My tummy was hurting the other night, and my Master bought me some very yummy ginger beer to help it. But then I noticed the logo, a little stem ginger person, and had to giggle, because I cannot see a knobbly “ginger root” anymore without getting as giggly as a schoolgirl….

Their ginger hot tips are quite useful — and amusing — to devotees of figging!

Purchasing Fresh Ginger
When shopping for fresh ginger, look for pieces with a plump, smooth, somewhat shiny skin. If its wrinkled or cracked, the ginger is drying and past its prime. Never substitute dried ground ginger for fresh. It simply doesn’t taste the same.

Storing Fresh Ginger
Fresh ginger will get moldy in the refrigerator. It’s best to store it at room temperature much like you would potatoes. Ginger will eventually sprout little buds. These are considered a pungent delicacy in many parts of Asia. Just pinch them off and enjoy. Some people freeze their ginger, although we don’t recommend it as it alters the flavor. [Zille note: it doesn't seem to get in the way for figging, however, which is handy!] Others store their fresh ginger in dry sherry or Madeira in the refrigerator for up to 3 months. The ginger will impart some of its flavor to the wine, but that’s a minor disadvantage when weighed against having peeled ginger ready and waiting to be used. The ginger-flavored wine can be used in stir-fry dishes, salad dressings, sauces, etc.

Preparing Fresh Ginger
To prepare fresh ginger, peel only the skin of this knobby-looking rhizome (an under-ground stem). Use either a vegetable peeler or sharp knife. One ginger fan suggests scraping off the skin with an ordinary spoon. “It works great and it seems like you don’t lose so much of the good stuff.” Depending upon your recipe, fresh ginger may be sliced, diced, minced, grated, shredded or juiced.

Ginger as an Aphrodisiac
If you’d like to whip up a recipe loaded with aphrodisiacs, try a recipe that calls for ginger, cinnamon and cloves - spices traditionally used for their ability to inspire amour. Ginger’s aphrodisiacal properties are tough to prove, but ginger does enhance circulation and has been credited through history with increasing lustful yearnings.

Hmmm, aphrodisiac properties, you say? “Increasing lustful yearnings”? I’d have never thought of that!

Anyway, I hope they don’t mind me linking to them, and you should buy their gingery good products, because they are very tasty, and they seem like a very good company who should be supported!

A number of people have been coming by this blog looking for “MRI sex,” undoubtedly because of the MRI blowjob picture I posted a while ago.

So, if you’ve been looking for that, here is a great link for MRI sex images. Although, sadly, it’s only missionary position (doggie style would seem more useful, to me!) but it does show how a woman’s uterus changes during orgasm, so that’s cool!

But it does open up a number of obviously overlooked scientific studies … MRI images of spankings, caning, figging…. The difference between a tawse and slipper, as shown by MRI results…. You name it, the study of spanking hasn’t even properly begun!

Now where are the spanko scientists out there?! Currently, there’s just crap like this out there. Although this is a nice rebuttal. But still, they are only studies about spanking children, which most spankos are only interested in when they are discussing their own childhood experiences. Where are the studies about spanking consenting adults, I ask you?!

(This post was supposed to go up last night. But we had a power outtage, and by the time the power came back, we were ready to start celebrating. So here, slightly belatedly but still relevant, it is….)

I’m back home! Yay! The holidays were good, and New Years Eve tonight promises to be very good — we have three bottles of our favorite champagne, some (rather expensive) caviar, smoked salmon (with sour cream and choice of cucumbers or watercress), olives, cucumber salad, and some excellent chocolate for later nibbling. And I’m hoping my Master will ring in the new year upon my bottom!

Now he’s having a preparatory nap (we’re both a bit worn out from travel and a very hectic holiday week) and I’m trying to catch up with all my friends! Here’s a selection of the tabs I have open in my browser right now….

