Always looking for story ideas this one came along during a particularly fallow period. A casual remark that I spent a long time on the computer playng my distant son at Scrabble suggested it. I registered the thought, mused on it, and this followed. The mind is very wierd. Alfred Roy
There are some occasions in one’s life when you just have to take stock and ask yourself how did you get where you are? Usually it involves the big things like career, or family, or even where you live. On a lesser scale it involves travel, holidays, or a lousy party to which you wish you had never been invited. And every now and then it is the minor irritations of everyday living like shopping in Sainsbury’s on the wrong day or washing the car when it rains. But with most things, even washing the car, you weigh up the options and make a decision. Get it wrong on the choice of career and you live with it for years. Get it wrong on which train to catch and it just screws up your day. At least you are aware, if only subconsciously, that getting it wrong is an option. But there are some things you do in life which do not seem to have a downside. Walking the dog, buying a newspaper, or listening to the radio. They are just things you do. Like playing games on your computer. It was the last one that got me into trouble, real trouble. And it all started with a game of scrabble.
Let me take you back to the beginning. It is the only way any of this will make sense. I like scrabble, always have. I am not obsessed by it but it passes the time and, since the internet, I can play on line anytime with anyone. My brother got me into it and for a while I only played him. He lives in Australia
I had been playing games with Leo for about two weeks and, to be honest, had dropped the few other strangers I scrabbled with. Games and chat with him was much more interesting. And it was on that fateful sixth game that things took a weird and enticing turn. I had just played QUEST and scored a healthy number of points but it left my T under the first letter of SNARL (ST counts in scrabble) and that’s when he struck. He played all his seven letters and took an unassailable lead. The word he made was STRAPPING. I didn’t mind that, good luck to him. And I sent him a text to say so. Good word I said. Perhaps he misunderstood, or thinking about it, perhaps he didn’t. But he came back with some comment about me needing one for letting him in. I didn’t respond but just continued playing. Two plays later and he had engineered the word WHACK in the bottom left hand corner of the board. Again I didn’t respond. It was just a word. But when he added SPANK on his next play I forfeited the game and closed down. I didn’t go on to play him again for over a week. And in that time I did a lot of thinking. When I invited him to play again I knew exactly what I intended to say.
I went on my computer last Tuesday, just over a week ago, and brought up half a dozen scrabble boards before I found one that gave me the right letters. I put in the four letters of my word and invited him to play. He had to forfeit twice before he found an appropriate response. I had placed WHEN as my first play and he came back with SOON and on his follow up the word SUN appeared. I played a YES and in the chat box said subject to more information. He said he would send me an e-mail if I would give him my address. I held back for the rest of the game but towards the end, scores fairly even, the only word I could make was SLIP. He turned it into SLIPPER and put an exclamation mark in the chat box. I must have got lucky, or unlucky some would say, as I had enough of the right letters to make BARE. So I did so and sent him a question mark in the chat box. The pithy ‘of course’ immediately came back. Stomach churning I sent him my e-mail address. I left school nearly fifteen years ago and forgot much of what took place there. But twice I got slippered by a sadistic PE teacher, once on the bare bum, and I have never forgotten it. I haven’t exactly been looking for a repeat of the experience but I have always seen the attractions. An old boyfriend mixed mild spanking in our foreplay and it was not unpleasant. And now the opportunity for more serious fun was biting me in the face. I couldn’t resist. It was only when I closed down and went to bed an hour later, no e-mail having coming through, that I realised I was getting kinkily involved with someone I had never met and knew nothing about. In the morning I would send him an e-mail and tell him to forget it and let’s just play scrabble.
I didn’t of course. The more I thought about it the more it excited me. It was kinky and dangerous, or might be, but it appealed to my adventurous spirit. I like men, especially older men, and I like furtive anonymous sex. Okay there was no promise of the latter but the world of CP and SM was no vicar’s tea party. I may not be into that scene but I was well aware of it. When trousers came down all sorts of things could happen. Or so I hoped. And a sore bum was a small price to pay for some activity, especially as for weeks I had been virtually a celibate monk. That is what I told myself while I showered and shaved. That is how I rationalised my reactions. Truth is the idea of being strapped or slippered, recreating those school days, was becoming a bit of a turn on. And it was all because of the anonymous, scrabble playing, Leo. And then, over breakfast, that word anonymous got to gnaw at my vitals. He had told me he was a middle aged and divorced gay technician called Leo and he was into whackie-whackies. Well he might be but, equally, he could also be anything else. From a fifteen year old nerd, winding someone up, to an octogenarian, psychopathic, hillside farmer. I aimed to find out. A middle aged Leo wielding a slipper was one thing. The alternatives were way out of my discomfort zone. I needed to get his e-mail and plan my strategy. Before leaving for the office I checked my in box. It was there. Leo Eldridge. So the name rang true if nothing else. And the subject was ‘Sunday visit.’
