The following is perhaps how Fifty shades would go, if it was written by a man…
A Fantasy Come True
I was feeling a little despondent as my fortieth birthday was stalking ever closer, and my twentieth wedding anniversary was due this weekend, so I decided to treat myself and book a massage at the Health Spa, after my Thursday Aerobics class.
I’d just come out of the sauna and was about to enter on of the private massage rooms when I heard my name being called. I turned around.
“You are Mrs Davidson, I take it?” the young man asked again.
He was a bit more rugged than I’d expected for my masseuse, but he was handsome with it. He was dressed in work overalls, none too clean. The top half had been rolled down and was tied around his waist revealing his sweaty, snug fitting t-shirt beneath.
“Yes,” I replied. “Can I help you?”
“I gather ya rear end needs some pummelling.”
I noticed his sexy Scottish brogue for the first time, and was a little distracted by his melodic accent. “I beg your pardon?”
“It needs beating, ma’am” he explained. “Your husband called mae and set the whole thing up. He told ma to give ye a thorough going over, no expense spared. I’m to give ya a full service and fix ya up right for the coming weekend. I gather it’s your anniversary. He told mae to sort out a wee spray job for ya too, if it was needed, and finish it off with a waxing.”
I was a little taken aback. Our marriage had become a little stale over recent years and my efforts to spice up our love life with BDSM had been spurned. I’d once suggested getting a spray tan, and a Brazilian wax, but his response to that had been, “Don’t talk daft, woman.”
“He booked me in, you say?” I asked, just to make sure I’d heard correctly. That Scottish accent of his was like a triple brandy. It was effecting my concentration. I’d always loved that accent.
“Aye, just a wee one to sort out your rear. It’ll only take an hour or so.”
Although I’d never been unfaithful before, my imagination had run rampant in the desert that was our bedroom. Anyway, it wasn’t really cheating if it was with my husband’s blessing, was it?
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took the young man by the hand and led him into the privacy of the room. Locking the door behind us, I strutted over to the massage table and undid my towelling robe. Slipping it from my shoulders, I bent over the table in my best submissive pose, and looked over my shoulder at the young hunk who was about to tan my derriere.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” I purred. “Don’t hold back, Master. I’ve been a very naughty girl.”
He stood there, gazing in surprise at my nakedness.
“Well?” I prompted, already quivering with excitement at my fantasy coming to life.
“I think we’ve got our wires crossed, lassie. I’m a panel beater. I work in the garage across the street. Your husband said you’d crashed the car, and he wanted to get it fixed. I just popped over to pick up ya car keys …”
Mortified, I dropped my head in embarrassment. “Oh God!”
I remember vaguely my husband saying something over breakfast, but to be honest, I hadn’t been listening. I’d been in a world of my own. “Oh, God,” I repeated, feeling sick. “What must you think of me!”
The mechanic looked at his watch, and then back at me. Finally, he answered, “I’m due a tea break right about now. I guess I can paddle ya sweet behind for a wee while, too …”