First, a lovely commercial:

Link:

• The Worlds Best Blindfold by Scott Paul Designs
• 6 month subscription to Into the Attic
• 6 month subscription to Backdoor Bondage
• The Zeus Electrogasm from ExtremeRestraints
• A selection of DVDs from Kink.com
• Vibrator from VibeReview.com
• Lucid Dream Bullet from Bondage Fetish Store
• Wartenberg Pin Wheel from Medical Toys
• Graves Speculum from Dr. Clockwork
• EMT shears, cane, paddle or rope from Boss Bondage and PlayPiercingKits.com
• 10 foot custom dyed bondage rope from Ms. Nikki Nefarious
• Something special from Dungeon Discounters
• A leather belt hook and chrome clasp, and 30% coupon from Sinvention
• 4×6 Print from award winning fetish photographer Lochai
• New York City SexBloggers 2009 Calendar
• 5″ toy case from For Your Nymphomation
• Round Triskele-Symbol 3″ Lapel Sticker from RogerMeToo
• 25 Condoms… because protection sucks but is necessary

Visit FetLife.com for details on how to win.

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Continued from A Boy and a Good (Bad) Girl (Part 1)

Eve asked, “May I undress you, Sir?” I thought about that, and as I did, my penis showed signs of coming back to life. “Go ahead; I warn you, your punishment isn’t over.”

“I know, sir….”

“What remains, Eve?”

“I broke a serious rule twice, Adam would cane me severely.”

“As I will. You may undress me, and then fetch me the canes.”

Eve undressed me as gracefully as she did everything; every time she turned her back to me I had to admire her beautiful red arse. Running my hands over her so-hot bottom was very arousing.

By now my arousal was prominent. Eve looked at me and smiled. “Sir, you like me, don’t you.”

“I would say that’s fairly obvious.”

“Would you like me to deal with that?” “Not yet, you have considerately more pain to suffer, before your receive the benison of this within you. Did I not tell you to fetch those canes?”

“Yes sir, sorry sir, right away.”

She went to an almost invisible cupboard next to the fireplace, opened the door, clipped to the door there were six canes of different diameters. Eve looked questioningly over her shoulder at me. “Bring them all,” she collected all of them, “and put them on the table and clear away the coffee things. Good. Now tell me about these canes, starting with the thinnest.”

“Yes, sir. The ‘girl’s cane’ really stings and lights a fire and it turns me on no end; a fun cane! The ‘boy’s cane’ stings more: I can take fifty or sixty without any real damage. The ‘senior girl’s cane,’ is a real punishment cane: thirty or forty and I know I’ve been whipped! The ‘senior boy’s cane’ is Adam’s favourite: thirty with that and I’m sleeping on my tummy for a couple of nights! The penultimate one is the ‘junior penal cane;’ when I did something really bad I received twelve, and I hope never to experience that again, the penal cane, Adam gave me six moderate strokes to taste it, the pain lasted for three days and the welts for more than a week.”

I looked round the room for a good place to cane Eve, espied an ottoman behind an armchair: it looked solidly built. “Help me pull this out,” I instructed her, and we pulled it out in front of on of the sofas. “Eve, lie lengthways over the ottoman, no, that’s not quite right; take two of the seat cushions from the sofa and pile them on the ottoman … now lay down with your chest and belly on the cushions, that’s right, reach down and hold the front legs with your hands … good … now put your feet by the rear legs, that’s perfect. I want you to stay in position: break position and you will earn three extra strokes, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Eve, eighteen strokes,” one, gasp, two, gasp, by the time six were taken, Eve was breathing hard. I moved ‘round the other side to balance out the strokes: seven, eight, ahh! … by the time twelve was reached, Eve’s legs were kicking with each stroke.

Image courtesy of Girls Boarding School

“Only six to go, you are doing very well,” I told her, and then started again: thirteen, oh shit!, fourteen, fuck!, fifteen, oh god!, sixteen, jesuuuus!, “Hang on,” I warned her, “The last two will hurt….” Number seventeen was hard across her sit spot: her body jerked. I thought she would let go, but she didn’t. Eighteen was just below the last one almost as hard as I could, this time she shrieked … but she didn’t let go!

Eve was lying there sobbing and moaning, although the moaning wasn’t all pain. I raised her to her feet, “Girl, I’m proud of you! That was very well taken! Here, let me clean you up.” Eve put her arms ‘round me, “Where did you learn to cane like that?”

