wonderful, really. Years later and I married your grandfather and we bought our first house, I wanted to call it
Bali
Ha'i.
Jefferson said, 'That's a funny name, 'Why
Bali
Ha'i?'
I didn't tell him of course.
"

I laughed.
"
Oh,
Nan
, I never know quite when to believe you.
"

"
Then believe this, darling. Don't be in hurry to lose your virginity. When it happens it happens and you will know it's the right time for you. But don't rush it. How about another scone? I made the jam from elderberries I picked from the garden.
"

Jennifer lived with her parents in a village near the
New Forest
in Hampshire and during the summer holidays she would invite me to stay. The two weeks I spent with her every summer were the happiest of my life. She lived in a cozy ivy-covered cottage with a garden that backed onto a playing field where in the evenings you could sometimes see deer. In the lane where she lived all the houses were named after trees, The Hollies, Shady Oaks and so on. Hers was called Beech Grove. There were tall beech trees in the front garden and beds of roses and hollyhocks and, in the spring, a profusion of bluebells and primroses.

Jen's dad, Douglas Emerson, was a civil engineer working for a company based in
Dubai
so he was away for much of the year although he was usually home when I was there, escaping from the extreme heat of the desert summer. Her mother Ruth taught yoga at the local recreation center. She was petite and slim and so young looking she could have passed for Jen's older sister. She was strict with us girls in that decorum and good manners were important, but she was also frank and open and never shied away from sensitive subjects. There was a lot of banter and laughter. I envied Jen the relationship she had with her mother. In truth, I had a bit of a crush on Ruth.

Jen and I shared her room overlooking the back garden. The master bedroom was at the other end of the landing, looking out over the lane. We usually went to bed around ten because we liked to get into our pajamas and read, or play video games, or just talk. Lights out was 11 p.m., but usually it was much later than that before we finally went to sleep.

It was during my second summer at Jen's place when one night I was tiptoeing back from the bathroom and I heard an unfamiliar sound coming from her parents' bedroom. I felt a knot in my stomach.

"
Jen, listen. What's that?
"

She went to the door and poked her head out onto the landing, listening. She pushed me back inside and closed the door.

Jen came to my bed and we sat together side-by-side. She put her lips to my ear,
"
Sounds like mummy's getting a spanking.
"

"
What? She's what…?
"
I was horrified, my voice rising above a whisper. I turned to Jen.
"
Why? What's Ruth done? Why is she being spanked?
"

"
Shush,
"
Jen put a finger to her lips.
"
For God's sake, keep it down, they think we're asleep. It's okay, Cat. It's just pretend. They often do it when they think I'm asleep. She wants him to. They're just playing.
"

"
How can you be sure?
"
I hissed at her. I was aware that I was blushing furiously, a heady mix of feelings and emotions racing through my brain. On one hand, I was afraid that Ruth really was being punished; on the other hand, the thought of it excited me. I was jealous. 'It's okay, Cat, she wants him to.....' Jen's words rang in my ear.

"
Let's go see,
"
Jen whispered.

"
Are you kidding? How on earth…?
"

"
The catch is broken on their bedroom door. It's always open just crack.
"

"
But what if they see us?
"
I was mortified at the thought of being caught spying.

"
They won't. I've watched before. How do you think I know what they're doing?
"

When Jen tiptoed onto the landing and beckoned for me to follow. I did so, my heart pounding. I hardly dared breathe.

Like she said, their bedroom door was open just a crack and if we put our eyes right up to it we could see inside. A light on the bedside table shone like a spotlight. Her dad was sitting on the side of the bed and Ruth was across his lap, her nightie pulled up around her waist. Jen was right, it didn't look as if she was being punished. She was breathing hard and making little pleasure sounds. Sometimes he paused to run his fingertips up and down her back or stroke her thighs. Then he whispered something in her ear and, as if in response, she clenched and unclenched her cheeks, which I could see were already red, until he began again. I'd seen enough. My head was reeling. I almost ran back to our room, Jen following, closing our door quietly behind us.

What I'd seen had excited me in a way I never could have imagined. I wondered what it felt like, or to be the one doing it.

"
Jen?
"

"
What?
"

"
Did your mum ever spank you?
"

"
Never. Sometimes I wished she would have, it would be better than being grounded.
"

I went to her bed and whispered in her ear.
"
If you want me to, I could do it to you.
"

"
Do what?
"

"
You know.
"

"
Not now!
"

"
No, silly, when they're out.
"

"
I don't know, Cat. Maybe. Alright, yes. But not a hard one.
"

"
Of course not, a pretend one, like they do it.
"

She looked at me, smiling. I gave her a hug.

"
I could do it tomorrow when we go riding, after our picnic.
"

"
You mean when we're at our secret hideout?
"

"
Yes. No one can see us there.
"

"
Mmmm. I think I'd like that.
"

Jen had her own horse, Braveheart, which she has had since he was a pony. When she went away to boarding school she let the stables take him over for others to ride in return for food and board. That way he was always well groomed and cared for and there wasn't a trail in the
New Forest
he didn't know. You could never get lost aboard Braveheart. His ears pricked up when he heard Jen's voice and he stuck his head over the stable door for her to stroke and he nuzzled her outstretched hand for a treat. I was to ride his stablemate, Sebastian, a gentle giant I had ridden before. Sebastian and I got along just fine. Dressing up is part of the fun and we certainly had the kit for it. We wore knee-high black leather boots over cream jodhpurs, with black leather chaps, white cotton blouses buttoned to the neck and sleeveless riding jackets that zippered down the front. Mine was forest green, Jen's was scarlet, the color of the hunt. Riding crops, more for show than anything, hung from clips attached to our saddles. We saddled up, put on our helmets, and were on our way.

We started at a slow pace, then broke into a gentle trot. It was paradise, just the sounds of horses' hooves and songbirds and the rustle of trees in the early morning breeze. The sun shining through the branches dappled the forest, throwing pools of light in our path. The bluebells had long gone, but bright purple bugles, like clusters of bells, lined the trails and violets and foxgloves grew in clumps beneath the oak trees. Occasionally we saw wild gladioli almost hidden in the bracken, showing us bright splashes of magenta.