Hugo and Garda climbed slowly up narrow, cobbled Myrtle Street, past a tiny playground, a small grocery, a laundromat and many close set thin, brick walk-ups.
“You never answered my question about whether you were at A Man With A Maid,” Hugo asked, as she preceded him up the three, tall, narrow flights of stairs to her top floor flat. From this angle he could appreciate the girlish contours of her bottom and thighs as never before. The snug jeans molded to her lithe form delightfully.
Garda let him into her obsessively neat and tiny one bedroom apartment. Her own two Siamese cats came in off the roof through the bedroom window and rushed into the parlor to greet her. She showed him around in a minute, ending with the rooftop access, from which one could not only see a sliver of the Charles, but also the landmark flashing neon Citgo sign.
“You shouldn’t leave your windows open like that. Someone will climb in and rob you at best and possibly do more,” he scolded.
“Maybe you should -- spank me the next time I do it,” she ventured to suggest. Hugo’s heart jumped in his chest, for had she not just said, “...you should spank me...” which meant that she wanted a spanking and then added the tantalizing “...next time” which meant that she planned to see him again and perhaps often?
“You can count on it,” he agreed at once, but smiled pleasantly with it, so as not to appear too anxious.
“People talk about spanking me, but no one ever does it,” she suddenly complained, sitting at her industrial wooden spool with the red tablecloth thrown over it to roll a joint out of the bag he had given her.
“Really? Who talks about it?”
“The person I saw the movie with.”
“I wish I’d been the one to escort you home after that flick!” Hugo said.
“So, what are you doing this weekend?” she asked him at length, for her cats were all over him and the bonding process begun.
“I’m at your disposal if you’re feeling adventurous about the windowpane,” Hugo said, rising to his reedy 6’2” stature and gently setting down both cats. They solemnly exchanged phone numbers.
“You do look handsome with your hair short,” she said, walking him to the door.
Hugo, having made such tremendous strides, only ventured to press her hand upon parting. The purchase of the acid had been a last minute impulse item, very much in the nature of Casanova ordering vast quantities of oysters and champagne in order to reduce a beauty to a state of reckless, sensual abandon. He had studied the master well enough to know that the way to a woman’s heart and soul was through all of her senses.
Hugo walked home in the chilly dusk on puffs of light and air. He had met an enchanting, abrasive girl who might truly be a fetishist, one whom he would not have to sneak the spanking by, but who might well regard it as the sacred aphrodisiac which he had always believed it to be. Congratulating himself for holding himself in check and not jumping her in either apartment, he stopped in at a pub and ordered a beer. Sitting at the bar, the friendly baseball game in progress above, the startling image of himself as clean cut in the mirror opposite and the fantasy of the weekend stretching before him, Hugo could not remember ever feeling more delight in being alive.
It was with additional titillation that Hugo pondered, a few moments later, his best opportunity of making a girl cry real tears from a spanking, without being a bully or cruel. On acid people cried, even when you weren’t spanking them. Like alcohol, it freed the emotions, but without making the room spin around. This girl was either marginally or deeply perverse. She owned a latex corset. She would certainly let him spank her. And while she was getting her spanking, the psychotropic would translate the entire experience into epic proportions, and she would most likely cry. After that, she would be his, especially if he completed the softening up process with a home cooked dinner. Hugo put down his empty stein and set off for the market.
He predicted she’d phone him no later than ten the following morning; she called at exactly ten am. He invited her over for coffee; she was at his door by the time it was ready. Today she wore her hair down, with a white tee shirt, pegged blue jeans and black, stack-heeled ankle boots that by Hugo’s lights made up for a multitude of sins.
“Those shoes are much more provocative than the ones you had on yesterday,” Hugo observed, handing her coffee with the windowpane on the saucer to one side.
“Well, you did cut your hair, so I figured I should make some concessions,” Garda smiled at him.
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t we cut this in half and both do it?” Garda suggested.
Hugo briefly considered the possible paranoia involved and shook his head, protesting, “One of us should be a grown up.”
“And that would be you?”
“Yes,” he replied cheerfully.
“What are you afraid of Hugo? The thought of not being in complete control on our first date?”
“Since you said first date, I’m prepared to throw caution the winds,” Hugo candidly admitted, cutting the paper in half and popping one half in his mouth.
“You’re doing the acid with me after all?” she cried.
“How could I not, you threw down the gauntlet, didn’t you?”
He took her coffee cup away to refill it. When he came back they finished their coffee, each playing with one of the kittens. Then Garda burst into giggles.
“What?” asked Hugo, smiling. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling something already?”
“Look, don’t get mad.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“I just kind of turned your experiment around.”
“What experiment?”
“The one where you planned to use powerful hallucinogens to break me down sexually.”
“Come on, Garda, give me a break.”
“You didn’t plan to do that?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Anyway, I decided not to take the acid.”
“Oh really?” Hugo felt his face growing warm.
“Yes. And I dissolved the other half of the paper in your coffee that you just drank. So you actually took the full hit.”
“Damn you,” Hugo said with admiration. “Are you serious?”
“Isn’t it delicious?” Garda actually crowed with laughter.
“You are naughty!” Hugo accused, torn between amusement and annoyance. “Aren’t you?” Suddenly Garda stopped giggling. “In fact,” Hugo said, “you deserve to be spanked!” He took away her kitten, placed it on the table beside the other one, who had buried his face in the cow creamer and reached for her wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Something. While I still can!” Hugo said, pulling her across his lap with determination. “You said no one ever followed through before. Well, someone is about to.” He then brought his palm down on her slim, curvy backside a dozen times, spanking her on one cheek, then the other, evenly, like someone who had done this, not once, but many times before. “I’m sure you think you’re very clever!” he accused, beginning the second dozen with renewed vigor. “But you’re really very irritating!” Smack! Smack! Smack! His palm impacted against her taut, denim-clad bottom with a satisfying resonance. She gasped, panted and whimpered in response but did not dare to protest. “Of course I’ve longed to turn you over my knee, but I never dreamed you’d give me a reason to do so. I guess I should say thanks!” He finished with a final ringing dozen swats before letting her go. She staggered