A hush descends on the jungle after the film Secretary is shown at the safari camp. Listless monkeys loiter in the trees, chewing their toenails in confusion. Chimpanzees groom each other in solemn silence, pondering the foibles of their human cousins. Puzzled gorillas scratch their heads pensively and exchange furtive whispers. For those who haven’t seen the movie, the plot is very simple. A secretary (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is repeatedly spanked by her boss (James Spader) for relatively minor offences. Sore buttocks notwithstanding, she falls in love with him and provokes further punishment to get his attention. After being goaded into giving her a particularly kinky whipping, her remorseful boss dismisses her. They are later reconciled in bizarre circumstances and marry.
I reassure my simian friends that human females are not as weird as the film suggests. They do not generally enjoy having their bottoms whacked and would snap like a vixen if a stranger were to do so. The vital ingredient in the movie was not the spanking, as such, but Mr Spader’s demeanour while dishing it out. He was masterful, unyielding, imbued with quiet gravitas and utterly convinced of the justness of his actions. Being spanked by a grinning pervert would have been a foul experience for Miss Gyllenhaal, leaving her feeling soiled and humiliated. But being spanked by a steely-eyed disciplinarian was a huge erotic thrill – for what female does not fantasize about throwing herself on the mercy of a dominant male?
Let me state for the record that Gorilla Bananas is no spanker. I have never once had occasion to raise my powerful hand to any female in my harem. There’s simply no need for it in the wild because there are so many other diversions and excitements. My females are used to seeing me dominate my sphere, milking my assets and trampling my foes underfoot, so I don’t have to reinforce the point by slapping their hairy backsides.
I freely admit that they do swing their fists at me, now and again. Female gorillas are moody creatures and will lash out if their frustrations overwhelm them. But rather than retaliate, I try to intercept their blows with my rock-hard skull so they’ll sulk off wringing their hands. Occasionally they do succeed in landing a haymaker in my kidneys, whereupon the best strategy is to pretend it didn’t hurt and laugh it off.
There are lessons for the modern woman here. If she wants to be dominated in bed, all well and good, any red-blooded man should be willing to oblige. But a true alpha male has no wish to boss her around in his scarce leisure time. After cracking the whip on matters of real importance, the last thing he needs is some sissy female pining for a firm hand when he wants to relax. So rather than playing the shrinking violet, the temptress should don her lace petticoat and accost the man of her desires with naughty verses and haughty curses. If she postures facetiously, he is far more likely to chase her into the bedroom and ravish her inside the wardrobe. A male primate likes to feel he’s made a conquest even if the female wants it as badly as he does.
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