Chapter 4: The Follow-Up

As soon as I got to the office the next morning I went to Fiona's cubicle. She hadn't arrived yet. I left a yellow post-it sticker right in the middle of her monitor, asking her to come and see me.

Fiona arrived a little later, carrying a plastic coffee cup in one hand and my sticker in the other.

"Morning, Liz. What's the problem?"

"No problem, not really. I just wanted to talk to you about a personal matter."

"Shoot." Fiona sat down on my visitors' chair, taking a sip of her coffee.

"But this place isn't private enough," I said, keeping my voice down. "Can we go somewhere for lunch? I'll pay."

"Difficult." Fiona answered, shaking her head. "I'm already in trouble with my boss for arriving late. Going out for lunch would only make things worse. Maybe tomorrow would be better."

I didn't want to wait another day. I was desperate to ask Fiona as soon as possible. In the end we agreed to have lunch together in the staff restaurant. But we would take a table at the far end of the dining hall. Other colleagues would probably not bother to walk that far to join us, or they would understand that we wanted to be on our own and respect that wish.

And so it happened. I arrived first and chose a table which was far away from the food counter. I looked out for Fiona and waved to her when I saw her enter the cafeteria.

"So what's that personal matter you want to talk to me about?" Fiona asked as she put down her tray and took a seat across the table from me.

"It's about what you told me the day before yesterday. I can't stop thinking about it. I'm desperate to know more details."

Somehow I knew that I wasn't making much sense.

"You mean about whether my Uncle Sid is or isn't my father?" Fiona sounded a little apprehensive.

"No. About the spanking."

"Oh, that," Fiona said, munching some of her salad at the same time. "What do you want to know?"

"What does it feel like?"

I could detect a smile on Fiona's face. Was this because my curiosity amused her or was it because she enjoyed talking about the subject?

"Last time we talked, we made a deal," Fiona finally said. "You told me something about your love life and then I told you an intimate secret about myself. I think now it's your turn."

This caught me cold. Quite clearly Fiona wanted me to talk some more about the things Roger and I got up to, before she would answer my questions. Had she been turned on by my last revelation, or did she merely want to know something she could use in case I didn't keep my mouth shut about her secret? No matter which, I was willing to pay that price. I just hoped there would be enough time for me to ask all my questions.

"I hadn't expected that you'd want me to talk about myself first. I can't think of anything right now. What do you want to know?"

"Tell me how you met Roger," Fiona suggested.

"It happened at Luigi's," I started.

Of course, Fiona knew Luigi's. There probably wasn't a student at the North London Poly who didn't spend a considerable amount of time at this café, bar and restaurant. Luigi had a soft spot for young people, particularly students.

"I never had a chance to study," Luigi would often say. "I like to be surrounded by young people. It makes me feel like I'm still young." The students used to gather in the 'back room', which wasn't really a separate room, just an area visually separated by a couple of steps down from the main restaurant area. Luigi didn't mind that we sat around for hours, consuming very little. He even tolerated our sometimes noisy behaviour when our discussions got heated.

"That day, we were discussing the pros and cons of distributed databases," I started my narration. "There were quite a few different opinions. I was sitting with my back to the wall, looking straight towards the entrance, when this man walked in. He was dressed all in black and his neatly trimmed black beard added to the impression of severity.

"The restaurant area was almost empty. The man had a look around before he chose a table. That's when our eyes met. My knees went all wobbly, even though I was sitting! I felt like I was going to melt under the intensity of his look. But the expression on his face didn't change. I could feel his eyes burn right through me.

"I had the impression that he had intended to sit with his back to the side wall, in which case I would have been looking at his profile, but - at least that's what it seemed like to me - he changed his mind and chose a chair where he was with his back to the door, facing me. I couldn't take my eyes off him. It felt like I had been hypnotised.

"The man ordered something to drink - I don't remember what it was, probably a coffee or maybe mineral water - without moving his head. After a while he took a small box, roughly the size of a matchbox, out of his pocket. He took something out of it and looked at it as he held it between his thumb and index finger. Then he placed whatever it was on the palm of his other hand and watched it intently.

"I was too far away to see what was on his hand - or if there was in fact anything there. Did that man have a pet insect which he carried around with him in a matchbox? What was it? An ant? A tiny spider? I had the feeling that he was watching me as well as his unusual pet.

"I couldn't help it. I got up from my chair, oblivious to the discussion which was going on around me, and moved closer to his table to see what was on his hand. I still couldn't see anything. As I moved even closer, the man got up from his chair. I ended up standing so close to him that our heads almost touched, but I still couldn't see anything on his open hand.

"Then he put his arm around me and pulled me towards him. Our lips met. It was the kind of kiss which invites clichés. It took my breath away. The world around me went into a spin. Time stood still. He released me only briefly to allow me to catch my breath. Then his lips were on mine again, with the same strength and determination as before.

"I became aware that everybody in the café was looking at us. How should I react? Should I fight against his iron grip to maintain some dignity? Should I pretend that he was an old friend whom I had met unexpectedly? Roger - you've probably guessed already that this man was Roger - made the decision for me. 'Let's go, ' he said as he guided me towards the door, paying for his drink on the way out.

"'Let's go.' Those were the first words he spoke to me, and it never occurred to me that I might object to this request to leave with this complete stranger. He took me to his flat and made love to me like nobody before made love to me."

"Just like that?" Fiona asked with an astonished look on her face.

"Yes. Just like that. It seemed the logical next step, the only plausible outcome. It wasn't a decision I took. Something - or someone - decided for me. Animal attraction took control of me. All I wanted was to submit to this male, hand over my physical being, let him do with me what he wanted.

"Later, I asked him what had been in that matchbox, what had happened to his pet insect. 'Oh, ' he smiled, 'there was no insect. That box was empty. I just used it to catch a curious young lady.' I asked him how many times before he had performed that little trick, and he said, 'This was the first and only time. It was something which just occurred to me. And I'm very glad that it worked so well.'

"The strange thing is that I really feel he's got me trapped in his little box. I'm his, and I have to do whatever he tells me to do. Even if it's just expressed as a wish or a suggestion. If I ever wanted to leave Roger - but I don't think that's ever going to be the case - I would have to find and destroy that box to free myself from the spell he has over me."

Fiona had listened attentively to my story. When I had finished, she smiled at me broadly and said, "This sounds like a tale of love at first sight."

I shook my head. "This isn't just love. It's much more. It's a case of physical dependency."

"Well, at least it explains some of the things you told me the other day. It must be really great to experience this all-encompassing feeling of belonging to someone."

I could confirm that it was a great feeling. This may sound strange, but it gave me comfort and self-assurance to know that I had found my place in this world.

However, recently, my otherwise well-balanced emotional life had been thrown into disarray by Fiona's revelations. Now I wanted her to do her part to re-establish my peace of mind.

"Right," I said. "I've done my bit. Now it's your turn. Tell me: what does it feel like when your dad spanks you? I want to know everything about it, both the physical and the emotional side of it."

Fiona was a little startled by my directness and the sense of urgency in my voice.

"Well," she finally started. "I think I told you already that it provokes a number of feelings, some of them quite contradictory. When I think about it beforehand, I know that it's going to hurt. So there is some kind of fear, a desire to avoid it. But I know that it's unavoidable. That knowledge gives me the feeling of helplessness, the sensation that I have to submit to something unpleasant, something which happens against my will. Sometimes I even feel a little sorry for myself, the helpless female suffering at the hands of a tyrant.