I was drinking a coffee in the college refectory after delivering my first of a series of talks and workshops on the art of writing erotica, when I felt rather than saw, her looking at me.
I looked across to where she was two tables away, sitting with a group of other women, all aspiring writers I surmised, but she was not a part of the group - I was the sole focus of her interest.
She was a brunette, a bit flat chested, but most certainly attractive – and a wide generous mouth of the sort I always find sexy. I did not have any other lectures that day.
I returned her frank stare - holding eye contact with her. Her lips parted, her tongue sensuously flickered across them. I got to my feet and picked up my bag. Signalling her with the slightest inclination of my head, a wink and a movement of my eyes in the direction of the door. Without waiting for her to acknowledge my summons, I strode out of the refectory. In the lobby I stopped by a notice board turned and watched the doors, seconds later she came through them.
"My room is probably better than yours," I placed an arm around her and led the way to the accommodation block where the Summer School tutors and lecturers had been allocated rooms.
As we walked she told me that her name was Ginnie. To this piece of information I quipped, “I hope you're not!” and she dutifully laughed.
I closed the door behind us and adopting the direct approach asked, “have you read any of my books?”
“No.”
“What do you know about BDSM?”
I knew she was hooked when she looked me in the eye and without hesitation replied, “I have never tried it if that is what you mean.”
“Are you willing to experiment?”
“Yes I'll try anything, but what happens if I don't like it?”
“You say we stop and that is the end. To be absolutely frank with you Ginnie straight sex, what is sometimes called Vanilla does no more for me than a wank.”
“Are you always so direct?”
I grinned, “do you always make, 'take me eyes' at strange men?”
“Touché,” she laughed. “So what happens now? Are you going to paddle my backside or flog me with a whip or something like that?”
“No I am not. Pain can be and often is part of a BDSM scene, but for me it is only a part of the whole. The essential thing is submission and trust. You submit to my will and trust that I would not do to you or order you to do anything that was really dangerous.” I paused, getting started is sometimes a problem and so it was now. “Ginnie hold the hem of your skirt and lift it above your head so you expose yourself to me.”
Nice legs, trim flat stomach – no Venus but then I am no Adonis I thought as I glanced at her pantyhose and panties. “Lower your skirt.” She had a nice face when she smiled and that big mouth was begging to be filled. “OK now I want you to go to your room, take off the pantyhose and your panties – when you return only wear a garter belt and stockings. No panties, I want you naked under your skirt.”
“Are you serious?” I saw the doubt in her eyes.
“Ginnie this is lesson one, I would not instruct you to do something if I did not mean it. Now go and do as you have been told.”
Once Ginnie had gone out of the door I began to prepare the room. I took out the toys from the metal photographers case I always kept them in. I washed and disinfected the two vibrators and the butt plug, although at this stage I did not know if I would use them. On the bed I laid the Cat-o'-Nine-Tails, a paddle and the school cane – next to them I placed the handcuffs and the spreader bar. I set up my tape recorder.
I looked at my watch - she had been gone about five minutes. If she came back, she would do whatever I asked her to do, within reason, and if she did not come back I had expended very little time or energy.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
From Ginnie's Journal Like many others I had some misgivings when I arrived at the summer school and saw on the time table a slot entitled, The Art of writing erotica. Was this some sort of a rip-off, maybe porn writers are cheap to employ? I knew very little about real erotica, the hottest novels I had read were Jacky Collins and Jilly Cooper – the genre that in the eighties were called “Bonkbusters”.
When Don Aretino stepped up to the lectern, he looked like an ordinary man, I don't know what I expected a writer of erotica to look like, but it was not ordinary.
He used a scanning look that seemed in turn to make eye contact with everyone in the room. “Why write about sex?” he asked, “Answer because I know about it, because I do it, because I am lazy and can do all my research in bed,” this comment got the ice-breaking laughter he had wanted. “And finally I enjoy sex - therefore I enjoy my research. Oh I should have said anyone who is embarrassed by talking about sex, anyone who does not enjoy sex, anyone who cannot spell cock or cunt may if they wish be excused from this module of lectures and workshops.”
No one stirred – not even the people who earlier had been threatening to boycott his lectures. Personally I was enthralled, he used “Rude Words” so unconsciously that they slipped off his tongue as if they were a natural part of his vocabulary – which I suppose they were.
Something attracted me to him as if I was an iron filing and he was a magnet. Maybe it was his arrogant honesty. After delivering his talk he set up a flip chart and began a workshop on constructing a story line for an erotic story. Pages of the flip chart were covered with Mind Maps. When it was time to end the session he closed the flip chart, “I hope you have made notes, because I shall be using these ideas in future stories. Now there is a lesson for all you aspiring writers – never let an opportunity slip through your fingers.”
