Spanking Dee-Dee

by Fabian Black

Getting up I walked over to the window, opening the blinds, looking out. The rain had bulked up, running in heavy rivulets down the outer pane. I couldn’t see him in the pitch darkness, but I sensed him. He was out there communing. I could feel his sadness like an ache in my joints. Grabbing my coat and keys I ran out of my apartment and down the stairs.

  He was in his usual meditation place, sitting cross-legged on the wet grass. I strode over to him. “It’s perishing. You’ll catch pneumonia. You’ve been out here long enough. I’m sure you and the rain can’t have that much to talk about. Come inside. You’re shivering.”

  He looked up at me, his hair plastered to his head. “I’m fine.”

  I knew there was salt water mingling with the rainwater streaming down his face. I hunkered down beside him. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  “I feel like my summer is passing, Si. I want someone to share what’s left of it, and someone to spend my autumn and winter with.”

  “For fuck's sake, man, you’re only twenty-eight. You’re not exactly heading into pension territory. There’s time enough.”

  “Time doesn’t stick around, not for us humans. It passes in an eye blink.” His voice caught. “What if there’s no one out there for me?”

  “I’m out here for you, and I’m not staying out much longer. It’s fucking freezing. You need a hot shower and something to eat instead of sitting here drowning in rain and maudlin thoughts.” Standing up I held out my right hand, waggling it. “I’m not taking no for an answer so you might as well get up.”

  He hesitated for a second before reaching to take my hand. Grasping it I hoyed him to his feet and then looped my arm around his shoulder, squeezing him. “Who’s a mad bugger then?”

  “Me.” He gave a semblance of his throaty laugh. “And you’re right. It is fucking freezing. Let’s get inside quick.”

  “At last the man talks sense. Come on, loony tune.” I grabbed for his hand again. “Let’s pretend Mrs Royston is after us and make a run for it.”

  Laughing we ran hand in hand through the rain and into the bakery, racing upstairs to my apartment, leaving wet footprints and raindrops on the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Monday morning loomed all too soon. The alarm clock demanded I get up for work. I got up and looked in on Dee-Dee. He was asleep. I had a shower and shave and got dressed. I’d love to say my mind was fully focussed on the day ahead, but it wasn’t. A large proportion of my thoughts were less to do with teaching maths and more to do with the man in my guestroom. My mind did what it had been doing all weekend, wandering back to Friday night and what had happened, or rather not happened, after we arrived home from our visit to Vicky and Ian.

  After running in from the rain I had shed my coat and fetched towels from the airing cupboard, joking about it reminding me of the first time we met, only he had shoes on this time. Shaking out a towel, I mopped his face and then rubbed it over his wet hair.

  Smiling, he said maybe he ought to take his shoes off now, as they were wet through. Seeing as he was soaked from head to foot I said he needed to take everything off. He did.

  My cock had hardened as he peeled off his wet clothes revealing his body. It was the first time I’d seen him completely nude since our sexual clinch. He was as beautiful as I remembered. He’d shivered, his nipples stiffening with cold, his skin dimpling. I quickly wrapped him in a giant bath towel. ‘You’re cold.’ I had murmured, putting my arms around him.

  “You’re not.” He shuffled closer to me, seeking warmth from my body.

  We gazed at each other and then our heads moved almost imperceptibly. For a breathless moment I thought we might kiss, but he pulled back from it, or was it me? Either way the moment passed. A hint of pink powdered his cheekbones. Lowering his eyes he said maybe he ought to shower before he caught a chill. He could feel a tickle in his throat already.

  I shoved his wet clothes in the tumble dryer while he was showering and then heated up some soup for his supper. Afterwards we watched television, he clad in my bathrobe, neither of us speaking. Maybe he was doing what I was doing, replaying the almost kiss in my mind again and again. Had I imagined it? Was it a product of wishful thinking on my part? Who had pulled back?

