Probation Officer #104: Tableaux vivants and memory 2

Two girls would place themselves in front of him so his reaction to their solid, real, unglamorous and beautiful femaleness was placed between their bodies and out of sight of the audience. Most of the audience weren’t there to see his willie.  

But hiding an erection between two pretty girls does very little to make it go away. 

8 lovely ladies enacting the three graces, the rape of the Sabine Women, etc. The guys about to rape the Sabine women have prop Roman shields, helmets and swords. High budget!

8 lovely ladies enacting the three graces, the rape of the Sabine Women, etc. Note that the guys about to rape the Sabine women have prop Roman shields, helmets and swords. Hi, budget!

In this club the tableaux vivants, viewed consecutively, told a story. There was a compere who actually told the story, but each time the lights went on, the tableau vivant performers would be posed to represent the next stage in the story.

It wasnt the sort of place that enacted classical or historical scenes. Their audience wasn’t interested, and wouldn’t get the references anyway. And it cost too much.

Instead they’d do domestic comedy. Like this:

Tableau 1: A working class father tells his daughters not to go out. (Man in cloth cap, loose overalls and moustache. Girls half-undressed, draped about and putting on stockings, facing the audience, or lipstick, with their asses to the audience.)  

Tableau 2: The girls go out anyway. (Girls only. Their clothes have got caught in the doors, windows, furniture etc, as they sneak away.)

Tableau 3: They get into trouble. (Man, mostly or entirely naked, pretending to chase naked girls, who are pretending to run away.)

Tableau 4: Policeman makes them go home. (Man in policeman’s hat and carrying truncheon. Blowing inaudible whistle. Girls slumped and miserable. Two of them are between the audience and the “policeman’s” penis.)

Tableau 5: Girls try to sneak in, at home. (Girls only. Lots of ungainly nude posing, climbing through windows, up stage trees, etc.)

Tableau 6: But father catches them. (Outraged father with night-cap on head and belt in hand. Girls mock-cowering, two of them keeping his penis mostly out of sight. Later, they’d drape one of the girls over his lap. It did nothing to reduce his erection, but at least it made it easier to hide.)

See? Comedy! But the clubs would do it with less clothing.

See? Comedy! But the clubs would do it with less clothing.

That was a typical story. The “discipline” theme wasn’t quite bdsm. It was what passed for comedy at the time, and the idea of girls getting thrashed bare-assed by their fathers didn’t seem as abusive to a middle-aged 1960s audience as it would to a modern one.

But it wasn’t entirely bdsm-free, either.  There was always a market for spanking and discipline themes, and it you did it as comedy you could get away with a lot that you wouldn’t get away with if you admitted it was erotic.

This is no time to be all knowing about “the English vice”. American television producers discovered the same thing at about the same time, which is why you got things like the wife-spanking scenes in The Lucy Show 

So that was my ancient drinking mate’s job, and one of my sources for knowledge about tableaux vivants. I’m back to the story of Sa’afia’s punishment night tomorrow.

Probation officer #11: The stiffie apology

I said, “Christ, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t be – . Anyway, there are things you need to tell me, about what’s going on with you and the cops.” 

Ana shook her head. 

So it seemed I’d lost whatever trust I’d managed to build up. Whatever she’d been close to telling me before she’d started crying, she wasn’t close now. “And there are things I need to tell you. No, I mean about cops. There are ways of talking to cops, and acting around them, that makes it much harder for them to arrest you. I wanted to talk about that. Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

Ana was still staring at me. She shook her head again. “I didn’t think you were even human. And it turns out you’re weird.”

I wondered how the hell she’d known I’d been thinking about spanking her when I’d got hard. I blushed. I could feel the heat in my face. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry.” 

“You’re still saying sorry. That’s so weird.” 

Probation officers

Probation officers

“Well. I’m really, really not supposed to get turned on by, well, clients.”

“You wanna fuck me?”

I hesitated. First because of course I wanted to fuck Ana. I knew it’d be a terrible idea, but the temptation was nearly irresistible.

Then I hesitated some more because if it really was an invitation she’d have said, “You wanna fuck?” She wasn’t inviting me: she was asking to see what I’d say.

“Yes, of course I do. Definitely. God yes, of course I do. And I can’t. Or I won’t, or whatever it is. Sorry. If I’d met you at a party or something, it’d be different. But I’m working, for you. I’m not supposed to be … Ah, I mean you’re a client.”

She breathed out. That was something like the right answer. “Okay, I’m a client and you’re a probation officer. And you’re weird.”  

Not probation officers.

Not probation officers.

“I’m an idiot, anyway.” I ought to have meant getting an erection was idiotic. But part of me thought that telling Ana I wouldn’t fuck her was stupid. Oh well. 

