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This is another tale of my wife Sally and her involvement with her black lover Elmore back in the 1970s.
There was a long silence, then Sally said, in a very small and timid voice, “OK.” But she obviously did not know where to start, so Andy took Sally’s arm and led her into the bedroom.The idea of beating the woman appealed strongly to Andy, and he thought it essential if he was to fuck them, but none of the sisterhood was willing to oblige.And so Elmore asked me if he could approach Sally for help for his friend.He had sought both medical and psychiatric advice on this problem over a number of years, but nothing had worked.In those days there was no such thing as a sex therapist and his main advice had been to “pull himself together and snap out of it.” Sound advice, but not much use to poor old Andy.They were very embarrassed out the outset, but gradually things warmed up as they talked to each other and drank wine.
I noticed that Sally was drinking as much as she could get, she was very nervous.
He had tried going to prostitutes, but this had always proved an expensive failure.
There were very few prostitutes who were willing to beat him severely, and even they would not consider letting him beat them.
When she said she was frightened of being hurt I pointed out that she had allowed other men to do much weirder things to her. And at last she agreed to go with Andy, but we had to agree that she would not be left alone in a house with him.
The meeting was arranged for a Saturday night in Chris’s flat (the one with the loft with peepholes), Chris being away that weekend. In the early evening Elmore and I let ourselves into the flat and hid in the loft.
Andy arrived shortly after (he did not know that we would be in the loft), and half an hour later Sally arrived, knocked on the door and was let in.