Monday morning, I wake up feeling elated. Okay, Lexi the Bag Lady has now outed me as Paddle Man to every internet surfer and their dog. And yes, yesterday I noticed stares and giggles wherever I went. But, so far, the people who actually matter to me have been amused, yes, but supportive. And to top that, for the first time in my life, I've finally had the opportunity to explore my kinks, in two highly erotic experiences on two consecutive days. Spirits lifted, I'm now quite willing to grab life by the horns. I'm even looking forward to going to work today. Let them stare and giggle all they want, I think. Maybe internet fame isn't all that bad after all.
Furthermore, 'Horny me' and 'Sensible me' seem to have come to a mutual agreement about what they reckon I need in life. They have merged, for now, into, well, just me. Horny and sensible, in one handy package.
Consequently, the awkwardness that usually characterises my social interactions has evaporated. This shows when I bump into my hot neighbour Sarah again on my way to work. I actually manage a conversation with her.
"Hi Sarah!" I greet her happily. "How are you this morning?" She looks stunning as always, dressed business casual in straight grey trousers, a white blouse with just the slightest hint of cleavage, and grey pumps with a small heel.
"Hi Alex." She blushes again. I am briefly scared that she heard me with Alicia and Noémi last night, but I dismiss the thought. It's probably just Paddle Man who's still making his impression. "I'm fine, and yourself?"
"Sarah, I've been thinking. We've been living next door to each other for what, six months now? We've never even properly introduced ourselves, let alone got to know one another. I'd like to, though. Would you... Maybe have dinner with me tonight? I'll cook?"
"That's a lovely idea, why not? As it happens, I have nothing planned for the night." Another blush.
"Seven alright for you?"
She smiles her bright smile. "Yeah okay, see you then! Need to run now, sorry..."
And with a cute little wave, she's off. I watch her round behind in the tight trousers as she disappears down the stairs. Briefly, I fantasise about what it would be like to paddle a woman as amazing as Sarah. Feeling caught, I shrug off the idea and make my way to the university campus for a day of teaching.
Usually, I find teaching the least boring part of my job. Most of my students are interesting, and I love helping them develop. This work day, however, starts differently. When I open my laptop, I'm greeted by an official email telling me that I'm expected in the vice-chancellor's office pronto. Apparently, the board of directors of the university all follow Lexi's social media accounts, the vice-chancellor tells me when I have sat out the obligatory thirty minutes waiting time in the anteroom and I am admitted into her office. They are not pleased to see their organisation represented in one of her clips. My defence -- that I can't recall mentioning the uni at any point in the exchange with Lexi, and what I get up to in my own time is none of their business -- does not impress the vice-chancellor as much as I hoped. I get told that I should consider myself formally warned.
Seething, I go off to the lecture hall where I meet my class. The students are hysterical, laughing and shouting. I'm not surprised to catch the words 'Paddle Man', 'TikTok' and 'Lexi' floating around the room. Right.
I walk up to the lectern and switch on the microphone. The room goes a bit quieter, but there's still some laughter. I then tell the students: "You're probably aware of what happened to me over the weekend."
The students laugh. There are cheers.
"Well, I just want you to know none of what transpired had anything to do with this uni whatsoever. None of this will affect my teaching or anything else related to my work here. I have just received a proper bollocking from the vice-chancellor, so please be told..."
My words drown in loud cheers and catcalls. Obviously, the students love the whole situation. Some students shout something about my 'rizz', I tell them I don't know what that is and I prefer not to find out. More laughter. But it's true, I am greatly in favour of giving young people the opportunity to manifest their autonomy in their language. They don't need olds like myself aiming for eternal youth by trying to keep up with their slang.
Then I tell them that we're returning to comparative ethnographic narrative analysis methods, sorry people, and peace is restored, more or less. I have taught this class for ten years now, so I can do it on autopilot, even though my mind is occupied with paddles, viral posts, women who want to be spanked, and the effect they are currently having on my life.
Late afternoon, I am in my office, sitting at my desk. I'm pretending to work on a grant proposal, but in reality I'm using the peace and quiet to process the weekend's events. Even though I am only in my early forties, I have worked at this institution for over fifteen years now. Most newcomers are resigned to the shared, flexible workspaces that have been all the rage in the past decade. As an old-timer, I still have the old privilege of having my own office. I count myself lucky for this perk. I always have somewhere private to pretend doing my work.
Currently, my privacy is disturbed by a knock on the door. "Come in!" I call.
The door opens and in comes Emily, by far one of my cutest students. She has a lovely impish face full of freckles, blue eyes, curly ginger hair, and a curvaceous body that gives off a raunchy vibe no matter what she is wearing.
Today, what she's wearing is a long beige trench coat, a garment so thoroughly unerotic that even a woman like Emily has trouble making it look sexy. It is also surprisingly unsuitable for the sunny weather we're currently experiencing.
