The Art of Correction by Tara Black

Author:Tara Black
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780753538692
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

14

Big Pants

I said a whole bunch of stuff when I got back in last night and I’ve just wiped the lot. All it was was me ranting about how sick this business is, over and over. OK, I suppose that is what the average person might say who walked in to find this respectable middle-aged woman being beaten black and blue by choice. But one thing I did learn from those sessions last year was how going on and on disgustedly is a dead giveaway, more likely than not. Especially if sex is involved. Like the rabid anti-gay who’s terrified he’s one himself. It was just so bloody obvious this morning and I’m going to come clean. Try to, anyway. Try to think the thing through. I mean, when it comes down to it, whatever I may think I think or ought to think, what happened turned me on. Right on. So I’m going to go through it step by step.

Naturally I was really uptight about the whole thing by Friday and couldn’t concentrate properly on work. So much so I nearly chickened twice in the afternoon and phoned the College, but of course I didn’t because it was too late. I couldn’t let her down at the last minute. When I turned up we went straight downstairs where this time the curtain was drawn back and the trestle all lit up. Mrs R was in a long black thing and introduced me to this woman in a short yellow dress called Nancy who runs a high-class massage parlour place off Market Street. She was all petite and demure-looking and explained how she owed a favour for all the help in getting a licence. Some favour.

Then Mrs R lifted her robe showing a pair of full knickers and got in position over the trestle. Obviously we were going to get underway without more ado, but it was strangely a case for me of so far, so good. My stomach had even settled a bit with the polite chat and that big covered bottom on display looked, well, even a bit homely. But then Nancy came right up to me saying ‘May I?’ and suddenly she’s got my head between her hands, staring. She’s kind of Asian-looking and whether that’s the reason or not I don’t know but I can’t make out her expression at all. I can’t see a thing in her eyes, but I’m feeling that she’s seeing all there is to see in mine, and that includes things I don’t know are there. What a weird feeling – not scared exactly, more frozen, rabbit-in-headlights sort of thing. But then she breaks the spell and says I’ll do with a funny little smile.

Out of her bag comes a clothes brush, a wooden thing with a flat back and it’s not going to take many guesses to get what it’s meant for. But she’s handing it to me – to me – and next she’s outlining the whole area of the black pants and telling me to give it my best shot.

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