I’m in London this week. The Olympics are over, and most of the fanfare and hoopla have died down. Only a cluster of sidewalk vendors hawking cut-rate curry and Olympic memorabilia are left to remind us of the astounding wins and epic losses that played out across the world stage from these hometown venues just a few days ago. Right now, I’m sipping hot coffee (the best cup I’ve had in more than a week) here in the tiny flat that SIDECAR’s best-selling BDSM author Quinn Glatfelter has been calling home for the past month. The space is decorated in a quirky, almost medieval fashion—with an abundance of rustic-looking, albeit functional, hardware. Think Ikea meets Dungeon Chic. The flat has an eerie charm—but, unhappily, must be situated near a construction site. There is incessant, loud banging and the occasional whine of power tools.
ANN McMAN. Quinn—thanks for consenting to chat with me for a while about your work and your very special part in this summer’s Olympic Games.
QUINN GLATFELTER. It’s a pleasure, Ann.
ANN. Are you okay, Quinn? You seem to be squinting a lot.
QUINN. Yeah. I’m not really used to this much daylight.
ANN. It’s nearly 10:00 a.m.
QUINN. I know, but most of my…events…took place during the night.
ANN. Really? That’s very singular. Didn’t that wreak havoc with broadcast TV schedules.
QUINN. Not so much.
ANN. Why not?
QUINN. My events weren’t televised.
QUINN. Nuh uh. Well. Not unless you count that closed-circuit video those two dudes from Taiwan shot. They said that it was all in Hi-Def, but I have my doubts. I mean…they were using a Pringles can for their feed. Still. It should all be available for download soon from Kink.com.
ANN. Exactly what kind of Olympic events are we talking about here, Quinn?
QUINN. Let’s see. We had the 400 Meter Breast Stroke, which is a team event. And the Inverted Stripper-Pole Vault. Then there was Pommel Horse Dressage. And All-Nude Synchronized Twister. Hand Ball, of course. Tramp-o-line—which required four to six indigent volunteers. Oh…and One Meter Muff Diving. That one’s always a crowd-pleaser—but it takes a shitload of plastic tarps. Let’s see…what else?
ANN. It’s okay. I think we get the drift.
QUINN. DRIFT! That’s it! The All-Coxswain Team Row—which requires a boat, but water is optional. And there was a Sunday Steeple-Chase—which, this year, involved thirteen nuns from the Abbey of St. Boniface in Surrey. Nice gals. Really.
ANN. It’s really okay, Quinn. I think we get it.
QUINN. Of course, the final event was the Marathon.
ANN. It’s okay, Quinn.
ANN. I said, IT’S OKAY! Good lord. How on earth do you function with all that noise going on outside?
QUINN. It’s not outside—it’s in the bedroom.
ANN. The…. You mean, it’s in HERE???
QUINN. Sure. The Marathon is still going on. They’re in the Gold Medal round now. Shouldn’t be more than five or six more hours—but those Croatians have real staying power.
ANN. Okay then. Gosh. How this time has flown. I have to meet Salem at Harrod’s in twenty minutes. They’re having a BIG sale on kippers. Did I mention that her mom just LOVES kippers?
QUINN. You can’t leave until I demonstrate at least ONE of our more popular Plot Devices™.
ANN. That’s okay, Quinn. I can intuit things pretty well.
QUINN. No way. You authors are ALL about “authentic experience”—so it’s high time you had some.
ANN. Really. I have to be going. Salem will get pissed if I’m late and…hey? What did you just fasten to my leg???
QUINN. Just relax, Annie.
ANN. Quinn. I’m not kidding…I have real issues with being restrained. Oh god…are those handcuffs???
QUINN. Trust me…this won’t hurt a bit.
ANN. Wait!!! Don’t put that on my head…I freak out when I can’t see.
QUINN. That’s the idea, babe.
ANN. Stop, Quinn.
QUINN. Sorry. Wrong safe word.
ANN. We don’t HAVE a safe word, Quinn.
QUINN. We don’t? Hell…this is going to be GREAT….
ANN. Oh, god….
QUINN. Oops. Sounds like Team Croatia just hit Gold. You stay put…I’ll be RIGHT back.
ANN. Quinn? Quinn??? QUINN???? QUUUUUIIIINNNNNNN!!!!!!
Join us next time, when Ann talks with tell-all canines, Albatross and Patrick—those trusty, four-footed confidants who own Shawn Harris and Kate Winston. Of course, this assumes that Salem will get tired of waiting on Ann’s ass and go rescue her. (However…it should be noted that Salem has a soft spot for Croatian athletes.)