“Oh … I was trained by an expert! Do you have anything to put on your arse to help with the swelling?”

“No … but I’m beginning to like the way I’m feeling…. Oh! Talking about swelling, I see you still have a problem….”

“You could say that. Eve, where is your bedroom?” She took my hand and led me upstairs. “Would you like to shower first?”

“No. Kneel on the bed, girl, present yourself!” I stopped to think. “Hang on. Do you have any rubbers?” In response she pointed to the bedside table, “In there.” I took out a small handful, they would do for the moment.

I tore the packet open and rolled the rubber on, I tapped Eve’s thighs wider, ran my hand gently over her pussy: she was very wet and her labia were swollen … like the weals on her arse, and my cock. I slid my fingers through her inner labia, found the entrance and slid a wet finger in; Eve moaned. With my left hand I searched for and found her clitoris, it was already poking out of its hood and very erect. I slipped another finger into her and start to gently finger-fuck her. Meanwhile my left hand was playing with her clitoris stroking and pinching; suddenly Eve gave a great shudder, her fluids gushing over my hand. Her head dropped to the bed and she was still.

After a few moments, Eve lifted her head and looked at me, “Are you ever going to fuck me, or do you intend to play with me all night?” I laughed, slapped her bum hard, “All in good time greedy girl!”
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(WARNING: This video might be too intense for you. If you do not like the idea of a woman screeching in pain because a cock is being pushed up her ass, I’d recommend skipping this one!)

(If the above embeded video isn’t working, view the anal punishment video on their website)

This is so hot for me!

Well, let me clarify that. Once I’d viewed the video all the way through, and realized that the gal in the video just tends to make noises like that, and she’s actually enjoying the anal sex (or at least enjoys the pain of anal sex, as I do), then I was able to accept the video and allow myself to find it hot. Those last few seconds of the video, where they collapse together in sated lust, and she affectionately holds onto his arm … it’s that that makes it okay for me to enjoy the whole thing.

In my fantasies, all sorts of terrible, non-consensual things can happen to me. And it’s okay because A.) I’m the one doing it to myself — no one else in involved, and B.) it’s a fantasy and it’s not really happening, anyway!

But in real life, that is in this case, in videos not involving animated characters (I have no sympathy for those — little cartoon Japanese schoolgirls should be violated by big nasty tentacle monsters at every available opportunity!) but real people … well, I need to have the comfort zone that I’m not watching an actual rape — that even if the person being beaten or fucked or whatever is in a great deal of pain, it’s where they want to be, that they are getting, out of the pain and fear and other intense sensations and emotions, the same things I do.

Then, I can sit back and watch with growing excitement, putting myself in the video’s starring role. And then I can run for Mr. Buzzy!

So I need to renew my driver’s license, and for reasons too boring to go into here, I need to take the written exam. I’ve needed to do this for quite some time, but have been putting it off, and off, and off. Now, next month, my current license will expire, so I have to actually go do this thing.

My Master and I have worked out a way to make studying the DMV handbook more fun – for both of us.

The set up goes like this: my Master puts me over the convertible step-stool, i.e., the Chair of Doom. Then he asks me questions from the sample tests the DMV provides. When I get an answer wrong, I get a certain number of strokes from the cane (which he sets before we start, although he seems to feel completely guiltless about changing that number whenever suits him!)

I’ve been fantasizing about this for the last few weeks. (And, to be honest, not studying overly much. That DMV handbook is written in such a way as to make your mind wander within a page, I swear!) Last Sunday we had our first study session.

My Master was in a spandex mood (and, it seems, having some ‘80s nostalgia!), and so had me in spandex short shorts and a thong leotard. I must say that I find such outfits really quite humiliating. I think most short shorts make my thighs look fat, and a thong leo is simply embarrassing to wear at the best of times. But he loves it – I mean it really turns him on! So I just try not to look in any mirrors, and let his eyes be my mirror, so I can feel as sexy as he sees me. It’s generally not easy at first, but gets easier as the scene progresses and his lust is obvious and continuing….

