When you are of a submissive bent it can get you into a lot
of unintentional trouble. Anyone who plays games where dropping trousers,
standing to attention, bending over, or stripping completely are a must ingredient has to concentrate
very carefully when such tasks are undertaken for innocent or necessary reasons.
Hospitals and surgeries can be fraught with dangers if the over active mind
does not switch off. Even massage parlours or nudist parties can cause
difficulties if you have recently indulged your favourite pastime. But in the
latter at least you are doing something for fun and you have some control.
Visits to the medical lot, especially if unexpected, can create acute
embarrassment. Mine have come in two different guises. On at least three
occasions in my life doctors, one female, have commented that my backside
seemed a little pink. I usually speak the truth on such occasions. I like being
spanked, I say. It causes no raised eyebrows. The medical profession are so
understanding. My worst embarrassment came when I was in my thirties. And if I
blushed deeply the medical man, a young Chinese doctor, was highly amused.
Problem was I had to strip completely for a full examination. It was at
University College Hospital in London. Skipping over the unsavoury details I
had caught a dose of crabs necessitating a few weeks of specialised treatment
to the affected areas. Hence the detailed examination to ensure that I was
clear. I was, but that is beside the point. Being naked with my hands on my
head whilst the inscrutable oriental checked every pore and orifice, my fertile submissive
mind went into unwelcome overdrive. I was thirtyish, I am bisexual, and I was
virile. In those days. I produced an erection so big it was impossible to
ignore. I apologised. I needed to say something. No matter, he said, you would
be surprised how often it happens. We are used to it. He might be, I wasn’t. Thank
God his examination of my genitals only took ten seconds or so. Any longer,
holding my breath all that time, and I would have passed out. Being naked is
not such a problem when having a massage. I love the indulgence and do not mind
if it is a masseur or a masseuse. Male or female, they all come alike to me. As
long as they have strong hands and know what they are doing. And some give
happy endings so interest shown by the dangly department does not usually cause
consternation. Even those who don’t offer such services take such lower risings
as a compliment. Shows you are relaxed they say. No, the problem usually comes,
if at all, in the behind department. I like, no love, being spanked so any
hands working in that area get unmistakeable signals from me. Especially if the
massage includes a bit of slapping of the hands. Big hands? Naked bottom? There
is no contest. I want one on the other. But you have to tread carefully if you
don’t want to cause offence. I read signals very quickly and adjust
accordingly. The downside is that you don’t often get that little disciplinary
extra you would like. But, occasionally, you do. Two masseuses that I know, why
is it women and not men I ask myself, just love smacking my backside whilst
massaging me. One, a big Spanish lady, even offered to use a slipper on me. I
said no. Massage sessions and CP sessions are two separate breeds. I like to
keep it that way. Overlapping can cause lots of problems. Bit like when you
think you are in an SM scene, naked and standing, and it’s only an examination
for creepy crawlies. Of all my erections, and yes I have had a few, that is the
one I least desired. Alfred Roy
Been busy on the
writing front recently. Some new stories to come, plus one old one. Currently The Boston Landlady (F/m) and my blog
on My First Caning are having the
most hits. Nearly 30,000 in total at the last count.
To Come:
Crying for the Cane
(M/m)
The New Neighbour (M/m)
The Clinic (F/mf and F/M)
Mrs Wilmer meets Miss
Jones (F/f)