It's a good thing that I made it here, as fuckin' scattered as I am right now. I don't even know what I'm thinkin' about so hard...
Killing the motor, I kick the stand down and pat the bulge over my inside pocket. I've got something in there -
An old woman appears behind the screen door.
Ah. Okay. Wait until they leave, then haul it out. Makes sense to me. I walk up to the porch. "Afternoon."
"Hello," she says. Her voice is wobbly, but I get a shy little smile. "Can I help you?"
"Lookin' for a guy named Sit."
"He's in the shower. You must be the friend he said was coming."
"Yeah," I lie. "My name's, uh -"
"Sit? The new one?"
I blink at her. "Yeah." Good thing she knew. I'm so spaced that I couldn't remember. Fuck.
"Why don't you come on in and get yourself a beer?" she says, opening the screen door. "He should be out any minute now."
"Much obliged." I follow her into the kitchen - and stare at the table.
Fuck, yeah. The beer that's sitting there is cold, already opened, and I know it's for me. Even better, there's half a pack of smokes. My old brand... until I quit. New Year's resolution.
A low groan eases out of me.
My hands can't move fast enough.
I'm smokin' again, and it's like I was on automatic pilot or something. It's fuckin' crazy how much I missed this...
Taking another great drag, I reach over for the beer and get up. Wander over by the sink. The window shows a big backyard with short grass - and not much else.
"Ah, here he is," the lady says. So I turn around.
Tattoos. He's almost sleeved.
Just a kid. I don't know what I expected... Teenagers look fuckin' younger every year. I'm only thirty and I can't get over that.
He's got short, dark hair and beady eyes. Nothing stands out at all when I look at his face.
The ink makes him look a little older. A towel is still drying his hair - he's dripping wet, actually - and I'm seeing feathers and gloves and rope and fire all over him. Maybe half of his body is tatted up. Cartoon style art. You gotta be real young to pull that off.
That's when I notice he's naked. With his arms behind his back.
A kitchen chair moves out, and he sits down as if somebody's pushing on his shoulders. Scowling at the table, he doesn't look all that pissed off - more like he's used to it.
Handcuffs. Huh. No wonder he's not using his arms.
He looks over at me. "Hey."
"How's it goin?" I say automatically.
"Same as always," he sighs.
The towel is still rubbing his hair. A cigarette floats out of the pack and finds his mouth. After the lighter follows it, I sneak a glance at the old lady. She's smiling at Sit like there's nothing fuckin' weird about him sitting there in the buff.
She glances at me, and seems to rouse herself a little. "Well, I don't want to be in the way. I just stopped by to see if you needed anything."
"No, Mabel. But thanks. I appreciate it."
A handcuff key, I think to myself. Some fuckin' shorts. Something really odd is going on here - and the most bizarre thing is that they both seem to be totally relaxed.
"Well, alright then. It was nice meeting you," she almost whispers to me.
"Same here. Drive careful."
"Why, thank you. I will. It can call us anytime, and we'll be right over."
"Yup," he says tiredly. "Bye."
I wait for her to leave. "It?" I ask him. "What the fuck?"
He stares at me, and ends up smirking. "You'll find out. Guaranteed."
The refrigerator opens, and another bottle floats out. Sit acts like he's being pulled to his feet.
"You okay?"
"That's a tough one," he mutters. "Guess we're going into the living room."
He follows the beer through the doorway.
I'm still feeling confused - more than I should, somehow - but there's a mystery here that's almost kinda exciting.
Sit goes over to a big leather recliner and lands on the edge of the seat. I watch a key cruise behind him...
One wrist, and the other, are pulled to the top of the headrest. Thick leather cuffs rise up from behind the chair and catch him again. The footstool slides over, and his legs get slammed down on it. More cuffs.
It takes about twenty seconds. He just smokes, watching me. His arms and legs aren't stretched out all the way. Actually, it looks comfortable.
"Hours," he finally says.
"Huh?"
"Some days I have to sit here until the sun goes down. Watching TV. Fuckin' bedpan, urinal, the whole deal."
I wonder if he's kidding. "Seriously."
"Yeah."
"Uh - why?"
He sighs real hard, jetting smoke through his nostrils. "In custody. Private detention."
That throws me. I finish my smoke and grind it out. There are ashtrays everywhere. "Never heard of that. Private."
"Me neither."
"How long?"
He grins. "Fuck if I know. A year?"
"Wait a minute. You - how old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"Oh, bullshit."
"Hey," he yells at... nothing. The middle of the room. "Show him my license."
A door opens somewhere down the hall.
Something floats over to me. A wallet.
Yeah, that's him - but the math doesn't add up.