Once the outfit was on, he couldn’t wait to get started. I, on the other hand, was not in a great headspace. It was my first day of my “period week” in my menstrual cycle, and PMS was still in full swing. When he said it was time for the scene, I responded with alacrity, because I’ve found that if I have to beg out of a scene, I regret it for months later, every day that scenes don’t happen and I find myself thinking wistfully back to that scene that could have been. So I pretty much have to be bleeding from the eyeballs these days for me to even consider asking for a reprieve, and I certainly wasn’t going to give up a good scene opportunity just because I felt cranky and slow and tired. I even put on the thong with good grace!

But as the scene was getting started, a wave of self-pity rolled over me. My pain tolerance was at it’s lowest; why did we always have to do a scene on the first day of my period? I didn’t really want to be in pain, anyway. And other whinging, which I happily kept entirely internal.

My Master I don’t think noticed my inner turmoil – he was too busy enjoying the view of my spandex-clad bottom. He was so excited that he couldn’t keep his hands off: he suddenly changed plans, put the chair back into its chair shape, and put me over his knee for a warm-up spanking. (This did leave me a bit bemused, because he’s normally completely uninterested in a warm-up!)

He started in on the spanking, and I tried to get myself in headspace. He moved up the intensity scale pretty quickly, and my self-pity increased accordingly. Finally I burst out crying, more from the unfairness of it all than from actual pain. He lifted me off his lap, and started setting the chair up for the study session. He decided on using a tawse, first.

I got my first question wrong, and he thwacked my bottom a few times. I got the next one right, and then the next one wrong. And somewhere along the line, my self-pity and stupid headspace vanished, and the scene was just good and fun and sexy and hot.
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I was sitting at a table in the Black and White Milk Bar on the Odeon side of the Edgware Road, just a hop, skip and a jump away from Marble Arch.

It was late October of ’52 I don’t remember the day; it was about a week past my 17th birthday.

I was dawdling over my cup of coffee: it was the only one I could afford, and when I drank it, I would have to go back to my lonely room. I was about to take the last swallow when a woman, at least 25 years old, entered the bar. What’s so unusual about that, you may ask? Well, the bar is a teenage bar, we don’t normally see adult women in here.

She wore a white coat and red shoes with 2” heels, and an air of confidence.

She looked ‘round and smiled, I imagine every boy in the place was gaping at her, I know I was.

She looked at me and touched her chin, I realised my mouth was open and shut it, nearly biting my tongue in the process. “Are you looking at me?” she asked.

“I’m looking at you, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you are worth it,” was the first thing to come out of my mouth. She shook her head, and went and ordered a white coffee.

She brought her coffee over to my table and looked down at me. “May I join you?”

I stood up, and said, “Of course, be my guest.” She stuck her hand out and said, “Eve. “A little overdressed aren’t you…?” I asked, trying to make a little joke. She smiled. “And I’m Paul, very pleased to meet you…” my hand was a little sweaty when I shook hers.

“To what do I owe the honour,” I asked, as she settled down in the chair across from mine.

“I beg your pardon…?”

I looked around slowly at the other tables. “There are empty tables and better looking boys. I may have just come from the country, but I’m no hick, are you after something? You don’t feel like a Pro, and if you are, there is no one here who could afford you.”

“If you will walk with me I’ll tell you,” she replied. Fascinated, I decided a walk with her could not hurt, and we left her white coffee untouched.

“My boyfriend is away on business abroad; he only returns twice a year … you appear to have some of his qualities, when you looked at me you looked straight at me, you weren’t shy about telling me that I’m attractive, and you joked about my name.”

“Where is this leading, Eve? I don’t do one night stands.”

She answered sharply, “Neither do I!” She took a deep breath. “Look, I need to explain, and I can’t do this in the street. I live just ‘round the corner … will you trust me for an hour? I have real coffee and even some biscuits.”

“Lead the way, Miss Mysterious, you’ve talked me into it. It was the biscuits that did it, you know. Always my downfall, biscuits!”

We entered a house with only one bell on the door, brass fittings on the door, very smart.