  When his clothes were dry he got dressed and went home. On parting our goodnight hug felt different. There was a reserve about it, as if one or both of us were afraid of being misread. I went to bed and lay sleepless, feeling unnerved, listening to the rain drum a lament on the bakery roof. It seemed to tell a tale of lost opportunity.

  I fell asleep at last, only to dream of the almost kiss. In the dream I could see clearly who pulled back. Me. A fear of intimacy had again overwhelmed me. Of course dreams are not reality and me taking the blame for the almost kiss could have been my way of avoiding another fear, that of abandonment and rejection. Such is the frailty of the human psyche.

  He telephoned me on Saturday morning, croaking about starting a bad cold, if not man flu. He felt rotten and was staying in bed. I popped down to see him. He did look rough, his cheeks flaming red with fever, his eyelids even heavier than usual.

  By Saturday teatime he was in the full grip of the virus, alternating between hot and cold delirium. My mum’s genes kicked in again. It seemed gay sons were much like daughters and inevitably turned into their mothers. I decided it would be best if Dee stayed with me, so I could keep an eye on him and make sure he was getting plenty of fluids.

  I all but carried him up the stairs and got him into the guestroom. I plied him with paracetamol, tucked him up in bed and left him to sleep it out, checking on him often.

  He’d surfaced briefly on Sunday morning. Sitting bolt upright he demanded to know what I’d done to his bedroom and then crashed back out again. To my relief his fever broke late on Sunday night and he fell into a more settled sleep.

  In between snatching a quick breakfast, I made up a flask of milky coffee and a flask of soup for Dee, so he’d have hot drinks at hand while I was at work. He was awake when I took them into his room. The heat of high fever had passed from his face, leaving him pale and worn looking. I put the flasks on the bedside cabinet and sat down on the bed.

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Still rough.” He struggled to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. “My balls are aching like hell and my throat is still raw, but at least my bones don’t feel like they’re bending. I think the worst is over.”

  I pointed at the flasks. “Coffee in the red one. Chicken soup in the blue, try and have some, even if it’s only a little. You need to start building up your strength again.”

  “Thanks, Si,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ve been so good.”

  “That’s what friends are for. You’d do the same for me.”

  “Yeah, I would.” He gave a wan smile.

  “Do you think you can manage some tea and toast? I’ve got time to make some before I go to work.”

  “Tea, but no toast. I’m not hungry.”

  “Are you going to be okay while I’m at work?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve survived being ill on my own before.”

  “Only because you had to. Call me if you need me, okay?”

  He nodded. I patted his hand and went to make him a cup of tea. I also made toast hoping the smell of it would revive his appetite and tempt him to take a bite.

  He was fast asleep again when I took the tea and toast into the bedroom. He’d slipped back down in the bed and was curled on his side, his hands tucked under his head. I put the mug and plate on the bedside cabinet and studied him. His hair was flattened and greasy with sweat. His nose was pink. His lips were dry and chapped because of breathing through his mouth and he was making snuffling sounds. Even so, he was beautiful.

  On impulse I bent down and placed the ghost of a kiss on his cheek. “I love you.” The whispered words seemed to hang in the air. His eyelids flickered. My heart skipped a panicked beat. I held my breath. Had he heard? His eyes remained closed
and I slowly let out my breath. Quietly leaving the room I set off for work.

  When I arrived home at teatime he was sitting up in bed, reading, looking much brighter.

  “Well.” Leaning against the doorjamb I folded my arms. “You look more human than you have for a few days.”

  He gave a smile. “I feel it. I think the raider virus has been conquered. My body just needs to repair its infrastructure now.”

  “Have you managed to eat anything?”

  “The toast you left and most of the soup. I dipped the toast in the soup to soften it so it didn’t hurt my throat as much. It was good. How was college?”

  “Okay.” I walked over to him. “Had to get butch and break up a fight between two girls at lunchtime. It was a bit hairy. I thought I was going to get bitten at one point.”

  “I’d like to have seen it.” He laughed. “What were they fighting about?”