"This says you're nineteen," I tell him.
He stares at me, almost like he's stoned. "Really."
"Uh-huh."
Finally, he just shrugs his shoulders. "Guess it's been longer."
I keep waiting for him to laugh, or act pissed off. But - nothing. What the fuck is going on here?
It's got me fidgety. "I... Mind if I get another smoke?"
Something races out of the kitchen. To my lap -
I catch it. A new pack of cigarettes. I look up and see a familiar shape hanging over me. Dropping right into my hand... a black Zippo with my bike's logo. I turn it over, and rub my thumb over the engraved S-I-T.
"Guess somebody knew I was coming," I say, packing the cigarettes.
"Way before you did," Sit agrees.
"I don't even know what the hell -"
"Bad guy."
That makes me squint over at him. "What?"
"That's the deal. What it likes. Not good guys. It just loves to stick it to a dude who broke the law." He tries to stretch the cuffs. "So here we are."
A few things cross my mind. But there's no way anybody could pin 'em on me... "I'm not so bad. Anymore."
Sit watches a new cigarette come up to his mouth. "Musta done something wrong. Or you will. Listen to me - this is detention. And nobody knows."
"That old lady -"
"Aaah, they own the place. There's been a whole string of guys here. They cover for us. She's all spaced out. And her husband. You must've felt it."
I'm still feeling it. Stalling for a few seconds, I take a long fuckin' drag. "Well. Yeah."
"You're no angel."
"Never said I was."
He nods. "Welcome."
That makes me tense up. "What do you mean?"
"I think you know already."
Looking around the room - just another house, nothing unusual, a cloudy sky outside the windows - I'm not picking up on what the real deal is. I could just get up and walk right out...
But Sit can't. He's cuffed to the fuckin' chair.
I bet the door wouldn't open. In fact, I'm fuckin' sure of it. If I got up and went back to the same door I walked in, I wouldn't be able to leave. Maybe it would stop after swinging in a couple inches, just to tease me. Not anywhere near enough. Strong hands jerkin' my chain, like oh no you don't. You're here to stay. And maybe I'd wheel around and dive for a window... but the same hands would have plenty of time to clamp on. I'd end up like Sit.
Don't know why I'm even thinkin' this way -
What did he call it? Private detention. Yeah. It's like a secret dungeon or something, run by a sick fuckin' ghost.
No, that ain't it either. Seems like the place could be a whole lot scarier. And there's too much life in here - right in the room with us - not too little.
I stare at Sit.
He laughs at me. "Don't worry. It's not so bad."
"What makes you so sure?" I snap at him. "Huh? You're used to it. Not me."
"Why'd you come here, then?"
I open my mouth...
My head is swimming. Now I get what people mean when they say that. Everything's kinda watery. Let's see, I rode here -
"Oh." And I dig into my jacket pocket. Pull out the weed. Wave it around a little.
His eyes get huge. "You didn't just do that."
Something grabs my wrist, and takes the baggie away.
Handcuffs are coming.
"Hey," I yell -
Now why can't I see the fuckers getting the cuffs on me? They all let go - and sure enough, I'm looking at my wrists. Caught.
The cigarette pack moves a little, as one slides out. It heads for my mouth.
"You brought that weed for me?" the kid says, blown away.
"Well - yeah."
"It hauled me in here just for smokin' a joint," and Sit actually shakes his head a little. "You're a dealer."
"No. Uh, not usually. I just..."
"Yeah." He laughs again. "This is too much. Look, this place has been rented by single guys for ten, fifteen years. You get me? It fuckin' sentenced me for getting high. When I was seventeen. And you -"
"Uh... intent to distribute," I finally say.
"Yeah. Wow."
I watch my new lighter fire me up - in a room that looks ordinary enough except for the cuffs on us, stuff floating around - and force a laugh. "No. I got people, they'll kick the fuckin' door down -"
"It fixes all that. Don't ask me how. My mom calls once in a while, happy as ever. So glad I'm doing good. Sometimes a friend or two... It's making sure. The fuckin' meter reader waves at me. They're all brainwashed." He starts another cigarette, with no real choice in the matter. "Whatever it takes to keep me here."
He's not grinning.
"Well, you're wrong. Shit like that can't really happen."
"That's what I used to say." He sounds confused, and a little excited to say it too.
"Well, what the fuck do you do all day?"
The kid stares at me again... and starts to giggle.
His cigarette floats to the ashtray, and then he really freaks out. Twisting around, he bellows and shakes his head. Laughing so hard.
Fifteen, twenty seconds - and then it's over. He winds down to giggles again, and then his head goes back. Panting for air.
