Justine Elyot - Confessions of a Kinky Wife

When the burning was soothed, I turned around and leant against the sink, facing him.

‘That sums it up,’ I said. ‘That’s what I mean.’

‘What?’

‘You’re so sensible, Dan, and so capable, and I’m not. I do things like that all the time, and I get frustrated with myself and then I get angry with myself and then … I don’t know. It just boils away in my brain, a great big swamp of self-loathing that keeps getting added to and added to. It’s not good for me.’

‘It’s no big deal, love. Just a silly mistake. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

‘Exactly. I don’t want to be hard on myself. I want you to be hard on me.’

My heart pounded, and the palm that had been hot and itchy from the scalding water was now sweating.

‘Like the guys in your book, you mean? You want me to actually … discipline you?’

I nodded vigorously.

‘I want to be held to account. I want to be corrected.’

He laughed, a tad nervously, and looked up at the ceiling.

‘I’m sorry, Pip, I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just … uh … unusual. Isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life trying to be respectful of women, you know …’

‘It’s not about you being a man and me being a woman. It’s nothing to do with that at all. It’s to do with me wanting to submit and having this need. Oh, I don’t know if I’m putting it very well.’

‘So if I wanted you to spank me, that would be fine?’

‘Well, I’d find it hard, because I don’t like dominating, but in principle, yes.’

‘Right. I don’t, by the way. Want you spank me, I mean. I’m not that way inclined.’

He tried a smile. I tried one back. It was encouraging, at least, that he hadn’t walked out of the door with words of a ‘no dice’ variety.

‘I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to,’ I said. ‘It’s just a thought. Just a thing I’ve been pondering. I wanted to find out a bit more about it so I got a book. I’m not demanding anything of you.’

‘You’re not?’

‘No. God, Dan, I’m happy with you. I love you. I don’t want you to change and I’m not some unsatisfied wife eaten up by sexual frustration. Far from it. But I think, for me, this discipline thing would work so well … it’s just a thought. That’s all.’

‘You have some interesting thoughts, don’t you, Twink?’ he said. ‘Now put those flaming Marigolds on, for Christ’s sake.’

And there the matter ended. (I did put the gloves on.)

This has been the hardest working week in recent memory. Two of my kids have been in trouble with the law while another took an overdose. I spent all of last night in A&E with her, lobbying furiously to get her a place in an adolescent mental health unit. We got a bed in the end, but I feel like I’ve fought through every one of the seven labours of Hercules.

Then I’ve been at work all day, having to write reports. School holidays have started so the kids are kicking their heels, hanging around the centre demanding to be stimulated and fed and all the rest. I felt guilty about neglecting them to get the reports done, but I have a looming deadline and just had to leave them to play table-tennis and mess around on the DJ decks while I sat in the office with the door wedged open. Luckily Grant, my student assistant, turned up mid-afternoon and was able to keep more of an eye on them.

He offered to run the evening session to give me a break, but I feel like I should be there. There are some volatile relationships, especially among the older boys, and I worry that something will kick off in my absence.

So I nipped off at five, visited Jessie in the mental health unit (she seemed quite calm) and went home to grab a quick bite to eat before going back for the evening session.

‘You’re going back?’ Dan wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear it. ‘You look dead on your feet, love. Can’t someone else do it? Reva?’

‘She’s on holiday.’

I was too tired to even think about what I wanted to eat and just sank down on a dining chair, my head spinning.

‘What about that student bloke? Student Grant?’

‘Oh, he’s not experienced enough.’

‘I thought you said he used to be in the army and he’s thirty-eight years old.’

‘Yeah, but square-bashing and teen wrangling aren’t exactly the same thing …’

‘Whatever. He’s more than capable of overseeing a bit of disco dancing. Go on, call him and see if he’s free.’

‘He is. He offered to do it but …’

‘Well, there you are then. Problem solved. Call him.’

‘I’ll just worry …’

Dan snatched the phone from its cradle and thrust it at me.

‘Do it,’ he said. ‘And then you’re going to bed.’

Oh, God. I suddenly realised. He was doing what I’d hinted I wanted him to do. He was taking control when I wasn’t able to do it for myself. But now he was doing it, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to! I just wanted to whine and make excuses and argue him into giving in. But then I would get a horrible evening trying to run a teen disco on no hours’ sleep while he stewed here, feeling pissed off and unlistened to.

When it came down to it, he was right.

‘OK,’ I said, and with that I was liberated. Everything was taken off my shoulders and I could float into deep peace and relaxation.

I called Grant, who readily agreed to run the disco. He would have helped out anyway, having seen how pale and lacklustre I’d been earlier. He thought I needed a night off.

‘Have you been talking to my husband?’ I asked, suspicious, but he just laughed and said he’d see me tomorrow.

Dan smiled encouragingly at me as I hit the ‘end call’ button.

‘See. Not that hard, was it? What do you want to eat? What did you have for lunch?’

‘Oh.’ I thought vaguely about the lunch hour, then remembered that I’d worked right through it, with some half-formed intention of popping across to the little newsagent over the road later and getting a plastic-wrapped sandwich. Later had never come around. ‘I forgot.’

The look he gave me made me bite my lip. It would have turned me on if I hadn’t been too tired to even remember what sex was. As it went, I just hung my head and said, ‘I meant to, but I had reports …’

‘We talked about this before, didn’t we?’ he said. ‘After you fainted that time. I seem to remember you promising me you’d take better care of yourself.’

‘It was just this once,’ I said, but then I remembered that that was a lie. ‘A few times,’ I amended. ‘Not often. Look, I get busy, you know I do.’ My tone had switched from sheepish to querulous. It wasn’t fair that I should be in trouble for working too hard.

Despite the fact that I fantasised about Dan taking control in this way, now he was doing it, I felt my long-buried rebellious schoolgirl making her presence known. It seemed like the default response – sniping and arguing.

I wanted him to stand firm, and yet I also wanted to win.

It was all too confusing and, in the end, my tiredness made the decision for me.

‘We’re going to discuss that in the morning,’ he said. ‘But for now – bed. Go on. No arguments. I’ll bring you some supper on a tray.’

I nodded, my eyes half-shut already, and drifted across the kitchen. He caught me halfway and held me close, kissing me goodnight. I wanted to sleep there, in his arms, but he sent me on my way with a pat on my bottom.

I think it could be a taste of things to come.

Be careful what you wish for.

Great advice, but impossible to follow. Wishes come unbidden and desires can’t be quelled. I wished for it, I got it. I really, really got it.