We had been looking forward to our holiday in Malaysia for a long, long time. The last few days before departure seemed particularly long. You know how you wait for Friday night to come? It was like that, only more tortuous.

To quench our longing for warmth and sandy beaches, Abel and I kept paging through the sites of the hotels we would be staying in. Planning wistfully what we could do when we’re there.* Resort hotels try their best at putting on all sorts of entertainment: jungle walks, diving, visits to crocodile farms** and barbeque nights follow each other in a never-ending succession.

“And on Tuesday nights -” said Abel in a bright infomercial voice “is when our spanking club meets.”

Yes, yes! That’s one thing they website and brochures are missing. “Come along to the blue lounge for our Spanking Extravaganza, where hands clap and bottom cheeks jiggle. Bring your own rattan or borrow ours.”

Maybe not. Oh, well. We’ll just have to organise the meeting of the hotel’s spanking club with what resources we have. In our bedroom.

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* Swimming, reading and writing is about the whole of it, really.
** I do NOT think so.

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