Fifty Shades of Imp
Smoke and Mirrors
The strong odor of sulphurous smoke snaps me out of my reverie as I am sitting here typing a story of Pooh bear and his amnesiac wanderings. I am hunched over my keyboard, in my study, as I’ve been these past few nights, feverishly spinning out my whimsical narrative. It is a peaceful night with just a faint patter of raindrops on the windowsill as night’s heavy blanket cuddles my household. As the acrid smell intensifies, I know the cuddly cosiness is about to be wrenched from around me by an impetuous Imp.
“Pardon me, Docmo. How are you at picking locks?”
I nearly topple my chair over as he appears few feet in front of me, wizened and wrinkled like a breakfast prune. He is not very tall and has a face only his mama could love. But, I must admit, there is something in those porcine eyes that stops one from turning away. He has that usual glint of mischief in them. It is what is covering his face that shocks me, although I should really know better by now. After all that has happened I shouldn’t be surprised at his increasingly errant antics.
Thongs and Thrills
Pandemonicum Grenvillard Woodimp is wearing what looks like a Venetian carnival mask and a studded leather collar around his stumpy neck. His hands- and I use the term loosely – are behind his back held in a gleaming pair of handcuffs.
My eyes move down to his nether regions where a leather thong covers his unmentionables. It is decorated with silver sequinned letters which say - I kid you not- the word ‘ Imp – ressive’.
I choke back a combination of a gasp, a chuckle and a faint gag reflex.
“What on earth-?”
The Imp stands there with his usual nonchalant posture as if this is all in the line of duty.
“Dear boy. By now you should know the inefficiency of that expression. For one I am not of this earth. Secondly I suppose I deserve a ‘who’ rather than a ‘what’. Thirdly I have no intention of watching your uvula flap, so close your jaw, get a grip and answer my question. Do you know how to pick locks?”
The Imp rolls its bulbous eyes behind the mask. “Stop exclaiming and help me at least take this mask off.”
I reach forward and undo the mask. The Imp blows a gust of air and wrinkles its facial muscles in a variety of contortions. “There- that’s much better. Now c’mon have you got a safety pin or a small screw driver?”
I scramble in my desk and pull out one of those mini screwdrivers one never finds when one wants to. The Imp however has this lucky streak.
“Come to mention it, I did do a stint in my youth learning how to pick locks. It was to open a locker in our house where there were some ‘artistic’ pictures.”
“A-ha, I knew it. You are the kind who learns for the sake of learning and wants to be in on everything. So here’s your chance to rediscover those lost skills. Pick the lock in these handcuffs. C’mon.”
He turns around and I try not to look at the leather thong riding his bum crack. It is not a pretty sight.
Rough and Tough
The Imp’s visitations have been happening since I started writing on hubpages. Initially I had wondered if he was a figment of my fertile imagination, a delusion of my demented mind or perhaps a sign of impending insanity. Lately I have concluded that I am not as insane as I thought (the reader is allowed to differ) and that Imp may indeed be a creature from another dimension who has chosen me to impart his impish wisdom through me.
He, you see, only appears to me and is invisible to the eyes of others. He says he could choose to manifest to others if he wants to, but prefers not to. He thinks it makes me feel special. I didn’t have a heart to tell him!
My brain zings back into action. It is like riding a bicycle. I insert the mini screwdriver into the keyhole and pick a paperclip that I straighten with my teeth. I insert one on top of the other and close my eyes. My nimble fingers can sense the inner clasp and tumbler that are locked in I slowly rotate the tumbler and press down the clasp as there is an audible click and the handcuff unlocks. I repeat it on the other side.
The Imp throws the handcuffs on the floor and rubs his wrists vigorously. “Phew. That was an awkward position to be in during inter-dimensional travel!”
I sit back and steeple my fingers. “Pray tell”
The Imp as usual, walks up to my scotch cabinet and pours a generous slug of Glenrothes. He gulps it down and shivers. The silver sequins glint and shine on his thong.
“You know I partake in some activities with the Impette in fourth dimension. “
“Is this the masseuse?”
The Imp drags a chair and parks its butt. The squeak of leather on leather and sets my teeth on edge.
“No not her. This one is wilder. Likes to play rough”
I looked at the discarded handcuffs. “You don't say!”
Print and Mint
PG Woodimp crossed his legs and rested his Scotch tumbler on his knee. “Have you never partaken in a bit of pain and pleasure, my boy?”
I was taken aback by this sudden line of enquiry. I gulped, scratched my nose and looked to one side.
“Your body language,” says the Imp, “not only tells me you have, but also that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Pray tell.”
"Never mixed pain with pleasure. Not my cuppa. anyway enough about me. To what do I owe this visit? Did you just need a lock-picker and thought of me”
“On the contrary. I have been reliably informed by my spies here on earth that there is a Harry Potteresque outbreak of a publishing phenomenon. Thought I should investigate and maybe give you some hints”
I raise my eyebrows. “Which book are we referring to?”
“Books. Dear boy. Books. Apparently the whole series appeared as a fanfiction on a Twilight fan site. It was a series of erotic stories called Master of the Universe. It originally featured Meyer’s characters and then the author pulled it and made it her own with fresh characters!”
Realisation dawned. “Do you mean Fifty shades of Grey?”
The Imp raised the glass. “Lets drink to the success of Erika Leonard a.k.a E.L.James. The woman’s done well.”
I sip some more scotch. “I suppose so”
“Ten million copies don’t lie. I’m here to ask you to get on the bandwagon now. Compared to her work your stuff reads like nursery rhymes and baby books. You need to amp up the heat. You need heat and sensuality. Pull out the leather and rubber.”
"As a medic, I should point out pulling-out- the-rubber is not sensible advice for safe sex."
The Imp smirked. "Ha, ha, you're so funny I'm gonna book you a comedy tour. C'mon show me you can write erotica"
Pooh and Woo
I shook my head and sipped some more scotch. “You see, I am not going to pander to the market forces. I have high ideals. I shall not sully my reputation…”
I stopped as the Imp choked and spluttered on his drink. He started chortling in his own Impish manner. He sounded like a badly tuned Engine of a fifties Morris Minor.
“Are you ok?” I queried, concerned.
His eyes were watering and he kept chortling for a bit. He lifted his palm and waved me to sit down as I stood up to help. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose with a loud harrumph.
“Sorry dear boy. I was just taken by surprise. I have never laughed so much in polite company.”
I felt my face go warm.
“So what, “ I said with an edge in my voice that could have cut glass, “Do you find funny?”
The Imp grinned. “There was some mention of a reputation. But never mind, I am here to help you practice writing cutting edge titillation”
“But.. But I am in the middle of my Winnie the Pooh article….”
“Don’t make me come over there. Save that childish distraction and get on to grown up writing. Unless Winnie the Pooh is wearing leather thongs and …”
“Please.” I warned. “Please don’t sully my childhood favourite with your impure thongs. I mean thoughts.”
I leaned over to my laptop and saved the file. I opened a brand new document and cracked my knuckles. The Imp can be very persistent and I thought it was better to indulge him for a bit than fight the critter.
"So tell, me oh wise master. How does one write sizzling sex scenes?"
The Imp leaned back on the armchair. Steepled his fingers under his considerable nostrils and closed his eye. " Begin, I will." he said in a voice that sounded very much like Yoda.
And he did.
The Imp returns in Despicable Imp...
QUIZ: Do you know your erotic literature?
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© 2012 Mohan Kumar