I suppose I should have guessed, knowing Daniel, what would happen. I mean really, I walked into the whole thing, eyes shut, when all the clues were there in front of me. Call me Queen Oblivious of the Oblivious People. But I'm getting ahead of myself (Shane says that's one of my problems he's determined to correct. Oh bliss !)
It all began about a week before my birthday. Daniel had invited me to lunch in the latest and swankiest venue in town, so I'd dressed up a bit, all in black with a silk mandarin-collared jacket I bought in Hong Kong, and shades of course, doing the 'I am an artist' bit. The trouble was - well, I'd put on a bit of weight since I bought that jacket. It was decidedly tight around the midriff.
Don't get me wrong: no-one from the Bulk club is going to be asking for my phone number, but my usually svelte lines were becoming a little - comfortably curved, let's say. Of course Daniel, the wretch, looked like several million dollars when I got to the restaurant -appropriately enough given the current state of his reserves (at least according to the Sunday Times, but then who believes what they read in one of Rupert Murdoch's rags ?).
So I got the hug and the big smoochy kiss in full view of everybody - the usual production. It's all part of that fluffy-bunny image he likes to project, to conceal the helium-cooled supercomputer he uses for a brain. Don't get me wrong: much as I'd like to hate him (well wouldn't you: rich, good-looking,andclever ?) I succumbed to the charm just like everyone else, just like I had done all those years ago at school.
"Kevin my sweet, how is my favourite artist ?" he asked, taking in everything with one sweep of those big blue eyes. "You're looking wonderfully prosperous."
I pulled a face.
"You mean fat," I said through gritted teeth.
He smiled.
"I mean prosperous," he said. "How did the exhibition go ?"
"Very well thanks to your sponsorship. And virtually everything in the show sold. But I have been rather living on that disgusting white wine they hand out at private views, and bags of chips at 11pm. I might just as well apply it directly to my waist."
"Oh it's not that bad, for heavens sake," he said airily. "A few extra pounds. You'll soon work that off at the gym or clubbing."
I shook my head. "I just can't manage a gym: I hate exercising with other people around. And as for clubs: you heard about me and Robert ?"
He laid a cool, sympathetic hand over mine.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out," he said. "But I can't claim to be sorry you got rid of him. In fact, I'm sorry you wouldn't let me call the police."
"He wasn't that bad," I protested half-heartedly. "He was just so . . ."
"He was so -butch ?" suggested Daniel politely.
His mouth quirked a little and I could feel my own twitch into a sour grin despite myself. OK so I like my men masculine: is there anything wrong in that ? But I have to admit that Robert was a bit over the top, even for me. he wasn't just masculine, he was Neanderthal. A cracked rib and a chipped tooth had convinced of that, finally. And really since then I just haven't felt much like bothering.
"There's butch and butch," I said. A hovering waiter (with a rather nice bum crammed into his tight black trousers I noticed) suddenly produced wine, which I assume Daniel had already ordered. I took a hefty swig.
"Yes," he said, and from the gleam in his eye I knew, just knew, that he was remembering a certain magical night in a boathouse in Oxford, when a six-foot-four Canadian rowing blue had laid the pair of us over the upturned hull of a boat side by side and used his belt on us before we all three descended by stages into a giggling, and in some parts glowing, pretzel of flesh on a blanket on the floor. I think every orifice I have was had by him at least once that night. God, that lad had stamina - it must be all the beef they eat. But I digress.
"So there's been no-one else since ?" he asked.
I shook my head, and to my embarassment I could feel my eyes filling. Really, how ridiculous. I cleared my throat and changed the topic of conversation, which Daniel seemed happy enough to go along with.
After the meal (which was actually a lot better than the menu made it sound 'fillets of monkfish lightly gilded in the pan and annointed in a jus perfumed with the fragrances of the East Indies' indeed) I went home in a much better mood. He always did have the knack of making me laugh.
The following week, however, the day of my birthday, I was woken up at some ungodly hour of the morning by the loud and aggressive ringing of the studio doorbell. I sleep at the back of my studio space, on a mezzanine reached by an open staircase, and the kitchen area, shower, and toilet are underneath it. The previous night had been a heavy one because some friends had come around and insisted on dragging me out to the pub till midnight to celebrate, so I wasn't exactly functioning at my best, you understand. So by the time I'd surfaced enough to work out what that irritating noise was, dragged on a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt, clambered down the stair and through the studio to the front door, this ringing had been going on for quite some time.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," I snapped as I opened the door. "What the hell is it, the world on fire or something ?"
