Shadow Lane Volume 6: Put to the Blush A Novel of Spanking, Sex and Love. Eve Howard
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letters without looking at the keyboard.
One afternoon, after presenting Hugo with an almost perfect letters column for his next issue, Bettie said, “Hugo, may I ask your advice?”
“Sure, Bettie, what’s on your mind?”
“Well, obviously I’ve never met someone through an ad before and I’m going on my first date tonight. What should I expect?”
“Who are you seeing?”
“A man named John Philpot. He’s coming from Boston. We’re meeting at a coffee house in P-town.”
“Philpot, eh?” Hugo searched for the name in his customer database. “I can’t tell you too much about him, I’m afraid. He’s bought three issues of the journal. That’s about it. Did you get a photo?”
“No.”
“Bad.”
“Really?”
“You tell me after the meeting.”
“He’s 27 and a construction worker. He says he’s buff and tanned from his work.” Hugo smiled.
“Have you spoken on the phone?”
“No.”
“That was your second mistake.”
“Why?”
“He might not be your type.”
“I never thought to get a phone number,” she mused, beginning to feel less than confident about her first scene date.
“You’ll know better next time,” he told her.
“Do you think he’s going to want to, or, I mean, try to ... you know...”
“Spank you?”
Bettie nodded, her flushing rose.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll want to, but he probably won’t try unless you give him the green light.”
“Really?” she brightened. “You mean I don’t have to play with him if I don’t want to?”
“Of course not.”
“But, how do I get out of it if he asks?”
“You mean without hurting his feelings?”
“Yes!”
“I suppose you wrote him a fairly provocative letter?” Bettie nodded with embarrassment. “All right, here’s my advice: Plead youth and ignorance. Tell him you’ve suddenly realized that you’re not quite ready to play yet.”
“Do you think he’ll accept that?”
“He’ll be heartbroken but he’ll accept it.”
“Okay. Good.”
“Or, you could be a perfect angel, wear jeans, take a walk down to the coast line and take advantage of a certain fallen drift log that’s been in P-town ever since I can remember, and let him give you a dozen or so swats over your pants.”
“Really?”
“Why not? You have to get your first spanking sometime and the man’s coming all the way from Boston to meet you.”
“But, what if I’m not attracted to him?”
“You have a good imagination, close your eyes and pretend he’s Val Kilmer.”
“Are you serious?” Bettie demanded, thinking, ‘I would have said Cary Grant.’
“You know Bettie, spanking is sexy, but it isn’t sex. It can be as innocuous as you choose to make it.”
“I still want it to be from someone I find very attractive,” she said with conviction. “Especially the first time.”
“Well, let’s hope for the best. But next time, get a photo. Now, how are you getting to P-town?”
“I thought I’d catch a bus.”
“Do you have a driver’s license?”
“Yes.”
“Then you may borrow my car,” he told her. Bettie flushed at this mark of favor. Showing up for her date in the bottle green, vintage Jag thrilled her.
Obeying Hugo’s suggestion to wear jeans, Bettie departed for Provincetown at seven p.m., more content in the nurturing she was receiving from Hugo than excited by her upcoming date. “If I do let John spank me,” thought Bettie, “I’ll close my eyes and pretend he’s Hugo.”
But Bettie returned at nine p.m., unsettled and unspanked. Hugo had just returned from a dinner engagement and was feeding his tomcat baked salmon when Bettie walked in.
“Well, that was fast,” he commented.
“I know,” she sat down at the wooden kitchen table with a sigh and put her chin on her hand.
“Tell all,” Hugo said, filling his wine glass and leaning against the mantle piece to listen.
“You were right,” she reported, “He wasn’t my type. Worldview a heady mixture of Rush Limbaugh, Howard Stern and Al Bundy. He liked me a lot.”
Hugo laughed. “Did you break his heart?”
Bettie hung her head and mumbled, “Yes.”
“How did he take it?”
“Oh, he was really nice about it.”
“I guess you never walked down to the coast, huh?”
“No. His amphetamine-charged energy scared the hell out of me,” she confided.
“You can have a glass of wine if you like,” said Hugo. He poured her one and she took a sip.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.
“So, who’s next on your date list?”
“I have two dates planned for the weekend in Boston and I have a friend I can stay with there.”
“Tell me about them.”
“One’s a young shark in training at the Harvard business school.”
“Now that sounds promising,” said Hugo, who’d taken his undergrad degree in art history in Cambridge twenty-five years before.
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