Eve took of her coat, hung it on a coat rack, underneath she wore a calf length skirt and a sweater, a tight sweater, both were muted green. I liked what I saw. She took my jacket and hung it next to her coat. She kicked off her red heels, and left them by the door.

She led into a sitting room with some very expensive furniture. She seated me and went and drew the heavy curtains. I wondered at that.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Strong, no sugar and a little cold milk.”

I heard her walk down the hall, shortly she returned bearing a tray with cups, saucers, a dish with biscuits, and milk and sugar. “The coffee will be about ten minutes,” she said.

“Why don’t you start explaining what this is all about?” I asked her.

“Can it wait until we are settled?” she asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“Alright – but at least sit down, you are making me nervous.”

She sank down to the floor, half kneeling next to me. It was surprisingly graceful and strangely comforting, her head was level with my thigh, she looked up at me and smiled, she was calm and composed as if she had finally come home.

I took the opportunity to look her over. Long shining brown hair which hung halfway down her back, continuing down the top half of her bum. As I looked, she leaned forward to pluck a loose thread from the rug letting me see the whole round of her bottom, beautiful. She looked up at me again, clear grey eyes under well-formed and defined eyebrows, a sweet, rather long face with full lips, and a firm chin. Her neck seemed long and slender, resting on good shoulders. A very good chest: nice breasts, double B or perhaps C, and then a slightly rounded tummy sitting on nicely rounded hips, the thighs were firm and the legs long. “Like what you see, Paul?” she asked somewhat acerbically.

“Yes, Eve, very much – your boy friend is a very lucky fellow.”

“He thinks so. Oh – I’ll fetch the coffee.” As she walked away, I had a perfect view of her posterior; it had that tilt and sways that called out for a pair of male hands on it, yes I thought, very nice indeed.

Eve carried in a silver coffee pot, the steam coming from it smelled divine. She put the milk in first and then poured, and I took a sip: first class coffee.

Eve sat down again, next to me, this time she kneeled upright with her hands open on her thighs. Looking up to me she said, quickly as if nerving herself, “Paul, the reason I’ve asked you here, is to put a question to you. Now I want you to give me an honest answer, don’t worry about my feelings.”

“OK fire away.”

“If I was your girl and I told you that I’d been a very bad girl, what would you do?”

“Well, obviously I’d spank you. But to make sure that you got what you deserved, I’d need to clear a few things up. Are you sure you mean bad, not just naughty? Bad gets you a real spanking … naughty gets you a fun spanking. And furthermore, have you broken faith or trust? These aren’t cured by punishments, but by splitting up.”

“No, Paul I have not broken any faith, but I’ve been bad, and I need to be punished.”

“Are you quite sure? This isn’t a game, if I punish you will know it, and might regret it,” I warned her.

“I understand, Paul.” Eyes downcast.

“Well then, Eve, I need to know your offence before I can punish you.”
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There are so many good shots from this gallery from Her First Punishment that I couldn’t choose just one or two!

The combination of corporal punishment and exercise is so terrible and humiliating … that it makes for supremely hot fantasies! I mean, when you are running around or doing push-ups, you are vulnerable (esp. because the coach is somehow never out of breath, and you always are!) — and then you add to that the wearing of some humiliating pys ed outfit — or worse, you are stuck running around naked! It doesn’t get much more vulnerable and humiliating than that! And then to add to it the application of the tawse (see below) or the plimsoll or even a cane — and suddenly you are out of breath, stuck doing some activity where you can’t defend yourself or hang on to any shred of dignity, humiliated, and in pain!

It doesn’t get much more intense than that! There might be other ways to get to that end point — but if you are staying within the schoolgirl fantasy, this is pretty much the best means to that end! Don’t believe me? See for yourself… (click on images to go to the gallery)

My Master got home last Thursday night, and I promptly got sick. And then he had family-crisis stuff to deal with. So the best I could do as a slave was to have yummy food prepared for him, and surprise him with his desk all cleaned and neat and polished. (Most of the house was supposed to also be this way, but see above about the getting sick part, which threw the wrench in those plans!)