I read his e-mail three times. The first time I just scanned it, absorbing only the kinky references. The second time I registered all the other key points. And the last slow reading before going to work convinced me that he was a cagey as me. In view of what happened last Sunday, a Sunday I shall never forget, I need to produce it here in full. I have re-read it since returning home and there is nothing in it to even hint at what I was getting myself in to.
From: leo.eldridgetechlab@hotmail................
To: philjwebster29@btinternet....................
Re: Sunday Visit
Philip,
Thank you for your e-mail. Have enjoyed playing scrabble with you and shall equally enjoy, I trust and hope, dealing with your bottom. I have a safe place in which to operate and a number of interesting scholastic implements. Noise is not a problem so you can howl if you wish or need to. From our messages I gather you live in London Surrey , not far from Esher station. I suggest we meet in a café near there, The Green Parrott, around 2.00 o’clock to ascertain that we are suited to each other. Please e-mail with confirmation. I do not have a mobile so will not be contactable before our meeting.
Regards,
Leo Eldridge.
I couldn’t wait. I sent off a reply saying I could be there at the agreed time and, unnecessarily, told him I would wear suitable clothing for our activities. Do not know what made me say that other than the fact that it turned me on again. Small white underpants, tight jeans, and clinging tee-shirts were visualised in my mind. I downed a quick, very hot, coffee and went to work.
We met on the Sunday and I have to say he was everything I had hoped. I don’t look bad, slim and small and slight and only just turned thirty but I am no Brad Pitt. But Leo Eldridge was something else. He was clearly nearer fifty than forty but the wrinkled face had a classic beauty to it. His pale blue eyes contrasted nicely with a distinguished, well trimmed, grey beard and equally controlled silver grey hair. And when he smiled, as he did when I entered the café, his tall figure lit up the place. How he knew it was me I have no idea but he crossed to me immediately and, shaking my hand, expressed his pleasure that I had come. By the time he went to the counter to order tea and cakes for us I was convinced that he could do anything he wanted to me. I could not wait to have my jeans and underpants pulled off providing he was the one doing the pulling. I said nothing of this, of course, I merely thanked him for seeing me and sat down at the corner table he had carefully chosen. We were well into the cakes when he brought the subject around to the true purpose of our meeting. He was a member of a small club and they met once a month at each others places. It was his turn this month and his flat, adjacent to the school premises where he worked as a lab technician was an ideal venue. He thought I might enjoy it so was inviting me to attend. As a guest. To say I was miffed was putting it mildly. The cakes I was enjoying suddenly tasted stale and dry.
‘You never said any of this in your e-mail. I thought it was just you and me.’
‘It will be, if that is what you want. The club meets until about 5.00. I can see you after we have finished our business.’
‘Having made me wait for three hours?’
‘That is the downside, yes.’
I struggled with this new information, toying it all over in my mind, and poured myself a second cup of tea before responding.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this in your e-mail or, better still, just arrange for us to meet later?’
‘I thought of that. But I wanted to give you an opportunity to join us.’
He smiled and picked up a second piece of cake.
‘And, I thought, if I mentioned the club you might not come.’
‘I wouldn’t. I am not into group sex.’
‘We don’t have sex. Or at least not in groups.’
He looked pained at my accusation and, perversely, I found myself feeling guilty. I do not know why because I was the one who was being mucked about. Part of me said I should just go and put it all down as a bad experience. But I liked Leo, I warmed to him in the moment I entered the café, and I still hankered for the sensation of him pulling down the jeans and pants I had carefully chosen. Desire and irritation were fighting an inner battle. Which would win would very much depend on him. He finished his cake and, lowering his voice, leant over the table and spoke.
‘We have all evening, Philip, after the club meeting has finished. You can stay the night if you want to. I just thought, seeing how things were going between us, that inviting you was an opportunity too good to miss. As soon as I sent Sunday on the scrabble board I knew it would cause me problems.’