  “Not a what, a who. Justin Bieber. One girl took exception to the other one calling him a knob head. Hell hath no fury like a teenage pop fan whose idol is insulted.” I sat down on the bed. “What are you reading?”

  “One of uncle Desmond’s books. I needed some comfort reading instead of the noble literature and manly thrillers you have on your shelves. I went down and got it at lunchtime. The stairs nearly killed me. My legs were shaking like jelly by the time I got back up here. I coughed for a solid ten minutes. It was worth it though.” He lifted the book so I could see the cover.

  “Oh God, Dee.” I groaned when I read the title. It was one of his uncle’s discipline stories. ‘A Lord for Lady Lydia.’ “I thought you’d stopped reading that rubbish.”

  His face clouded. “It isn’t rubbish, Simon,” he lowered the book, “not to me. I know it’s silly, but I like it. It’s reassuring. It makes me feel happy.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a critical arsehole. You shouldn’t have gone down for it,” I chided, “not in your condition.” I studied him. “Are you really still hankering for a life with a man who will beat you, instead of some nice vanilla who’ll treat you as an equal?”

  “You know being ‘beaten’ isn’t what I want, Simon. What I want is…” he sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been thinking. You’re right. The kind of alpha I fantasise about does only exist in fiction, at least in the purest sense, but,” he lifted his chin and gave me a challenging look, “at least he exists somewhere and there’s always a possibility he’ll materialise in some form in real life. I’m not giving up.”

  My stomach turned. “Don’t tell me you’re going hunting again, after what happened?”

  “I’m just saying I’m not giving up. I’ll get the man I want one way or another.”

  “Fine.” The word came out like a tack. “You keep dreaming of your domestic Dom. Lets hope the dream doesn’t turn into a nightmare.” I stood up. “I’m going to shower and change. I’ll make dinner afterwards. I’ve got a chicken casserole in the freezer. It won’t take long to heat up.”

  “You’re cross. Your eyes go a darker shade of blue when you’re cross. Have I annoyed you?”

  “Seeing as you’ve asked, yes.” I combed my fingers through my hair. “I thought you’d got all this discipline stuff out of your system. I thought your experience with James had proven it comes with unacceptable risks.”

  “I admit he was a dud. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  “I hope not, Dee-Dee, for your sake. Are you thinking of advertising again?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll look at other people’s ads first. You never know, maybe the man of my dreams is looking for me.”

  “Make sure you hunt on a managed reserve and not in the wilds of MEETME. If James taught you anything it should be that you don’t bear your throat for any rogue predator to leap at. Promise you’ll be careful and sensible?”

  “You worry too much.” Setting the book aside he held out his arms. “Hug for a sick friend?”

  I obliged, bending forward to hug him.

  He embraced me, making one of his random observations. “Your aftershave still smells nice, Si, considering you’ve been wearing it all day.”

  “I’d like to say you smelled nice, but you don’t. You need a shower to freshen you up. How about you have one later, after dinner, if you feel up to it.”

  “I like the way you tell me the truth, Si, without being mean.”

  I straightened up, and aimed a finger gun at him. “I’ll be bloody mean if you put yourself in danger again, like you did with James.”

  “I believe you,” he said solemnly.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dee-Dee recovered from his cold and returned to his own apartment. The first day of November landed, bringing sharp frost and a flurry of early snow. It signalled the start of Parent evening season at college and a week of heavy work commitments. I left the bakery early and returned late. Daily life consisted of quick showers, rushed meals and preparing progress reports for the next batch of students’ parents before falling into bed.

  Friday arrived at last. I was looking forward to the weekend and slowing my pace. To my delight my after class appointments ran almost to time and the last appointment of the evening cancelled altogether. I was able to get away earlier than anticipated.

  Dee-Dee was on my mind as I drove home. I hadn’t seen him all week. He’d been having earlier nights, sleeping away the last vestiges of the virus he’d had. I’d spoken to him the previous evening when I took a break for coffee. I rang him and invited him to join me. He’d declined. He was busy, he said. Doing what I asked, grinning when he snootily informed mister teacher sir that he wasn’t the only one with things to do. I took it as meaning he was working on a new art piece, perhaps getting baby Chloe out of his head and onto paper or canvas.