The guy on the front step raised an eyebrow.
"Ah so you are in, mate," he said. "Good, I was beginning to wonder. I'm Shane Hanrahan." The accent was strongly Australian.
I looked at him blankly.
"Your personal trainer ?" he supplied helpfully.
"But I don't have a personal trainer."
"You do now. Daniel sent me. My services fully paid for, for as long as it takes to get you into shape. He said something about a birthday present ?"
"The rat," I said. "The rotten little bastard. Just because I said I didn't like gyms . . ."
"Neither do I," he said. "Can I come in ?" and without waiting for a reply he brushed past me and into the studio.
"Nice space you got here mate," he said. "Ideal for a workout."
"My studio," I said stupidly. "Er look, Shane was it ? I really don't think this is a good idea. I'm not the exercising type. And really, I haven't got time for all this."
He frowned. He was tanned, with short, dark blonde hair in a spiky cut, and dark brown eyes that right now were distinctly on the flinty side. Under other circumstances I might have thought he was rather cute although he was a bit broader and beefier across the shoulders and arms than my ideal - too much working out with weights, I reckoned. But I didn't get any gay vibe off him so he was probably straight anyway.
"Look I hope this isn't all some stupid windup," he said. "I do have other clients, you know, I don't need to waste my time here."
"I'm sorry," I said firmly. "I'm sure Daniel meant well, and of course I'll compensate you for today . . ."
"That wasn't what I meant," he said angrily. "I'm not a gouger, I've been paid. I just don't appreciate being messed about like this, and I'm going to phone Danny-boy and tell him so." And he produced a mobile from his pocket and punched a number into it. It must have been Daniel's direct line because he got straight through. I admit that startled me - Daniel doesn't exactly give that number out to all and sundry. That was what started me wondering.
"Hi, Danny, Shane here. Now look mate, what's going on with this Kevin bloke ? He's just told me he doesn't want my help." Now I was really amazed. I mean,no-onecalls Daniel Danny, except his grandmother, and me when I really really want to annoy him. Obviously Shane was not just hired help. Maybe he was some business partner, from before Daniel settled down to blissful happiness in his country house with Paul and their menage of Burmese cats, Old-English sheepdogs, and ponies. There had been some sort of chain of health clubs or something in the portfolio, I seemed to remember. Or maybe he was some distant relative - yes, of course, that must be it. Daniel's mother had had relatives in Australia. Or was it New Zealand ?
The mobile was proffered to me. "He wants to talk to you," said Shane curtly.
"Kevin, darling," said Daniel. "You don't like my birthday present ?" He sounded just a bit ticked off. I could picture the quizzical expression, with the little wrinkle that appeared between his eyebrows when he was cross.
"Well, look Daniel, it's terribly sweet and thoughtful of you but you know how I hate exercising. I mean, it might be all right for musclebound gym-queens who've never had a constructive thought in their . . . " I suddenly realised a) that Shane was listening to this and b) that it wasn't really very polite to Daniel either, and tried to change tack in mid-conversation "well that is, you know, it's just not me."
"Well perhaps it ought to be, sweetie," said Daniel. "It would be so good for you, it will lift you out of yourself having something physical and mindless to do instead of brooding in that delightful but intense artistic way you have. I really think I'm going to insist. You do remember how when I financed your first show you promised that if ever there was anything you could do for me I only had to say the word ? Well, I'm saying it. I want you to put yourself in Shane's hands and do whatever he tells you."
"Blackmailer," I protested feebly.
He laughed. "I knew you'd see it my way," he said. "Honestly darling, you'll thank me for it afterwards, I know you will. Just pass me back to Shane, there's a love."
Wordlessly I handed the mobile back to its sulking owner. There was a long pause, in which I could just hear the faint buzzing of Daniel's voice in counterpoint to Shane's replies. "Mm. Ah-ha. Yeah, I see. What, anything ? Oh,right. Yeah, I understand. Oh, no, no worries, it'll be a pleasure, believe me. Oh, I will, you can be sure of that. Yeah, cheers, mate." He punched the phone off with an aggressive beep and turned to me.
"Well ?" he said.
"It seems like I've got a personal trainer," I conceded, a bit ungraciously. "How long is all this likely to take ?"
"Well, under normal circumstances, I'd say an hour a day would be ample."
"Anhour?"
"But in your case I might need something more intensive." I looked at him in cold dislike and he smirked.
"What ? I'm not in training for the Olympics or anything, you know. I don't need . . ."
"I'll be the judge of what you need," he interrupted. "We'll start with some warm-up exercises."
For the next ten minutes he put me through a series of ridiculous variations on hopping, skipping, and stretching which left me hot, breathing fast, and more than a little irritated at the continual stream of corrections, exhortations, and frank insults I was getting.
"No, no. Bend right over at the waist when you swing from one toe to the other," he said as I tried yet another contortion. He came up behind me, and pushed down gently on my shoulders.
"It hurts the back of my legs," I moaned from somewhere down at knee height.
"It's supposed to stretch your calf muscles a bit," he said. "Open your legs a bit more." He knelt down and gently moved my feet apart. It did ease the strain a bit but the feel of those warm, strong hands on my legs brought a sudden and unexpected tremor to me. And that was a scene I definitely didn't want into at the moment. "Oh, I've had enough of this," I expostulated, getting up, my face reddened.
"This ? This is just the warm-up," he laughed. "Now we start the real exercise programme. And I didn't tell you you could get up."
"I'll do as I _d_a_m_n_ well please in my own home," I said.
"Right," he said. "That's it. I have just abouthadit with your attitude."
He grabbed my arm and twisted me round, over his half lifted knee.
WHAP. His hand came down hard on my backside. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. WHAP. Even through the denim shorts it stung.
"What the _f_u_c_k_ do you think you're doing ?" I yelled.
"Danny told me I might have to get physical with you to get your attention," he said grimly."I can see he was right. Well, I gave you a chance at the easy way, and you didn't take it. So from now on we do things the hard way. Hard on your bum, that is."
"You can't . . ."
"I can, and I will. Didn't Danny tell you you were to do whatever I told you ?"
"I . . . " I was caught. _d_a_m_n_ the pair of them. I couldn't afford to lose such a rich and influential patron as Daniel. "I'm sure he didn't mean."
"Oh yes he did.Hesuggested it. 'If he doesn't come around, spank him until he's more co-operative' he said. And believe me, I intend to. Get up and drop those shorts."
"But I haven't got anything on underneath," I protested.
"Too bad for you," he returned. "You would have been getting it bare-bum anyway sooner or later - this just makes it sooner."
"But, but - I'm thirt- twenty-eight years old, not some schoolkid."
"Then it's way past time your backside got a good hiding, isn't it, judging by your snotty attitude ? Now get 'em down, because if I have to take them down for you, and believe me I will, you'll regret it, I promise you."
I stared at him for a moment, and he stared back, uncompromising. A tremor of something unidentifiable- anger, fear, excitement ? -ran through me. After a moment I dropped my gaze, and then, slowly and reluctantly, my shorts, which slid down around my ankles, revealing all. I've stripped off in front of plenty of guys before but this wasn't _s_e_x_y, it was humiliating. I could feel my face getting red.
"Yes, I think we can work on that," said Shane cheerfully, after spinning me around and surveying my bum with a professional eye. I blushed even darker with a mixture of shame and fury.
"I'll do the exercises," I mumbled, hanging my head.
"Sorry mate, I didn't catch that ?"
"I'll do the exercises," I said more loudly.
"Too right you will. But that isn't going to get you out of a spanking you thoroughly deserve." He looked around the studio for a moment and spotted the chair by the fireplace. Grabbing me by the arm he led me over there and settled himself comfortably into it. Then he patted his thighs. A tiny part of me couldn't help noticing how muscular they were.
"Over you go," he said.
"I . . . "
I paused, and couldn't think of anything to say. He waited, eyebrows raised in a sort of patient questioning. Well, notthatpatient, actually. I had the distinct impression that every second of delay was counting against me.
I mean, what could I do ?
"This is ridiculous," I said weakly as I laid myself awkwardly across his lap.
A warm strong hand ran over my backside. It wasn't an erotic gesture, like a lover's caress, more like a farmer assessing livestock. Nonetheless, I felt another faint tremor inside me. I was just so _d_a_m_n_ed helpless !
SMACK ! Ooh that stung !
"Did you say something ?" he asked politely in response to my muffled exclamation. I shook my head. I'd be _d_a_m_n_ed if I'd give him the satisfaction, the sadistic bastard.