“No-one’s ever apologised to me for having a stiffie before.”

“I’m your first probation officer, then?”

Probation officer #10: still going on about tears and erections

I’ve left this story for a while, while I wrote about tears.

But there I was, a junior probation officer, 23 years old to my client Ana’s 18 years, and Ana was soaking my shirt with tears, dribble and all those other effluvia. I had my arm around her shoulders, and she turned her head this way and that while she wailed, as though she wanted to rub her nose on my buttons. We were parked by the river like a courting couple, because I was a very stupid 23 year old probation officer, and I’d thought we needed to talk privately.

Career-wise, I was a dead man, probably. This is a dead man's chest joke.

Career-wise, I was a dead man, probably. This is a dead man’s chest joke.

I’d been squeezing and relaxing Ana’s shoulders and talking soothing nonsense, as you do with a baby. I remembered the way women lightly smack the bottoms of babies when they hold them, which seems to be a way of reassuring them that everything is okay. That brought back the incredibly vivid fantasy I’d had only half an hour before, of what it would be like to put Ana over my knee, get those shorts down and spank her till she promised to behave.

Or, because fantasy is a slippery thing, it became about what it would be like to spank her until she was wriggling about, her light-brown little bottom tinged with red warmth, her thighs parted and her cunt petite but open and glazed with yearning, until she had my cock where we wanted it. 

I shook my head again, and thought intently about the ear structure of the African elephant, which usually stopped erections in their tracks. Ana was still crying into my shirt, though the volume had muted, and she seemed more relaxed. 

I could think again. I’d meant to talk to her about the police harassment, and that it was clearly intended to get her into jail. Eventually some judge was going to look at her charge sheet, and not notice the quality of what was on there: only the width. We’d come here to talk about that, about how to stop it. I more or less a professional again, and not just a young man with dom tendencies and an incredibly pretty and exasperating girl. I was proud of getting myself back under control, and that I’d managed to kill the erection before Ana could have noticed.

I said, because it was time to call her back to the world, “Ana? Ana, are you okay?”

Ana said nothing, and didn’t move. I waited, and her shoulder twitched. Her face was still pressed against me. She shook a little, and I expected more sobs. Eventually I realised she was laughing. Giggling. “Aue. Oh man.”

“What? Are you okay?”

I thought you'd like a picture of the new headquarters of the Chinese People's Daily.

I thought you’d like a picture of the new headquarters of the Chinese People’s Daily. No really. It is.

More giggles. She was still in my shirt, not looking at me. “You had a rere.”


“Rere ure. You had a stiffie.” She said it in singsong, like a child’s taunt. “You got me out of the copshop, and you got a stiffie.”

“Oh.” I thought about other jobs I could do, after being fired from this one. “Oh.”

Probation officer #7

I had no right to spank Ana, and it wasn’t my place even to be thinking about it. But I did have every right to be angry with her. She would be going back to court, with her brand new criminal offence. The charge was stupid, and no-one would have taken it to court if it wasn’t that a local cop felt annoyed because she hadn’t flirted with him. But the shoplifting made her arrest record another item longer. It put her back in danger of jail. Also, I’d told the judge she was very unlikely to reoffend, and she’d lasted six weeks. This stupid incident had  weakened my credibility with the judge, and that would affect other clients. 

So I needed to talk to her. The Probation Office was closed. I couldn’t talk at my place, or at her place. But the road to her place followed the river. I took another risk, and drove off the road at an old track I knew. Trucks went there to pick up shingle for the road, but it was a pretty spot if you drove on past the gravel piles, a little closer to the water.

Yeah, I'm relaxed. Why?

Yeah, I’m relaxed. Why?

I’d just had a sexual fantasy about her, and although I’d managed to suppress that set of thoughts, what I was doing now was stupid. I was so busy feeling righteous that it didn’t occur to me how going off-road and parking looked to her. I turned the van off and pulled the brake. Ana had one hand near the door handle. She was pretending to be relaxed but she was tensed and ready to run. I said, “Ana, for fuck’s sake, you’re going to listen to me.”

She decided the anger in my voice must mean I wasn’t going to try to fuck her. I was puzzled to see her relax when I shouted at her. I was being stupid.

I said, “Ana, you’re playing with the justice system like it’s, I don’t know, like it’s a cat. Like it’ll scratch your hand if you annoy it. But it can actually destroy you. It can fuck your life up. I mean, shop-lifting a fucking broach.”

“Hair clip. Like a butterfly.” 

“Whatever. You were being a fucking idiot. You’ve got to stop being a fucking idiot, right now.”