  I was determined to catch up with him over the weekend. I’d missed his company, his smile, his observations, in fact his entire presence. I ached to see him. Absence, it seemed, really did make the heart grow fonder. I planned calling on him as soon as I got home to the bakery, to invite him out for a meal. It would be my treat, and a good way to kick off the weekend.

  I knocked on his apartment door, little bubbles of excitement forming in my stomach at the thought of seeing him. He opened it, his eyes widening with surprise.

  “Si! I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were working late again.”

  “My last appointment cancelled.” My cock twitched appreciation at the sight of him. He looked sexy. He was wearing black jeans and the Ben Sherman shirt that had usurped the shabby collared pinstripe to become best shirt. I stepped past him into the hall, joking, “who were you expecting, someone important from the look of you. Don’t tell me you’ve got a secret boyfriend.”

  “Not a boyfriend.” He closed the door. “Not yet anyway.” He blushed, looking flustered.

  My heart turned to stone and my mouth went bone dry. I had to moisten my lips before I could speak. “Who is it?”

  “A guy.”

  He walked into the living room. I followed.

  “Yeah, I got that bit. What guy? Where did you meet him?”

  “I haven’t yet. Tonight will be the first time. We’ve exchanged a few emails.”

  “You advertised again?”

  He nodded, averting his eyes from mine.

  “Explains why you were too busy to come up for coffee. Why didn’t you tell me you’d acquired another cyber boyfriend?”

  “You’ve been so busy all week. I didn’t want to disturb you. I was going to tell you.”

  “After the event from the looks of it. I’m guessing you didn’t want me discouraging you.”

  “I didn’t want you worrying about me, not when you had a heavy workload to get through.”

  “So who is this guy, what’s he like?” Jesus. I inwardly cringed. I sounded like a Victorian pater sounding out his daughter’s suitor.

  “He’s called Mick. He’s thirty-four. He’s ex army and works for a security agency.”

  “Thirty
-four. He’s quite young then.” I experienced a stab of jealousy. “What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out when I meet him. We agreed not to exchange photos. Looks aren’t our primary interest. He gave me his vital stats and I gave him mine.”

  “And his are?”

  “He’s six two, heavy build, cropped fair hair, hazel eyes. He likes the thought of a relationship where there’s a clear chain of command, like in the army. He was a captain.”

  “Was he indeed?” I tried not to sound sour. “What site did you meet him through?” The question made the pink in his cheeks glow hotter. I frowned. “You went on MEETME again, didn’t you?”

  “I like their slogan. You know how I feel about fetish sites,” he said defensively. “I don’t want a scene man and Mick isn’t. He admitted he’d dabbled a few times, but it was never quite what he wanted.”

  “You don’t know what he is, or what he wants. He could be anything. Exchanging a few emails with a man isn’t the same as knowing him. He could be telling you any old shit.”

  I dragged my mobile out of my jacket pocket. It took a minute to connect to MEETME and a minute more to locate his ad. My lips tightened as I read it. It was a pruned, less poetic version of the original.

  Hi, my name is Dee-Dee. I’m 28 years old, 5’9’, slim build, clean-shaven, brown hair and brown eyes. I’ve been told I’m nice looking in a boy next-door kind of way. I’m searching for a man to live my life with, but not just any man.

  I want a strong man who won’t be afraid to take charge of me when necessary. I want a wise man who will guide and advise me, and a kind man who will cherish and love me 24/7. In short I want a man with old-fashioned values to rule my heart and my home. If you think you might meet my requirements get in touch to arrange a meeting.

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket. “You say you want a man to advise you and yet you ignore advice when it’s given, by me anyway.” His intercom suddenly buzzed, making me jump. I looked at him, wild eyed. “Dear God, please tell me that isn’t Captain Mick, please tell me you haven’t arranged for him to come here?”