Carte Blanche: The Naughty Stories Series

By Sedley Proctor, Tony Henderson and MT Sands

How will Kateryna woo Shevshenko? Will the Count elude confession on his death bed? Can a true Scot really appreciate a holiday in the Med? How will you grow old? Gracefully or with a bottle in your hands? Are you a Naughty Girl or Nice Girl? Have you ever encountered your double? Can you read the cards, or do you stick to the runes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leopard Publishing Ventures Ltd
• Release date: Oct 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838178710

Sedley Proctor

Sedley was born in Poole, Dorset and grew up in West London where visits to the local library instilled in him a life-long love of books. Sedley always loved writing and English. In fact, when he was eleven, he began a historical novel, now lost to posterity, but, if memory serves, in the style of Henry Treece and Ronald Welch. At school in Winchester he started to dream about a writing career, and was even lucky enough to win a prize for a short story, the title of which he has now forgotten. For some reason, however, the final line sticks in his mind. "Was it a living or waking dream? - No, she must be dead." After a brief flirtation with archaeology, he studied English at Nottingham University where he was tutored, for a term, by the Northern Irish poet, Tom Paulin. In the 1990s, he worked in fringe theatre and was involved in productions of Macbeth and Bertolt Brecht's In the Jungle of Cities. His own play, Salt Lake Psycho about the notorious murderer, Gary Gilmore was put on at the now defunct Man in the Moon theatre in Chelsea. Salt Lake Psycho was directed by Sean Holmes, current associate artistic director at Shakespeare's Globe. For the best part of two decades, Sedley lived and worked as a teacher and translator in Southern Italy. Here he collaborated with French writer, Claude Albanese on the screenplay of Dirty Waters. Dirty Waters, which is a political thriller, written with Italian blood, English sweat and French tears, received a commendation at the 2003 Montpellier Festival. In Italy Sedley continued to experiment with his writing, devising an invented dialect for a novel about a young female brigand of the Risorgimento. He also experimented with performance poetry, accompanying local blues band, Big Daddy Lawman on their tours of Apulian taverns, churches and bars. Returning to Britain in 2013, Sedley wrote The Half Days (2015), an ex-pat adventure set in Southern Italy. He struck up a writing partnership with Tony Henderson. Together they quickly published two books: Over & Under i (2015) and Over & Under ii (2016), a series of naughty tales, inspired by the tales of the Arabian Nights. The Over & Under Series has subsequently morphed into the Naughty Stories Series. The first in this series, Ten Naughty Stories was published in 2019 under the pen name, M. T. Sands. Sedley has also published the sequel to The Half Days under the title, Accidental Death of a Terrorist. Accidental Death of a Terrorist (2019) is the second part of the Mezzogiorno Trilogy. Sedley and Tony have written a children's book, The Wolf Garden, under the alias F. M. Frites: A Totally, Completely, and Utterly Bodacious Adventure with Unicorns and Gnomes.

Book preview

Carte Blanche

The Naughty Stories Series

M T Sands

For all who like naughty things

Affaires d’amour or wanton flings

Look still to unbutton your mind

So profound make filth you find

CONTENTS

Carte Blanche

Soft Spots

The Andalusian Dog

Family Waze

Golden Years

A Question of Faith

His Master’s Voice

Perfectionists

Dead Cats

Neverland

Patriot Games

The End of the Affair

M.T. Sands Interview

Foreword

T

he Man in Jodhpurs, who stands over me as I write this, tells me tardiness is a terrible sin. I have no excuse for being late for my riding lesson; I would not deny I am often late with a deadline, but not today with this foreword. I have been tasked by my good friends, Maude and Mabel, who I have known as long as I gave up the Womankad (see The Sandpaper Affair) for a riding crop and a hat to make all of Ascot and, I am told, Arabia proud, with writing the introduction to this collection of naughty stories.

To say that I enjoy collecting my own naughty stories is one thing, but to discover that two such dear souls as Maude and Mabel have managed to bring together another complete set of naughty stories is another.

Reader, I should explain what you are letting yourself in for. Here is a collection of stories from around the world for which we have to thank the clairvoyant, Madam Li in Paris; the Nice Girl, Francesca Iacobellis; the Count, Germano de Cillis; our mutual friend, Felicia Portman, formerly of this parish; Sylvia Sims from near Rufus Stone in the New Forest; the Argentine lawyer, Diego Martinez; Angus Maclean for whom the Bell Shall Always Toll; James Overstall indefatigably of the museum, and last but not least, the pistol-packing Pushkin of no fixed abode.

