Do you ever wonder, if hotel rooms could talk, what kind of conversations they would have with one another. Would room 42 talk to 103 about the nice couple from the Mid-West who so loved taking photos of the Cathedral and Castle?
Or would hotel rooms, like humans, prefer to gossip of the more salacious events?
The illicit afternoon trysts, the fevered sexual activity, with one eye always on the time?
What would this room, room 53, have to say about the events about to take place this afternoon?
I know! My mind is wandering as I await for you to arrive.
Ideally you would have been the first to arrive, for me to then swan in and take control of the room, and of course control of you. Sadly our journeys distances and workplace problems negated such an arrangement, forcing me into being the one awaiting your arrival.
But, I am a patient man! Even if the waiting has made my mind thinking of the concept of gossiping hotel rooms!
After all, you can only busy yourself for so long, as that pre-meeting tension builds up. Once I had entered the room, I unpacked. Not my travel bag, as that is just a mere prop, for the sake of the hotel receptionist.
No, it was my black briefcase that I unpacked, like the Dreamseller in the Lindisfarne song Meet Me On The Corner. Accept my wares were laid out upon the bed, rather than on the ground.
Firstly, the paddle takes pride of place; despite being English my love of Americana makes this innocuous looking eight holed paddle my implement of choice. I say innocuous looking, as it is small with the air holes giving it an almost comic look. An overgrown hairbrush with ambitions of being an implement of correction?
I imagine that will be your initial reaction as you view it? Don't be fooled though, as this ash can, and will, really bite your ass. Yes, my dear young lady, I think you will be surprised by the bruising stinginess that this little slice of wood can deliver!
Next to that, is lain a large ginger root, still to be cut and trimmed. Should corner time be called for, then this little fellow will certainly spice that up!
Next to that is the tawse, a solid looking relic that was perhaps a little to familiar to me in the nineteen seventies. I placed it there more for visual impact, though of course that could change, as and when my mood takes me.
Lastly we come to my cat like flogger, it lies there like a true feline, sleeping, but at any moment it can burst into action. It's leathery tongues, flicking and licking at the most intimate of places!
Then I think of you. I wonder how you will look upon your arrival?
Will it be The lady in red that walks through the door? The brown eyed personification of beautiful shyness.
Or a business executive? An alpha female, dressed to address a boardroom, but content for these precious few hours to relinquish all control and choices into my hands.
Or Boho chicness? Wafting through the room with balletic grace and haughtiness, only to kneel before me to accept the rose collar' and there by offering her total submission to me.
I never stipulated, merely gave my favoured options of your attire. Should you take those suggestions as instructions, is your decision, and yours alone.
Of course, one thing that was unwavering was the colour of your underwear. That, was carved in stone, and would be the first thing to be checked. The style, the material, all for you to decide.
But, the colour?
No, that little foible of mine meant mint green was the only order of the day!
So, now I wait and wonder, just what tale of debauchery this room will have to tell by nightfall?