I thought carefully before I answered.
‘What sort of club is it?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
‘CP? A CP club? Is that it?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry, we are all very civilised. It is just like minded folks getting together once a month.’
‘And beating the hell out of each other?’
‘Not really.’
‘And a bit of fresh flesh makes it more interesting?’
I pushed my chair aside and left the café. I was annoyed and confused. Fresh air and a cigarette may help me get things into perspective. I certainly needed to think. And for ten minutes I did. I was clearly getting into something that a week before I would not have considered possible. I was being invited to join in with a CP club and everything that it entailed. It was not what I was expecting and I was still unclear about how the afternoon would develop. But, as I said earlier, I did have an adventurous spirit and I did fancy Leo. And I had come a long way for this meeting. I came to a decision long before Leo joined me outside. And when he did I agreed to go with him. I must have been mad but the thought of him pulling down my pants overrode all other thoughts. We walked to his car and, as I got in, I prayed and hoped that the churning promise of sexual exploration, even the kinky kind, had not totally expunged my usually well honed antennae.
The flat was one of a block of six, separated by a centre arch, in the grounds of what was a very expensive private school. Being a Sunday the place was virtually deserted and only a handful of cars could be seen. Whether these belonged to other occupants of the building or to Leo’s club members I did not know. As if to answer my unspoken questions Leo informed me that only two of the other flats was currently occupied and both the teacher tenants went home at weekends. So the cars, four of them, were all here for the gathering. I was puzzled that no one could be seen but when I entered Leo’s flat, the end one of the right hand block, I immediately saw why. About eight or nine people, perhaps more, were already scattered in various parts of Leo’s flat. A couple were standing in the corridor when we entered and two more, drinks in hand, were avidly chatting in a large kitchen. To the left of that room the opening to an impressive sitting room showed a few others, standing or sitting as the mood took. By the time I reached the sitting room, ushered in by Leo, I had visibly relaxed. My imagination may have run wild in the short car journey from the café but the tension had been unnecessary. These were just ordinary and civilised folk. If there was a psychotic hillside farmer amongst them he kept it well hidden under either a sober suit or smart casual attire. By the time Leo had introduced me to a variety of bewildering names, a special guest he had met on the internet playing scrabble, I had assessed his club members. With a couple of exceptions I was, by some way, the youngest person present. I suppose that should have unnerved me a little. For some reason it didn’t.
I had been there about half an hour when I realised that things were subtly changing. I was standing talking to two of Leo’s friends, and on my second glass of wine, when some unmistakeable sounds suddenly started up in one of the bedrooms. Or I assume it was a bedroom. A couple of people immediately drifted towards it and one of my companions, an elderly retired accountant, expressed delight at the commencement of some action. It was obvious what that action was. Someone, possibly one of those around my age, was getting a strap or something else across his behind. And judging by his howls it was hurting. The accountant was clearly keen to witness the proceedings and he and the other man, equally old, made their excuses and hurried away. Having no desire to see it for myself I went into the kitchen and helped myself to some of the splendid food that Leo had provided. I passed the corridor and saw about five or six people gathered in the doorway of the room currently the centre of attention. I hoped the anonymous young man was giving a good show because he clearly had a very appreciative audience. I had just finished an excellent salmon and cucumber sandwich when Leo entered the kitchen.
‘Not watching the show. Philip?’
‘Not my scene.’
‘He has a very nice bum. I must go back when they take his jeans down.’
‘I have never been much for watching other people, Leo.’
‘Not a voyeur?’
‘No.’
‘Prefer to be involved?’
As he said this he poured himself a glass of sparkling water and, sitting down at his kitchen table, helped himself to one of the sandwiches.
‘Nice spread, Leo. I can see why your meetings are popular.’
‘We do our best.’
He paused and looked at me intently.
‘You haven’t answered my question?’
‘Which was?’
‘Do you prefer to be involved?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘The situation. I don’t like audiences.’
I heard myself saying this and wondered what the hell I was playing at. Leo and me had met through a game of scrabble and it was clear we were now playing a very different game. My only excuse was that I still hankered for his hands on and inside my pants. And I was not averse to him whacking me if that peculiar key unlocked his particular door. The CP club, with all its voyeurism, may not be my scene but if it got me into a room with Leo, just us in private, then I was going along with it. I came to Esher for sex, of some sort, and talking in the kitchen to Leo brought that fact home.
