September 19, 2002
"I never thought anything like this would ever happen to me," he said. "I never thought I'd be in a lawyer's office even once, and I've been here three times now. And absolutely nothing's been accomplished. I've always hated lawyers." He looked as though he expected me to take offense. "A lot of people do," I said. "It was either that or I would've shot those miserable blankety-blanks next door and I'd have to get a lawyer to defend me anyway. You know the story?" I did. He was suing his neighbors because they had a dog that "barked all goddamn day." I listened to him talk. It surprised me how this short conversation quickly restored my sensibility. Everything seemed perfectly normal by the time the lawyer came out of his office to greet the client. I noticed he had my letter in one hand. Just before he turned to lead the client away, he handed it to me, smiling. "Good letter," he said. When I went home that night, everything was the same. My life had not been disarranged by the event except for a slight increase in the distance between me and my family. My behind was not even red when I looked at it in the bathroom mirror. But when I got into bed and thought about the thing, I got excited. I was more excited, in fact, than I had ever been in my life. That didn't surprise me, either.  I felt a numbness; I felt again that I could never have a normal conversation with anyone again. I masturbated slowly, to put off the climax as long as I could. But there was no climax, even though I tried for a long time. Then I couldn't sleep. It happened twice more in the next week and a half. The following week, when I made a typing mistake, he didn't spank me. Instead, he told me to bend over his desk, looking at the typing mistake and repeat "I am stupid" for several minutes. Our relationship didn't change otherwise. He was still brisk and friendly in the morning. And, because he seemed so sure of himself, I could not help but react to him as if he were the same domineering but affable boss. He did not, however, ever invite me to discuss my problems with him again. I began to have recurring dreams about him. In one, the most frequent, I walked with him in a field of bright red poppies. The day was brilliant and warm. We were smiling at each other, and there was a tremendous sense of release and goodwill between us. He looked at me and said, "I understand you now, Debby." Then we held hands. There was one time I felt disturbed about what was happening at the office. It was just before dinner, and my father was upset about something that had happened to him at work. I could hear him yelling in the living room while my mother tried to comfort him. He yelled, "I'd rather work in a circus! In one of those things where you put your head through a hole and people pay to throw garbage at you!" "No circus has that anymore," said my mother. "Stop it, Shep." By the time I went down to eat dinner, everything was as usual. I looked at my father and felt a sickening sensation of love nailed to contempt and panic. The last time I made a typing error and the lawyer summoned me to his office, two unusual things occurred. The first was that after he finished spanking me he told me to pull up my skirt. Fear hooked my stomach and pulled it toward my chest. I turned my head and tried to look at him. "You're not worried that I'm going to rape you, are you?" he said. "Don't. I'm not interested in that, not in the least. Pull up your skirt." I turned my head away from him. I thought, I don't have do this. I can stop right now. I can straighten up and walk out. But I didn't. I pulled up my skirt. "Pull down your pantyhose and underwear." A finger of nausea poked my stomach. "I told you I'm not going to fuck you. Do what I say." The skin on my face and throat was hot, but my fingertips were cold on my legs as I pulled down my underwear and panty hose. The letter before me became distorted beyond recognition. I thought I might faint or vomit, but I didn't. I was held up by a feeling of dizzying suspension, like the one I have in dreams where I can fly, but only if I get into some weird position. At first he didn't seem to be doing anything. Then I became aware of a small frenzy of expended energy behind me. I had an impression of a vicious little animal frantically burrowing dirt with its tiny claws and teeth. My hips were sprayed with hot sticky muck. |
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Commentarium (21 Comments)
I dont know if this story is true or just another letter from Penthouse Forum. The only time I have ever playfully spanked a woman is standing next to her while playing around after showering, standing together at a nude beach before plunging in or when she is on top of me as I grasp and slap her buns to push her over the top to climax. BDSM is not what my girlfriends were enthused about other than light swatting. Nipple tweaking and kissing is great, and I am pretty good at it which I am well rewarded. Oh yeah, light spanking over my knee for being so naughty, naked, in heels, excites some babes, but I never come on too strong or kinky. I guess my sex life is well within normal. Some women love to squeeze and spank their mans buns too!
feedback
I think the lack of feedback on this story speeks volumes.
Horrible story. Long. Bad plot. Author should consider becoming a street sweeper.
I liked the honesty.
to be totally honest.....this sstory sucked.it failed to capture this reader's interest and i did try and hopethat it might but it was totally a wate of ink....unbelievable that someone was paid to write this.
more feedback
The above feedback folk sure did get excited by the story...He/she certainly used it to talk about all their sexiness. Nice.
The story had all the quiet and awkard descriptions to make it interesting. Debby became a believable and likable character through the author's making. I liked the complex view of someone's first encounter with a different kind of sex.
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do most of the commenters not know what this story is? it's not some flash-in-the -pan first time attempt from an unknown author who "should become a street sweeper", and it's not a letter from penthouse forum. mary gaitskill is an amazingly talented and very well-known writers, the above story was excerpted from her first book of short stories, published in 1988.
anyways, i love the secretary, i think it's incredibly well-written, and i, like gatskill, felt the movie version was just awful.
I disagree, I thought the movie was far more deep and interesting than the short story. The lawyer here is totally flat and gruesome. There is a very real element of beauty in bdsm, an element which is captured and explored in the film and totally absent here.
This is a great short story. Mary Gaitskill has a unique talent and I do enjoy her writing. The collection of short stories this comes from is called Bad Behavior, it is still in print in paperback and even now available as a kindle book. I think its a shame that the entire story is reprinted here without it being clear that this is a piece of contemporary fiction that has been published, and actually it is a disservice to the author to have it entirely available for free here. But if it leads to futher interest in the work of Mary Gaitskill then it is useful. There is new interest in this short story because of the similarities between the movie Secretary and the 50 Shades of Grey novels. The man is named Grey, he has copper colored hair (like Spader), he is closed and complicated, and the woman is brunette and in the end it turns into a positive relationship (in the move and 50 shades, not this story). I am a fan of the movie and this story and 50 shades just to see what all the fuss was about. The memoir that 9 1/2 weeks was based on was worth reading as well...