I was scared that the weekend would go by with just dealing with family stuff. And also, when I get sick, he gets all in Daddy mode and wants to snuggle and pamper me.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like being snuggled and pampered as much as the next girl, but when it means his Mean Scary Dominant Self gets turned off – then I’m a sad girl, because I live for our scenes. When he growls roughly at me to do something, my knees turn to jelly and other parts of my anatomy do fascinating things. When he gets all sweet and loving, it’s great … but well, it’s like flavours. I like to eat sweet stuff (oh yes I do indeed!) but I also crave rich, hearty, savoury flavours as well. Think of discipline and the various pains of spanking, caning, etc., as Boeuf Bourguignon, and your favourite sort of pizza, and spaghetti the way your mom made it, and creamy Potatoes Au Gratin, and sushi, and chicken satay and Tom Ka Gai, and a Monte Christo or Croque Monsieur or your favourite sandwich or burger, and, and, and … all your favourite savoury foods!

Happily, some of that yummy stuff was coming my way. He said he needed a nap, early Sunday evening, and I despaired. But then he saw I was upset and pointed out that after the nap, he would be refreshed…. He slept for about 45 minutes, and then I went in and joined him in the bed, and snuggled with him as he napped, and just enjoyed lying in bed with him, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing, as I looked out of the window at the night-time city lights.

Eventually he stirred, and reached for my hand, and pulled it down to his cock, which was obviously wide awake and ready for action.

I laughed with delight, and said, “You should take lots of naps, Sir!”

Then I didn’t say anything for a while, because I was sucking his cock.

Cock-sucking is always something I enjoy, but sometimes it is more exciting than others. Sometimes, just blowing my Master will get my pussy as wet and ready as a good spanking does. This was one of those times, especially, when my Master grabbed both my hands, and started actively fucking my throat. I’m not perfect at deep-throating, but it turns me on to no end. Just feeling his cock push all the way into my mouth, oh, it makes me feel so submissive and helpless – and aroused!

My Master had special plans for this scene. He wanted it very intense, and very intimate. After he’d enjoyed the blow-job as long as he fancied, he directed me to climb on top of him, in “reverse cowgirl.” He had three toys he’d never used on me before: a short, black, very stiff two-tailed tawse; a short flogger made from old tyres, with jagged edges as if cut by pinking shears (which I actually brought to the relationship – a story for another post); and a long oak thing, somewhere between a paddle and a cane. (Which I immediately knew I didn’t like the look of!)

As I moved up and down on his cock, he beat my bottom with the tawse. That was wonderful, moving me from the early sensations to starting to have to work through the pain. Then, he grabbed the flogger, and applied it to my bum and my back. He has very seldom flogged my back, normally he prefers to lavish his attentions on my bottom, and I don’t see anything wrong with that! But something about the way this flogger caught against my skin on my back was just driving me wild with that pain/pleasure combination. He noticed how excited it was making me, and thus followed a very long session of me riding more and more excitedly on his cock, while his flogging grew heavier and heavier, until he ordered me to come, and I took off at his command. I was in pure masochist heaven.

Eventually he moved to the evil oak thing. I took the first few strokes okay, but that pain was of the kind I have trouble processing, and I ended up holding myself rigid on his cock, because if I moved I’d try to move out of range of those sharp, hard strokes.

This, of course, fascinated him, sadist that he is, and he promised me a session, coming soon, where he would use that toy on me, and then fuck my ass. My emotional response to this is twofold and contradictory: first, there is the “I DON’T WANT!” response, and a feeling of unfairness because this thing definitely falls under the “punishment” range of implements (he himself said that after this scene, it would be used in for times when I need discipline or punishment, but haven’t been bad enough for the punishment paddle) and so this voice in my head has all these excuses, and the mantra of “It’s not fair!”

But at the same time, the thought that he knows how hard this will be for me, and he wants to put me through it – that it will make me become so vulnerable as I strive to accept pain I can barely handle for him – and then he will take me in that defenceless place, and fuck my ass, which always makes me feel the most ultimately vulnerable and used … well, that makes me want to run, not walk, to Mr. Buzzy, and release these intense sensations building up in my pussy!

