I’m Jake Flannagan, I’m 35…and this is my single, messy life…
I stood at the reception desk of the freshly-decorated, boutique hotel just off Brighton’s seafront. It looked as good as it had done in the photos on the internet; I had chosen wisely.
The place had just reopened after a refit – it was a steal at the price too. My new lady was stood by my side with a huge smile; ‘Mission Accomplished’ was my thought.
“Here are your keys, sir. We’ve upgraded you to a sea view, it’s complimentary…” said the smartly dressed man behind the counter.
I’d been seeing the new lady for some months, but this was our first trip away. It was a surprise.
I picked up the keys and was about to turn away.
“I take it you are here for the dungeon?” asked the man behind the counter.
I thought I’d misheard him. I replayed his question in my head. No – he definitely said “dungeon”. Maybe he meant the Old Police Cells Museum at Brighton Town Hall? I’d heard that they were worth a visit.
“What dungeon?” asked the new lady, her smile half gone.
“The one in our basement, the sex dungeon. We have forty thousand pounds of new equipment in there; Whips chains, stocks….”
I was riveted to the spot. My legs felt like lumps of iron and everything seemed to moving in extra slow motion. How had this happened? I’d diligently researched the hotel. Not one of the reviewers had mentioned being chained up in the basement whilst being shagged – NOT ONE!
The new lady glanced at me. Her smile was disintegrating faster than an ice cream on a hot day.
I could think of nothing to say. I shrugged my shoulders, grabbed our belongings – and headed up towards our room.
“Dungeon, dungeon, a fucking dungeon…” was all I could hear as I carried our bags up the stairs.
Once inside our room, I quickly hugged her and tried to apologise.
“You dirty bastard!” she said. “Our first weekend away and you bring me to a sex club with a dungeon?!”
I hadn’t. I wouldn’t. I mean not on our first weekend away…
I tried to convince her that I had no idea, but she didn’t believe me. She pulled out her phone and tapped a few details into the internet browser.
“Look – you little liar!” she stated as she spun the phone round to reveal a photo of a heavily tattooed woman clad in leather with a whip, stood in the biggest sex dungeon I had ever seen.
I protested my innocence, but it was no use, she didn’t believe me. I was a filthy man; she knew this. I talked dirty; she was acutely aware of some of my previous risky and often filthy, sexploits; I simply didn’t look like I was telling the truth…
BUT I WAS INNOCENT.
I needed space to think. I sloped off to the toilet and locked myself in.
I heard the door to the room open and close as I sat wondering how to deal with the situation on the toilet. I ran out, she was gone. Just my luck…
As I was about to call her, she reappeared from the hallway…
“It opens at 9pm…” she said with a huge smile, waving a leaflet at me.
It’s better to be born lucky than rich, as they say.
Find out more – grab a copy of my book at ‘The Theseus Paradox’