“A Wet Arse and No Fish”: a short story

They were at that stage of being sort of broken up, but unwilling to make a final break.

She had driven up to the capital to see him from the larger city in which she now taught at a high school as a junior teacher. The visit had not been a success. Despite the shipwreck of their relationship, Mandy seemed to Jonathan to have learned nothing. He had invited her up to see if they could spend some time together in a comfortable domestic situation. He was renting a pleasant house in a quiet suburb, and neither he nor Mandy was in a difficult career situation, both being in starting level jobs.

The situation was ideal and should have allowed for some relaxing days spent in each other’s company.

However, Mandy had still found cause to complain:

“You just invited me here to be a drudge”.

Truthfully, he had hoped rather that she would show some signs of being prepared to act like the wife she had once agreed to become, before things went sour and their engagement ended. She was a fairly traditional girl, in her presentation at least, and would presumably expect him to perform all the male roles, if they ever married. But she had always been surprisingly chary about ever doing anything a housewife might do.

So she had driven back to the city, a trip of about one hundred and fifty miles, with nothing resolved, and a standoff in place still. She was still interested, but not perhaps interested enough to put in serious effort if she really saw them as a married couple one day.

Their subsequent long distance phone calls were, if anything, even less satisfying. There was always the feeling that they were eating up money with the minutes, and Mandy in particular was very tight with a penny. Perhaps that unwillingness to spend time and money was reflected in a larger sense in her unwillingness to finally let him go. She seemed to feel that she had “sunk costs” in their relationship and was still hoping to salvage something from it. In any case, part of her still appeared to want him, and there was no lack of sexual “chemistry”.

During one peevish exchange on the telephone, he spat out irritably:

“If you were here now, all I would want to do would be to spank you!”

There was a long break, with some quiet breathing from her end.

“Well, I could come up this weekend.”

“To be spanked?!”

“Well”, she prevaricated a little, “I hope for something more than that.”

So, a couple of Saturdays later, she drove up. The trip took her a few hours and she only arrived a bit after lunchtime.

He assumed she had eaten on the way. And had a coffee or two. She had become almost addicted to coffee while doing her Masters at the university where they had met, and usually had a few cups at drive-through places like McDonalds when on a road trip.

As soon as she walked in the door, her natural elation at completing the trip dissipated as his annoyance with her welled up and became obvious. In many ways, he wished she were not back. Sometimes he felt that the physical side of their relationship was all that worked. It was only when he was turned on, or a bit drunk, that he found her truly bearable.

A lot of the time, he just found her irritating. And this was one of those moments. They say that thresholds are liminal places full of danger, and this one was for poor Mandy. It seemed that Jonathan was serious about the spanking.

She remained stoic, to all appearances, as she went to take her place over his knees. She had had this done to her by him once before, and that had not been erotic either. (He had asked, dubiously, “do you think I have the right to do this?” and she had startled him by simply replying, “yes … you are a man”.) On this occasion, in her confusion, she went to get over his lap facing the wrong way, and he had to get her to lie in the correct direction for a right-handed man to spank a woman or a child, or something in-between.

He caught a glimpse of her pained expression as she assumed the position, but his resolve did not disappear. Instead, he lifted her skirt out of the way, and lowered her panties to her ankles, where they touched her stylish but tasteful shoes.

The spanking was more symbolic than real, but it still hurt, and there was moisture in her eyes when she got up. Perhaps there was moisture down below too, but Mandy was not the kind of girl to share that information.

She adjusted her clothing and sat down, somewhat gingerly, on a stuffed chair in the front room. He sat in another. He should have offered her a cup of tea or coffee, but he was still annoyed with her, and she did not move to do the honours either.

Their conversation was stilted and uncomfortable of course, and it felt like a really pointless business meeting or a summit conference that was barely going to issue a communique let alone make progress.

Eventually, she took the hint and got up.

“Well, this isn’t going anywhere”, she concluded.

He made no move to stop her, and she moved slowly out of the house and onto the porch.

“Give me a call if you have anything else to say”, she said.

Clearly upset, but tight-lipped, she went to her car and got in. Jonathan was honest enough to notice that she looked good, like a classic advertisement of a woman stepping into a car. She rarely lost her poise. Perhaps that was part of the problem.

“See you”, he waved and shouted to her, “There are a couple of places that you can get coffee at on the way out of town. Do you want me to give you directions?”.

She just shook her head quickly.

She drove home fairly rapidly. One of her buttocks was a bit sorer than the other, and she tried to favour it all the way down, stopping a few times to deal with the slight discomfort. She was as upset at wasting petrol money as anything else, and didn’t want to spend more money on coffee. But as she finally entered the outskirts of the city, she relented and got some at a fast food place she knew. She also got something to eat, because she was ravenous. She quickly checked her buttocks in the mirror in the “restroom”, and found that they were now pink but not too bruised. Making herself as comfortable as possible, and taking the occasional bite or sip, she drove the last hour to her home.

As she finally drove into her home street, she ruefully reflected that she had spent all day on a round trip that included barely an hour at her destination, driven hundreds of miles, and she and Jonathan had made no progress.

She winced slightly as her bottom twinged sharply in the car seat.

Advertisements

3 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by RichardP on September 4, 2015 at 1:43 am

    She likes the drama that the relationship provides, but not the relationship itself.

    Reply

    • Posted by Julian O'Dea on September 4, 2015 at 2:03 am

      An interesting possible reading. Some women like submissive symbolism, but not the practicalities of living as a wife.

      The story is based on some real events, but is otherwise fiction.

      Reply

  2. Posted by Julian O'Dea on September 6, 2015 at 11:42 am

    Made some slight changes.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: