Spanking Dee-Dee ~ Excerpts


Not everyone is looking for someone, not on a permanent basis anyway. I wasn’t. What I’d had with James suited me. We fitted the model of friends with benefits to a T. We shared similar tastes in films, books and politics. He was tall, handsome in an understated way and almost eleven years older than me.

On the whole I prefer dating older men, not because I’m looking for a father figure or a sugar daddy to cosset and spoil me. I don’t need any of that. I’m an independent guy. I look after myself. My preference for older men is because they tend to be uncomplicated. They know who they are and what they want from life. They’re also less emotionally demanding than men my own age or younger. I don’t need a Daddy and I don’t want to be one.

James and I didn’t live in each other’s pockets. We met up once or twice a week, occasionally more, work schedules permitting, and enjoyed each other’s company. We talked and broke bread together, and yeah, we had sex, plenty of hot no strings attached sex. It was a great arrangement, if slightly unconventional, but perhaps that’s what made it so good.

Then James met Kye and fell in love with him, just like that, in the snap of a finger and thumb. It didn’t break my heart, but it did break our arrangement. James wanted to commit to Kye lock stock and barrel. It astonished me. He’d always said he didn’t want or need the complications of a permanent relationship. Cosy domesticity with a single clingy mate was not for him. For some reason Kye changed his mind. James described it as ‘clicking.’ Something clicked and fell into place from the moment they met.

At twenty-five Kye was the same age as me. The similarities ended there. He was needy in a way I wasn’t. He wanted all of James’s time and attention. He demanded cosseting and compliments and wanted to be constantly pampered, petted and reassured. James seemed to lap it up. He and I reverted to being friends without benefits.

I didn’t resent Kye. He was sweet in his way and it was obvious he made James happy. I was more than pleased to be best man at their Civil Partnership Ceremony. I considered it an honour to be asked. They both had plenty of other friends who could have fulfilled the role.

As I watched them cutting their celebration cake at the reception afterwards I was surprised when I experienced a stirring of something I couldn’t define. Perhaps I’d been more emotionally attached to James than I’d thought? No. I dismissed the idea as soon as it arose. The feeling wasn’t envy, and it wasn’t sadness or regret. It was just - something. I was, I searched to find words to fit the feeling, but the only thing that came to mind was ‘puzzled.’ 

The love thing between the two of them puzzled me. I hadn’t been in love with James. I had never been in love with anyone. I loved my family, my mum and sister anyway, but I had never been in love with another man in a romantic sense. What did love have to do with anything? I understood friendship. I understood sex. I didn’t get ‘romantic love.’ It seemed an unnecessary and complicated emotion. What made James suddenly fall in love with Kye and want to spend a conventional lifetime with him and only him? It was a conundrum to me.

We all stayed friends, to a degree. I suddenly realised Kye wasn’t entirely comfortable when I was around. A shade of anxiety clouded his large Bambi eyes whenever I came on the scene. I think he’d guessed about the benefits I’d once shared with James and feared they might rekindle. There wasn’t a chance of it happening, but in respect of his feelings I distanced myself from them, literally. I moved to another town.


I moved into the bakery on the first day of the summer break from the sixth form college I taught at. James and Kye helped me and another friend of mine load my furniture and heavier possessions into a borrowed van. Tony, the friend, was to drive the van to the bakery and help me unload it. I packed the boot of my car full of smaller things, clothes and boxes of books, media ware and other small treasures I’d collected over time. Taking my leave of James and Kye with handshakes and good wishes I set off ahead of the van.

As I drove away I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw Kye put his arms around James to deliver a kiss. I got a strong feeling it was a kiss of relief, as well as a claiming kiss. James was all his at last, not that he’d ever been anything else. He’d certainly never been mine. I trained my eyes on the road ahead.

It was a mossy day, green and verdant, quintessentially English. Soft summer rain flowed tepid from a grey-blue sky, enhancing the scents of grass, flowers and warm earth. It was delicate rain, but drenching all the same.

The bakery loomed into sight, the soft cream and green tiles gleaming with moisture. As I drove my car towards the residents’ private car park at the rear of the building I spotted someone sitting cross-legged on the grassed area fronting the bakery. It was a man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. His head was tilted skyward as if to allow the rain to wash it. It seemed an odd thing to be doing.

After parking my car I hurried into the building using the rear entrance. I decided to leave my boxes and bags in the car until the rain cleared. Walking up the stairs to my apartment I paused outside the door for a moment and then ceremoniously inserted my key and pushed it open. A small surge of excitement swept over me. I experienced a real sense of being home. This was it, my place, befitting a professional.

Closing the door behind me, I viewed my new kingdom. It looked big and empty. Excitement wavered. I felt a small knot of tearful anxiety twist my stomach. Taking a deep breath I successfully quenched it with words I used to comfort new students who were struggling with the transition from school to college. It was normal to feel apprehensive when starting a new phase of life.

Moving across to the large picture windows in the living room I looked out, admiring the view of the front gardens. He was still there, the rain man, sitting on the grass, only now he had his arms stretched out in front of him, his hands cupped as if to catch the falling drops. It was eccentric behaviour to say the least. I wondered who he was and whether he lived in the building, perhaps with his parents. His dress and stance suggested youth, though of course I couldn’t see his face. He had his back to my window.

A vehicle turned in to the drive dragging my attention away from the saturated figure. It was Tony. Grabbing my keys I hastened out to greet him and to help begin the unloading of my belongings. There was no lift in the building so everything would have to be lugged up the two short flights of stairs leading to the top floor. Both stairs and corridor were generously wide so it wouldn’t be too hard a task.

Tony pushed open the van door and jumped out, grinning. “Did you know you’ve got some kind of drippy hippy child sitting on the front grass meditating in the rain?”

“Yeah, I saw him when I drove in.”

“Who is it?”

“No idea. Come on, let’s get started.” I playfully punched Tony on the shoulder.


By five-thirty in the afternoon the apartment was pretty much as I wanted it. Given the humidity I was soaked in sweat with my exertions, but happy with the result. All that was left to unpack lay in the boot of my car, the majority of my clothes and the general bric-a-brac you collect as you move through life.

 I’d no sooner unloaded the boot, setting bags and boxes on the tarmac, than the thunder that had been threatening all day announced its presence with an explosive clap, making me start with fright. The sky darkened as if a light switch had been flicked off. The thunder boomed again, bursting a cloud. Large drops of rain as heavy as pebbles began to bombard the ground, and me.

“Shit!” Ramming my car keys into a pocket of my shorts I bent down and snatched up a large cardboard box of books on top of which was balanced a box of assorted DVD’S and CD’s. It made sense to get the stuff that could suffer water damage inside first. A voice made me jump, yelling above the tempest of the storm.

“Saw you from my window. Thought you might need a hand.”

The owner of the voice picked up a case and a holdall of my clothes and dashed towards the bakery with them. I followed close on his heels. He dumped the bags in the rear lobby at the foot of the stairs and then immediately launched back out into the rain to collect more of my things. I dumped my own load and hurried after him, shouting my thanks, but the words were lost in another crash of thunder.

There were two boxes left, plastic crates fortunately. If they’d been cardboard they would have disintegrated in the deluge. We grabbed one each and then made a run for it as the rain fell heavier still. Lightening ripped across the sky, illuminating the raindrops making them sparkle like crystals. 

“Thanks, thanks so much.” I breathlessly set my burden down on the floor and then swept my wet hair back from my face with my hands.

“No problem.” Dumping my box of chattels he shoved the lobby door closed on the vile weather and then turned towards me, giving me my first proper look at his face.

“Jesus!” I took a step back, startled, as a pair of yellow amber eyes glowed at me. They were animal eyes, a tiger’s. “What are you, a shape shifter?”

“Contacts,” he laughed, obviously pleased with my reaction. “I’ve got some Dracula red ones too, lots of different colours in fact.”

Before I could make a reply he picked up the case and holdall again. “You must be the new resident of number seven. I live ground level in number one,” he tipped his head towards the fire doors sealing off the lower corridor, shaking raindrops from his hair, “just along there. Come on. I’ll help you take your stuff up.”

Picking up the stacked boxes of books and DVD’s I strode up the first set of stairs, catching a glimpse of my neighbour’s bottom as he rounded the corner to take the second set. I couldn’t help but notice he had a rather nice rear; two pert globes encased in tight denim cut offs. My cock twitched a response, a normal male reaction to pleasant visual stimulus. However, though normal, it was inappropriate and therefore in need of quelling.

My tiger eyed helper looked to be in the same age range as some of the students I taught, those in the last furlong of their teenage years, just entering the twenties stretch. It was okay to look, it was hard not to sometimes, but one never touched. As a teacher, another reason I preferred older men was that they were safer. Misjudging or ignoring a student’s age had cost many a teacher their career and their respectability.


On the Monday following the break up of college I was awoken at half past six in the morning by the waspish buzzing of my intercom. It was Dee-Dee. He sounded excited. He wanted me to come down to his apartment. Now. This minute. He had something to show me. He’d been quiet for the past week or so, ever since his birthday, a little distant, lost in dreamy thoughts. It was nice to hear him sounding alert and present.

Dragging on shorts, a t-shirt and a pair of deck shoes, I headed downstairs, expecting to be shown a new art project he’d started, or one he’d finished. It was no such thing.

A prickly sense of foreboding swept over me as I stared at the legend emblazoned across his computer screen.

The love of your life could be an email away

‘In search of a genuine Alpha Male’

“Good subject line.” He stabbed a long finger at the screen. “Attention grabbing, don’t you think, Si?”

“Shush.” I manoeuvred the finger aside. “Let me read seeing as it’s what you dragged me here to do.” I read:

‘Hi, my name is Desmond, though I prefer to be known as Dee-Dee. I’m 25 years old, 5’9’, of slim build, clean-shaven, brown hair and brown eyes, sometimes blue or green or purple depending on what contacts I’m wearing. I’ve been told I’m nice looking in a boyish kind of way. I’m average in the downstairs department, no remarkable inches or super size balls, but everything is in proportion and in full working order.

I’m searching for someone to share my life with. Looks are not important. I’m an artist and my perspective of beauty is far ranging and goes beyond surface interpretation. I’m the kind of man who sees a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower.

Bearing is what I’m looking for, a particular kind of attitude. I like strong men, true, honest, natural, one hundred percent dominant men. I want a man who won’t be afraid to take charge, a man who’ll guide me, as well as cherish and love me 24/7.

In short I’m searching for an alpha male. If you think you might be the man to put an end to my search then get in touch to arrange an interview.

This is a genuine post, so genuine replies only. No time wasters please.’

“Well,” he spoke impatiently. “What do you think?”

“I think you should credit William Blake for the grain of sand reference.”

“How come you spotted it? I thought teachers of science and practical subjects were a bit like sportsmen and totally ignorant of anything literary, such as being able to read.”

“Don’t get cheeky or I’ll turn you over my knee.”

“Huh, I wish I could believe you meant it. Come on, Simon. I stayed up half the night composing the ad and waiting for it to go live. What do you think?”

“You seriously want to know?” I pulled my eyes away from the screen, tilting my head back to gaze up at him. He was standing behind me, his hands resting on the back of the computer chair.

“I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

I pulled a face. “I think you’re bonkers. Not least because you knocked me up out of bed at six thirty to show me this.”

His face clouded at my words. I stood up placing a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Dee-Dee. I know you hope this ad will bring you the lace-edged velvet-lined macho man of your strange little dreams, but let’s be realistic. It’s more likely to bring you a fair range of time wasters, fakes and nutters. Be careful is what I’m saying, or you’ll end up hurt and I don’t mean in the cosy idealistic way you fantasise about.”

“So young and yet so cynical.”

“I’m sensible. What you’re doing is risky. Face it, most blokes who graze through free contact sites like this do so with a hard on and what they’re seeking is relief in the form of a fumble, a suck and a fuck, not lifelong love. MEETME should be renamed MEATME. You don’t get genuine dates from sites like this, Dee. You get the clap from people addicted to casual sex.”

“Honestly, Si. You have no romance in your soul. Look what it says. It says the love of my life could be just an email away.”

“I don’t think it’s referring to you personally. You’ll be better off joining a proper gay dating agency with a paying membership of people who are looking for more than one off easy sex.”

“I already have, last week.”

“Really?” I was taken aback and a bit hurt, though it answered the question of his recent distraction. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Have you had any responses?”

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