I will just never get over how confusing it is being a masochist! At least now I have (mostly) learned to ignore the first reaction, and just focus on the second as being the truer (and more satisfactory!) one.

Anyway, back to our coitus already in progress: at this point he had me turn around (I tried to pivot on his cock, but ended up falling off him, which led to much laughter – but I probably shouldn’t admit that, as of course there is no laughing in BDSM!)

Then he took the little tawse to my inner thighs and mons veneris. This, combined with the new angle of his cock led to more orgasms, and I leant back further and further, ending up completely bent in half backwards (thank you, yoga!), elbows besides my feet, so he could have the most access possible to beat my pussy.

That position was great, but not particularly sustainable, so we ended up back in normal cowgirl, with him now wielding the flogger, and using it on my breasts, and, as we both got more and more excited and I was bouncing all over the place and his aim got less and less precise, pretty much on the entire front of my body.

I think it will come as no surprise to anyone that his orgasm and my final orgasm were pretty amazing. But for me, the orgasms were really just pleasant side effects. It was the intimacy of the act, the intensity of accepting the pain while being penetrated by him that was the most important, profound thing for me.

What a happy sticky mess we ended up as! The tensions of last week were washed over, and we could go to sleep, him holding me tight, relaxed and ready for Monday.

I moved in during the week-end, and every time that I went in or out, Mel seemed to be there.

I called her over, “Sweetie, is there something that I can do for you?” She blushed, giggled and moved away.

Mrs S— had stocked the fridge, bread, butter, milk, eggs and other comestibles. I knocked on the kitchen door to thank the lady and ask what I owed her; a voice that I recognised said, “Come in Sergeant-Major!” I asked, “Afternoon, Mel, is your mother in?”

“Yes, she is in the front garden, would you like me to call her?”

“No, that’s all right, I’ll walk ‘round.”

“I’ll come with you….”

“OK.”

As we walked round I explained to Mel that she need not use my rank, that Paul would be fine, or if that made her uncomfortable, I would answer to Mr Paul, “but why,” she asked, “aren’t you proud of your rank.” “Not really, it was necessary for my job, military titles belong in the army, and you don’t call your daddy general all the time, do you?” “No” she replied, “he wouldn’t really like it,” “I feel the same; in a civilian environment it isn’t appropriate.”

After about a month the children and I got on like a house on fire, Mrs S— mothered me, I didn’t see a lot of the general, his duties kept him fairly busy.

All this time while I was settling in, the children had more or less accepted my presence, Mrs S— tended to treat me as a grown-up son; this felt strange, nobody had done that for me before.

The feelings between Mel and I weren’t going away.

I had bought a bicycle and had permission to take the children on rides in Regents Park, and occasionally I took them on the boating pond. Mel was good with her brother and sister; she wouldn’t let them play me up.

After about nine months, I’d been in the army nearly six years. I had signed on for twenty-one years with the option, of discharge, should I wish, at the end of every three year period. Mrs S— persuaded me to discuss my plans with the general. I told him that I needed to go to university and that I had seen an opening for a career: I was very interested in the new and growing science of Information Technology. I wanted to get degrees in Computer science and Language, and see if I couldn’t set up an agency.

The general agreed, he considered that as far as promotion went I’d be marking time in the army, so I ought to go for it. In July ‘58 I applied for and obtained a place in the first IT degree course offered by the London School of Economics; I also applied for an honourable discharge from the Royal Army which went through with no problems.

In June of ‘58 Mel was fifteen, and her parents bought her a pony – well a small mare. She called it Suki. I bought her a hard hat and riding gloves.

Teaching her to ride was a thrilling thing; she was a very responsive pupil. I had learnt to ride as a child at the orphanage, and it was a good way to get round during the war, since hay wasn’t rationed.

The Saturday morning after Mel’s birthday weekend I was lazing about the flat. I’d been out the night before and hadn’t got to bed before two AM. There was a ring at the door, and I when looked down the stairs, there was a very nervous Mel. “Mel? What are you doing here? You know the rules.”

“Oh please, Paul, I’ve got to speak to you!”
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