Content below the cut is not PG-13.
Grinelda Markowitz’ Guest Authors
Alan Daniels ~ Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown
Thanks, Alan, for visiting today.
Writing was my profession for nearly fifty years; I worked all over the world as a freelance journalist, scribing whatever my editor and others told me I needed to pay the bills. So when it came to writing for myself—on a topic of my choosing—it was incredibly liberating. But it was also daunting; it’s hard to break yourself from the habit of having others direct your work. I tried to look at the authors I most admire, first, for inspiration: Carl Hiassen, Annie Proulx, Zadie Smith. But I found quickly that it’s actually best not to look to others when seeking to find your own path (in fact, for the entire duration of my novel-writing process of three years, I didn’t read a single novel!).
So when it came to choosing the topic and genre for my first novel, I thought I’d take advantage of that freedom and write on something that would never have come across an editor’s desk: erotica. But I decided I wanted to write a different kind of erotica tome, one that might be accessible to a broader range of readers. So while there’s lots of sensuality Spank, I focused the bulk of my efforts on creating interesting characters and devising out-of-the-norm situations to put them into. The result is often comical, and I hope always interesting to my readers.
The positive response has been overwhelming, and I’ve had a few people inquire as to whether I’ll be writing a sequel. But alas, I’m afraid I’ve retired my main characters for now. As much as I love George and Catherine, I’m eager to push myself with my writing. So I’ll be looking at a very different topic for my next offering: miracles. I can’t say too much else about it now, except that it will be a definite departure from Spank, and I’m sure more than a couple of bottles of red wine will be used in those evening writing sessions.
Apart from their mutual love of spanking, it’s an unlikely pairing, to say the least: Catherine Mallory Jones, a stunning aspiring poet and romance writer with a dark sexual past. And George Aloysius Brown, a witty and endearing Londoner, whose idyllic, white picket fence life was shattered with the end of his marriage to a woman he adored. Were it not for their passion for the written word, their paths would never have crossed.
But when George is challenged by his writing teacher to push beyond the boundaries of the familiar into the world of erotica, their two paths converge as they seek to explore and expand their literary and sexual horizons. Inspired by his ex-wife’s love of spanking, and Catherine’s similar desires, the two writers journey into a bizarre often hilarious sexual underworld.
From the adult filmmakers who clearly get more of a kick out of the audition process than from actually making the films, the wheelchair dominatrix who crafts bejewelled canes for the Hollywood set, to the ‘over-enthusiastic’ vendors at fetish conventions, and the real person behind the sultry voice of a phone sex line—Catherine and George soon discover that the ‘real’ world of the erotic is full of improbable adventures.
It’s my turn to lead. I play with him, teasing him, letting the excitement build slowly. I am the hunter. He is the prey. He lies on his back and closes his eyes as my fingers prowl his body. I kneel at his side, running my fingertips up and down his chest, dancing them lower, drumming on the taut muscles of his stomach, teasing the blond curls below, stalking the pearl black quarry. I don’t touch it. He moans softly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Then suddenly I reach for it, squeeze it, stroke it, and feel it spasm. A single white pearl appears at the tip and hungrily I swallow it, tasting its sweet saltiness. He cries out and covers my hand with his. Then abruptly he sits up, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me across his lap. In an instant, the hunter becomes the hunted. I feel a stab of pleasure between my legs. Gently, he strokes my thighs and buttocks. I thrust them up, feeling an old familiar longing. And then he spanked me. It was the sweetest, most erotic, most sensuous yet, administered at length until I knew I couldn’t last another moment. I spun away, showing him his handiwork, how pretty in pink it looks. Then I took him, swallowing his black beauty between my burning cheeks.
Afterwards we lay silently together totally spent, not doing anything really. Then Steed gets up and makes me tea. He is still naked when he slides back into bed beside me.
“What is it?”
“Do you have to go to Perth?”
“Look, it’s a great opportunity. There’s a job for me there in the tropical medicine department, I’d be a mug to turn it down.”
“Tropical medicine? That tsetse flies and things, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you prefer obstetrics?”
“You’re incorrigible; I wouldn’t get any work done.”
He pulled the sheets back and kissed my vagina. But he was as spent as I was and gently I pushed him away.
Outside our window the sun is going down. Soon the fruit bats would rise from their roost in the Botanical Gardens and take off in great swarms to go where fruit bats go at night. This is the thing about Sydney, it’s as if someone plunked down a great city in the middle of a tropical jungle. It’s beautiful but menacing. There are snakes and spiders and sharks. It’s what makes me shake my shoes in the morning in case one of them jumps out at me.
When Steed left I went with him to the airport. We sat sipping coffee in one of those awkward pre-flight funks.
“You’ll meet someone else,” he said.
“You think so?”
“Sure, go to the beach, you’re bound to run into somebody.”
I kicked him under the table, but his jibe has lightened the mood. At the entrance to security, that bleak point of no return, we hugged each other and kissed like cousins.
Then I turned and walked away. I didn’t look back.
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