Slug Spanker
Dawn Comer

He's a skinny sonofabitch. Pale skin. Stringy black hair. Black leather pants. Shiny silver jacket studded with rock salt. Box of slugs resting in his right palm.

Bud Maxwell's eyes scan the audience from back to front only to fall on me, sitting in the front row, my hands clasped around the fifty dollar ticket. He gives me an I-know-you-can't-help-yourself grin and I lower my eyes, regretting that I am, in some small way, no longer anonymous.

But if I can't help myself, then at least I can take comfort in not being the only one. The room is filled with those who like to hide in shadows and watch slug spankers, worm whippers, and even snail snorters indulge in forbidden pleasures. We like to watch. Nothing more.

Maxwell lifts the lid from the box and removes a slug, placing it on a glass platform at chest level in front of him. A large oval mirror magnifies the image. The slug creeps forward, leaving a thin trail of ooze to glisten on glass. It is beautiful and I clap as loudly as the rest of the audience. I even hear some whistles. Maxwell lifts his hand and we fall silent.

From the breast pocket of his jacket, Maxwell removes a small paddle, crudely fashioned from a popsicle stick and a small square of white wicker. I smile, recognizing a child's makeshift toy when I see one. I too once made such a toy, although I never used mine. Maxwell angles the edge of the paddle under the slug and flips it over gently, then sets the paddle aside and removes a peacock feather from the same breast pocket, holding the feather up for the audience to admire. It too is beautiful. As Maxwell proceeds to tickle, the slug squirms and secretes.

The rest of the audience laughs at the slug's antics. But I can only smile and imagine what it must be like to tickle a slug. Of course, I would choose a more intimate setting. Since slug ownership was outlawed before my birth, though, I suspect I will never find out. "Gross negligence and abuse of slugs" was the rationale given by Slug Lovers Upset God (S.L.U.G.). Another group, Slug Lovers Under God (also known as S.L.U.G.) protested the decision vigorously at the time and for years afterward until driven underground by militant slug protection activists. I, and the others gathered here tonight, remain loyal to the cause.

Maxwell has put away the peacock feather and picked up the paddle again. The slug looks tired but content as Maxwell begins to spank it gently with the paddle at first, then harder until the wicker leaves a crosshatch pattern on its body. After one side is evenly crisscrossed, Maxwell deftly flips the slug over, using the paddle like a pancake turner. Indeed, the slug is flatter than it had been. While I wince slightly at the sight, my muscles tighten with delight at the slapping sound of a slug being spanked, a sound amplified by pea-sized microphones placed at the edge of the platform. I cannot do so much as blink, and just when I think I can stand it no longer, Maxwell's hand returns to his breast pocket.

I've seen all this before. I know what to expect. I know what Maxwell will pull out of his pocket. Still, I can't help but shiver when I see it. In his hand Maxwell holds a long ivory paddle, the words "Slug Spankers Semper Liberi" etched into the handle and dyed black with India ink. This is no child's toy; this is a sacred instrument. The end of the paddle is studded with crystals, polished and shiny as any diamonds. And yet, like the crystal in the necklace I wear, they are not diamonds but rock salt. I remove a safety pin from my pants' pocket and prick the tip of my middle finger three times. Maxwell raises his arm, the audience gasps, and I suck my finger to increase the blood flow. As Maxwell delivers the life-ending spank, I stroke the salt.

Dawn Comer dreams a lot. Most times she forgets her dreams (or tries to). Sometimes she remembers and writes them down, a good way to rid herself of them since her husband refuses to listen. Dawn is currently writing stories about tourist traps and teaching creative writing at Defiance College in Ohio.