"Good." SMACK. The other cheek this time. He had plenty of muscle in his arms, that was for sure. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. He was taking his time between each whack, letting it sink in a bit. My bum was starting to feel hot as the weight and sting of each blow kind of spread into a general glow. And still his hand came down, like a metronome - SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, taking his time, spreading it around, the sides, the top, the lower part where it joins the thighs - my whole bum getting a good old-fashioned hiding. It wasn't like a few _s_e_x_y smacks as foreplay, this was punishment, and it bloody well hurt, I can tell you. I know there are people who think that spanking is kiddies stuff, but believe me a guy with forearms and hands as big and well-muscled as Shaun's can inflict some serious bum-warming without ever picking up an instrument.
I was gritting my teeth, determined that I wasn't going to yell, but when he started to pick up the pace I couldn't help a sharp intake of breath. Immediately he started to spank me hard and fast on the same spot - WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK ! and I sort of had to make a slight groan, more of a whine actually, and try to shift about a bit on his lap to move the target out of the line of fire. He knew he had me then, of course. I got some more of the same - quite a lot more of the same - until I heard a voice saying : "please, oh please, stop," and realised it was mine. At some point my hands flew back to try to protect my seared flesh but he just grabbed them, encircling both my wrists with his left hand and pinned them painfully back. I was kicking and bucking on his lap, but he had me well supported above the ground and I couldn't get the purchase needed to leap off his lap. I couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the stinging fire that his big hands were inflicting on me, but I had no choice; and I yelled and babbled a mixture of threats and swearwords and craven promises to do anything he wanted, but none of it had any effect at all. He carried on spanking me untilhe decided I'd had enough and then he just stopped and let me go.
I struggled to my feet and hobbled to the corner of the studio. I had a largeish piece there, a draft version from my lights and mirrors phase - you might have seen the finished version, 'Fire Symmetries' ? Anyway, this thing has three full length strips of mirror built into it, angled, so I got a three-d view of what he'd done to me. I just stood there, mouth open in horror, looking at my swollen dark red cheeks, mottled with little purple bruises where the blood vessels had broken, and here and there, quite distinct, the outlines of his fingers branded onto my bum. Not a white piece of flesh left in sight between my waist and my thighs.
Mind you my face wasn't a much prettier sight, also red, and tear-stained and with a trail of snot from the left nostril into the bargain. I hastily wiped my tears and my nose, and tried to recover a shred of dignity. I couldn't bear to look at Shane.
"Come here," he said quietly.
I obeyed, instantly. Well, I wasn't going to argue after that, was I ? Oh God but my bum was sore: I was dying to get a pack of frozen peas or something out of the freezer and hold it against my burning flesh to cool it off.
"Now, let's start again, shall we ?" he said. "I'm here to help you get yourself back into trim. You want to lose that spare tyre, don't you ?"
I looked up, outraged. Spare tyre ? Spare tyre ?! Instinctively I opened my mouth for a smart remark, and then my bum twinged and I thought twice.
"Y-yes," I managed. "Please," I added, just to be on the safe side.
"See, it's not so hard to be polite, is it ?" he asked, all sweetness and light. "When you're sufficientlymotivated." I said nothing as he went on: "Same with the exercising: motivation is the key. That's what I'm here to supply, motivation and guidance."
I bit my tongue, and hoped that my lowered head concealed my rising fury. Of all the smug, infuriating . . .
"Now under the circumstances, I'm going to let you off the situps today," he said, "but you need some aerobic exercise to burn off the calories and some targetted work on your abs to tighten the muscles there, as well as a general exercise routine. So this is what we're going to be doing each morning. . . "
He proceeded to run through and endless list of tortures that Torquemada would have been proud of - come to think of it, the bastard probably was Torquemada, reincarnated. Or maybe Genghiz Khan. I had a sudden vision of Shane in a fur hat with a spike on the top and couldn't stifle a giggle. And another.
"What's so funny ?" he demanded in a flat tone. I could see he was getting annoyed, but I just couldn't help myself. You know how it is when you just have to laugh even though you mustn't ? I was completely helpless with laughter, and every time I tried to suppress it I just exploded all the more in fits of giggles. Nervous reaction of course, I've always been like that, ever since I was a kid. But Shane wasn't to know that and I could see his face getting redder and his scowl getting blacker. And he drew back his hand, and for a second I had a paralysing flashback to Robert, and I knew, justknew, that he was going to punch me.
OK, I'm a coward, I admit it. But when you've been through an abusive relationship it leaves scars. Sometimes you don't always realise that you still have them, until something like that happens. I couldn't help myself, I cringed away, putting up my hands to protect my face.
. . . TO BE CONTINUED