You will be pleased to note, as I was, they are a very handy size. Each story fits on the back of a postcard, which, I also note, is ideal for sending to those old friends and lovers yet be cancelled from the lists.

Do be warned, however, of the consequences, if you send them to those with hyperactive imaginations. The Man in Jodhpurs, who has, I must say, a rather annoying habit of reading over my shoulder, says they are all quite provoking, especially the one which he describes to me as like playing a chukka with a crop.

Lastly, let us toast, or as the Man in Jodhpurs insists, Fe Sahatek, good luck, Maude and Mabel.

M.T. Sands

Carte Blanche

Sex is emotion in motion.

Mae West

Emotion is sexual motion.

Mabel

M

aude thinks I should understand carte blanche, since I always act as if I have it. Contrary to what dearest M thinks, however, the meaning of this expression is not what it seems. Though it is true, the characters in these stories would appear to have a free hand. In the old game of piquet a carte blanche (as opposed to carte blanche) is a hand without royal cards, only numbered cards. Personally, I always feel lucky with a seven of spades, and a ten of diamonds. But there are always times when you need to risk it and pull another card from the top of your stocking. So I would agree you always need a free hand to beat a royal flush. But don’t think it won’t cost you the odd blush.

Átame!

T

he American writer, Harry Cohen took his girlfriend, Lee Miller to the bullfight in Valencia. Lee hated it.

It’s hideous, she said, and so cruel.

She described how the torero finally put the bull out of its misery; Cohen only smiled.

Well, he said. Let’s go and get a cup of coffee.

Or something stronger, she said.

They found a bar near the arena. It turned out one of the camarero knew the torero, Jaime Belmonte. He promised to take them to meet him, so they took the tram down to the port.

The torero was in a restaurant on the seafront known as the Pepica where Hemingway once cooked a paella and Alberto Sordi used to take his CineCittà friends.

The wine kept coming. Cohen got progressively drunk; he passed out and woke up two days later in their hotel.

Lee was on the balcony in her swimsuit. Darling, she said, I never thought you were going to wake up.

I hope it hasn’t been a bore for you, Cohen said.

Darling, she said, I spent all my time at the beach.

Which was a little white lie; the rest of the time she had spent with the torero in the arena.

"Átame! he had said. Tie me up, tie me down!"

Lee had never had so much fun at the expense of men.

*

Oh, I do like this one, said Maude, handing the card over to Mabel.

Who is it from?

Pushkin. He knows I love Hemingway.

I say that’s quite racy. Do you think they really were?

I am sure there is nothing new under the sun.

It is pretty naughty to tie someone up, especially if your boyfriend is asleep at the hotel.

It was his fault. He shouldn’t have been such a lush.

I thought she hated bullfights.

The matador sounds rather good-looking.

What did she do to him once he was tied up?

I wonder if she picked up some rope burns?

Thing Thong

J

ames’s parents both had terrible tempers. To avoid getting caught in the cross-fire, he always did everything asked of him growing up and was known for being a good little boy at school. He didn’t care about being called a goodie-two shoes, because as long as he was good, everything would be okay at home. When he himself had the occasional temper tantrum, the guilt drove him straight to church where he would confess to the Father O’Donovan. As he grew older, and went through college and his first job, he did begin to wonder whether there was more to life than being good.

Over a glass of wine one Friday night, his dear friend Celia mentioned a new singing group and wondered if James might like to join.

They are a bit different, said Celia with a smile.

James was intrigued. He liked singing almost as much as he liked Cecilia.

He was not disappointed. It was a mixed group and they sang lots of songs he liked.

At the end of the session Celia came over and pressed a box into his hand.

They really like you, she said. Come again next week.

The box contained a leather thong and a note.

James was shocked. What kind of group was this? Was it a chat-up line from Celia? And did he really want to go there anyway?

He rang Celia; she laughed at him.

Look, just be a good boy, will you? It’s no big deal.

James wasn’t sure he wanted to be a good boy anymore, but he still turned up to rehearsal with it on. He felt ashamed at being conforming once again and yet strangely liberated as he walked through the door.

A handsome young singer called Ed walked alongside him. Sensing his discomfort, he caught his eye and smiled:

Me, too!

James