‘But you could go for something private, just the two of us?’
‘If it don’t break some club rule, yes.’
Leo laughed.
‘I don’t think so. What would you like to do?’
He started at me intently and for the first time since I arrived in his flat I felt a stirring in my loins.
‘Anything you want. Within reason.’
He stood up and crossed over the kitchen to where I was standing.
‘I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, Philip. Within the rules of the club.’
He had said it very quietly and I felt myself getting very warm.
‘Meaning?’
‘I think you know.’
‘I think I do, Leo. And I doubt if it involves playing scrabble.’
He smiled and not for the first time that day I had a vision of my pants coming off. I shuddered and he must have sensed it because his hand gently cupped my crotch. It didn’t stay there long but it was long enough.
‘Come with me.’
As he said this, quietly, he walked out of the kitchen and, meekly, I followed him. I think I knew, I must have, that when we got to the small room he was taking me to that something was going to happen to me that I had not experienced since I left school. I did not understand why, with that knowledge, I had followed. I understood even less the small fact that inside my jeans I was as hard as a rock.
The first part of the next half an hour went very much as I had hoped and feared and it was pure and blissful heaven. Leo took me into the room and closed the door, shutting out the noise that was still emanating from the main bedroom. He told me that a rule of the club was that closed doors remained closed until opened by the participants. He smiled when he said this and I felt myself getting even hotter. He placed a pillow in the centre of the small single bed, this was clearly a guest room, and told me to lie over it. I did not need telling why. It was a large and firm pillow and lying across it would raise a certain part of me pretty high in the air. So I was going to be whacked, but not like at school, and my insides told me that I might enjoy it. He had a leather belt, I saw it when he picked it up, and when it hit my jean covered backside I confess that the feeling was not unpleasant. My hard on probably helped and after six or eight strokes I was ready for anything else that was to come. This was my first mistake. My erection had clearly addled my brain. He put his hands under me and undid the button of my jeans and, undoing the zip, eased them down my spreading legs. I did not resist as it was what I wanted since he walked into the café. And when my underpants followed, slowly peeled down to release my eager cock and red backside, I almost came. The feeling was one of exquisite joy. The combination of my stiffy pressing into the edge of the pillow and my naked bum high in the air was a volatile mix. I sighed in anticipation and was still sighing when he took my hands, holding on to the steel rails at the top of the bed, and deftly handcuffed them to it. It was only while he was thwacking the belt, and then the promised slipper, across my bare bum that I realised I was trapped. I was enjoying the sensation in my backside, and my cock was still pumping and throbbing, but the long absent antennae finally, and belatedly, came into play. I told him that I had not agreed to this. It was not easy as, sensing a bit of non co-operation, Leo had put his hand between my cheeks and started to manipulate my balls. A surge of desire was dwarfing my other concerns. Relax, he said, nothing is going to happen that you won’t like. And saying this he opened the door and I cursed my gullibility. By the time he had finished giving me thirty whacks with the slipper and a further twenty with the belt to my bare bum an audience of at least ten elderly gentlemen had gathered in the doorway. In some respects the number gathered lessened any nasty threat, psychopaths usually work alone, so I relaxed and let Leo do his worst. But as he whacked me, tee-shirt up my back and jeans and underpants down by my knees, I cursed him. And when they left and, closing the door, he put his hands under me and brought me off I still cursed him. The touch was heaven, the climax full and rich, but it was not anything I had agreed to. I was just working out what I would do and say when he released the handcuffs when a noise from outside the room caught his attention. I was left, alone, handcuffed and dripping, and pants at my knees. None of the words that went through my mind could be played on any scrabble board.