Before I can even say a word, I find out why Emily has chosen to visit my office in a trench coat on a lovely late spring day. She opens the coat, and underneath she is dressed in full sexy schoolgirl regalia: a pleated skirt that is more than a bit too short and a white blouse knotted just above the belly button. Most of the buttons are undone to show as much creamy boob as possible without baring them entirely. Knee high socks and the obligatory Mary Jane shoes complete the sexy schoolgirl experience.
"Please Sir, I have not been paying attention in class. I think I might be in need of some... discipline?"
I groan in shock and cover my face with my hands. I cannot believe what is going on. Why is this sexy, curvy girl pressing herself on me like this? Am I suddenly living on the stage of a porn film?
Then suspicion arises. I wonder if I have any enemies among the faculty who could have set this up. Will one of my colleagues, any minute now, barge into my office and try to catch me in flagrante? I quickly dismiss my paranoia; I don't have any actual enemies among my colleagues. Throughout my career I have been harmless enough not to get into any feuds. No mean feat at this uni.
I clear my throat. "Dear Emily, thank you for having the courage to do this. I admire that. Yes, you're attractive. And I think it's a compliment that you would want to... Well, with a middle-aged man like me... But I can't give you what you want."
"Why not? You are Paddle Man, aren't you? And don't you think I haven't noticed the way you look at me in class."
Ouch. Touché.
"Why not? Well, for starters, you depend on me for your grade. It's just not ethical. Besides, like I said, I'm much older than you. It just wouldn't be right, that's all. Why don't you try finding someone your own age? I'm sure they'd be happy to... Well... You know..." I flounder.
She huffs. "They are all children. They are immature and don't know anything. They wouldn't know how to please a woman, let alone give her a good spanking."
"Yes, well, that may be, and if this were another place, and I wouldn't be your teacher, who knows what would happen, but..."
I falter again. My horny side briefly makes itself heard in my internal monologue, muttering "Who knows? Let me tell you. If a girl like her would have come up to me in the pub last night, I would have had her over my knee faster than you can say 'Please Master, make it hurt'."
I dismiss the mutterings of my horny side inside my head and continue. "But as it is, I could not do this even if I wanted to. I'd get into trouble. I have already received a formal warning for the Paddle Man clip, and that wasn't even near the uni."
Emily sighs. "I understand. Well, too bad. You're missing out on this" -- and she turns, flips up her coat and then her skirt. I see yet another beautifully formed creamy white behind framed by skimpy thong knickers. Blue lace ones this time. What is it with all these horny women in my life suddenly? And all of them have that amazingly sexy combination of being strong-minded and submissive -- just my type.
Emily leaves, slamming the door. I feel sorry for the girl, but what can I do?
I decide that by far the best thing I can do is go home early. It's not like I'm going to get any more work done. And I have a dinner to prepare. To show Sarah that I am more than just a man with a paddle, I have planned to cook my 'greatest hits of the Gujarati cuisine', stemming from the semester I spent in Ahmedabad when I was conducting my doctoral research. The dishes have the combined benefits of being tasty and impressive looking, and something I can do by heart.
I purchase the phulka chapati and all the necessary ingredients from our Indian corner shop. I then make a potato and spinach stir fry, a lentil dish, raita, and some onion bhaiya. I have everything steaming and waiting, and the explosive mess in the kitchen reduced to an acceptable minimum, when Sarah rings my doorbell.
When I open the door, the first thing I notice, honestly, is her generous smile and her bright brown eyes. The second thing, I can't help myself, is the way her fabulous tits strain against her black spaghetti-strap top. "This woman has dressed to impress," I think to myself. I welcome her and let her in. When she passes me, my eyes are drawn to her perfectly shaped bum in a pair of tight blue jeans.
She twirls around in my living room as she takes in how I have decorated the flat. "I wish I had put so much effort in doing up my place. I just couldn't find the energy in the past six months. But seeing how you've done your flat makes me want to make more of mine, too!" While she looks around and admires my living spaces, I look at her and admire her body. If it's me she's dressed to impress for, well, mission accomplished.
"And the food! Wow, this smells amazing!"
"Thank you. Are you hungry? We can eat right away if you'd like."
She says she's starving, so I invite her over to my dining table, already set for two. I bring over the dishes from the kitchen. "Would you like a beer?"
"Yes, a beer would be lovely."
We then sit down to eat and chat. I still think "Wow, she's hot!" with every move she makes, but it does not interfere with my social skills so much anymore -- at least not that I'm aware of. Now the only thing I need to do is repress a strong urge to kiss her every time she says something interesting or intelligent, which is constantly. I ask Sarah all about her life and background. She's from a medium-sized city not far from here and moved to this area for work reasons years ago. She is an industrial designer with a PhD, working for one of the city's top-notch design agencies. It turns out the reason she's never home is not because of a lover with a bigger house, but because her job is busy and often stressful. She makes long hours, but she finds it fulfilling.