I arrived home late that Sunday night. I spent thirty minutes explaining to a young, and amused, policeman, that the gathering was nothing to do with me and a further hour listening to Leo’s apologies. The policeman, along with one of his colleagues, was still picturing me handcuffed to the bed as he questioned me. He would no doubt dine out on it for years. He had unlocked the handcuffs and his mate, unnecessarily, had helped me pull up my pants. And then they had taken me into the kitchen and asked me who I was and what I was doing there. Given the situation in which I had been discovered I could hardly say I was the window cleaner. So I told them everything. Or everything I knew. They seemed content with my answers, took my address, and left. It was then I realised that the flat was virtually empty. I had been left alone in that room for a long time before the policemen released me. Long enough to resolve that I would never get myself into such a situation again. But also long enough to recognise that, given sensible safety procedures, I would willingly repeat it. I may have cursed Leo when he handcuffed me but I was also cursing my own stupidity. In Leo’s bedroom I had learnt an awful lot about myself and when I accepted I was not in any danger I loved what was happening. But I may not always get to be so lucky. I was just making myself a cup of tea when I heard the front door open and Leo came into the kitchen. The confident smiling face I first saw in the Green Parrot café had gone. In some respects, if not many, it may have been my lucky day but it clearly wasn’t his.
‘I don’t know what to say Philip. I admit I trapped you but I sensed you might like it and you must have known it was perfectly safe.’
‘Even the policemen?’
‘Yes. That was unfortunate, and unexpected.’
He poured himself a tea and joined me at the kitchen table.
‘I certainly chose an unpropitious day to invite you for some CP fun.’
‘So I gather. Do you want to tell me or should I mind my own business?’
‘I think you have every right to know, given the circumstances.’
‘You mean me shackled with my bare arse in the air being admired by the fuzz?’
‘Something like that.’
For the first time since he returned I was given a glimpse of Leo’s disarming smile.
‘You must admit you enjoyed it?’
‘I did, but I still don’t understand why.’
‘I could explain, but I reckon that other matters need explaining first. I suppose you could say that I have been raided.’
‘Raided?’
‘Yes. It would be amusing if it wasn’t so serious. Someone at the school thought that our gatherings here were related to drugs. Thankfully the police lost interest when they realised it was just a lot of ageing accountants and academics indulging in harmless whims.’
‘Good.’
‘And you, in the state you were in, were instrumental in convincing them of that. As was the other young man.’
‘So whacked arses come some way below drugs in the police pecking order?’
Leo supped his tea and picked up one of the few remaining sandwiches.
‘Thankfully, yes. But, regrettably, not in the eyes of the school administrator who reported his suspicions to them. I expect I shall be asked to leave.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Until today you did not know me. It is not your problem.’
I did not know what to say. I was in the house of a man who I did not know yesterday and whose world was falling around him today. And in between he had thrashed my arse and brought me off. Indifference was clearly off the menu but what should take its place was beyond my capabilities. I said what anyone would say in my situation.
‘I think you should drive me back to the station, Leo. You need some time to think.’
Thankfully he did as I asked and for the last few days, on the train, and at home I have been doing a lot of thinking of my own.
‘CANE’
‘WHEN’
‘WED’
‘AYE’
‘TIME’
‘SIX’
‘WHERE’
‘HERE’
Leo and I played these words on our scrabble boards, it took any number of exchanges, and after I played the last word I closed down. I hadn’t heard anything since Sunday and didn’t really expect to. But about an hour ago he sent me an e-mail which included his phone number and the pithy ‘Let’s play Scrabble.’ After our exchanges I phoned him up and he told me that the school had terminated his contract and no school meant no flat. He wasn’t too concerned because they were prepared to give him a reference, providing he went without any fuss, and he had private means. And the police had made it clear they were not interested. Not true in the case of the one who pulled up my pants, judged by the friendly slap he gave my bum as he did it. But I can’t say I wasn’t relieved. All they said to Leo was playing such games on school grounds, even on a Sunday, was not a good idea. So it could have been worse and, as Leo said, the day did have some benefits. And as we said goodbye we both knew what those benefits would be. Next Wednesday.
I knew that I would respond if Leo contacted me. Being raided on the day I met him was hardly his fault and the slight hint of danger in his bedroom had stimulated in a manner I never thought possible. It was the latter that had occupied my thoughts for the last few days. I suppose I should have considered the possibility that I might be a star witness in a school scandal but that was fanciful whereas the handcuff scenario held a more realistic promise. A reprise of those bewildering sensations dominated every idle moment. It had started with an innocent game of internet scrabble. It ended with an unwelcome and embarrassing visit from the men in blue. In between, pants down and trapped, I discovered an aspect of my being hitherto unexplored. Having found it, and Leo, I had no intention of letting it go. I went back on the computer to our latest game and, using then last letter of ‘here’, I played ‘eureka’ and scored fifty seven points. Double letter, triple word. With such a score I could not wait for Wednesday.
Alfred Roy