My brain is putting things together. Fuck this, I'm outa here. To tell the truth my heart's pounding like a jackhammer -
Before I stand up all the way, a hand shoves me in the chest. Back down. And I feel this warm... horny sensation all through my head.
What I'm thinking is not what I really... want to think.
Now wait - sure it is. Of course. And I'm jazzed.
"Alright," I growl, with a big-ass grin on my face.
He nods. "You'll love it. No choice."
"Got that."
"Cool."
"All the time, huh?"
"All the time."
"And no way to make it stop. That's so... hot."
"You know it." Sit gets his smoke back, and needs a hard drag or two. "I wouldn't ever, y'know, just let somebody tickle me. But it's private detention, man. And it's like the top authority. The best. You don't say no to the best. Fuck, it's not like we got any choice. Not in here."
"No shit?"
"Being worked over by some... clueless beginner, now, that would just suck. But this -"
"Alright," I laugh. Dammit, now I can't wait. It's making me feel this way, but nothing else matters anymore. Gotta just roll with it sometimes. "Fuck, this is gonna be so warped."
Sit nods, squinting at me. "And you brought weed here. To this house."
"It set me up."
"Picked you out. Bad boy. You're gonna pay for what you did. Eatin' it up, too. Man - and I thought I was fucked."
We both laugh for awhile.
One cigarette pretty much follows another. It wants us to smoke. There's something wrong, and I can't put my finger on it. But mostly there's this big sense of relief. I'd hate to be stuck somewhere and not get to smoke. This is like the opposite, but it's a whole lot better than being cut off.
Stuck. That should bother me more, right? I'm not getting out of here. It won't let me. Somehow it made me ride over... and now I hand the key over to Sit. And all of my clothes.
The thought of looking out the window at him makes me wanna jack off right now. Little shit. He'll set the choke and kick it over, reach into my jacket and get my shades, light up a smoke, and ride off. Away from the tickling. Poor bastard.
This is a long-term deal. Hot fun, every day. And I can't get worked up about it. Everything's covered - whatever I need. There's a whole fuckin' game plan and it works like... magic.
Sit knows. It's been keeping him happy, but now that's changed.
Private detention for me.
There's a feeling in the air. Something's real damn happy.
"Alright," I tell him, nodding my head.
Something jingles... and his legs start to move.
"Supposed to give you the tour," he mumbles. I watch his arms come down. He sighs hard. Dude's not gonna get tickled after today. No wonder he's fuckin' distracted.
Hands get hold of my upper arms.
I can't see 'em. Trippy.
They get me to my feet...
"This here's the tattoo room," Sit says.
He didn't have to tell me. There's flash all over the walls. Smoke-stained ceiling, a padded vinyl bench surrounded by a forest of straps...
A big piece of paper catches my eye. It's got a sketch of a guy's upper body. I take a couple steps closer, and cock my head.
A bunch of designs like Sit has are drawn all over. Gloves, feathers, fire. And they're worked around other tats, drawn in pencil or something. Finally I recognize the tribal panther - I've got that one already.
This is a drawing of me. What I'll look like when it's done with all my new tats.
The artist wanted me to see this -
"That's me," I say, pointing.
"When it gets done with you," he says, chuckling. "Definitely. Full tats."
I think he's seeing that as a plus.
His thinking is all fucked up. He can't help it, though. I'm fuzzy myself. Damn, I can't believe how much fun it's gonna have with me. Just the thought makes me start to chuckle.
Everything's okay. Hell, it's great. There's something wrong about keeping guys locked up, and making sure they roar their fuckin' guts out... but that's bullshit. It wants to do this, so who am I to say it's wrong?
Bring it on.
"C'mon," Sit laughs.
His bedroom is big. Lots of bondage shit. Not a flaw in the padding behind bed, rack, tall rack, stocks, stock-chairs or weight bench.
"It likes watching me sleep," he says, sounding distracted. "Not nearly as much as... you know."
"Uh-huh." I don't quite get it, but I figure the mystery will be cleared up soon enough.
His face turns into a weird little smile. "Just you wait. I think it's the contrast. One second I'm all peaceful and shit, and then boom. Wild. In the cuffs, or the stocks. So I'm not going anywhere. All day."
"Spend a lot of time in here?" I mumble, looking at the wide leather sling.
"This is the place."
"Smells like it."
Sit just shrugs again.
Sweat, smoke, piss, leather, booze and baby oil. It reeks... just enough. Somehow, it's perfect. This is a fuckin' killer trap.
How many times, I wonder, has he been pumped off in this dungeon? Sit probably has no idea.
I see no clocks anywhere, and that makes sense. Relax and get it on. Nobody will ever find out.
He's used to being locked in here for hours. Days, even. The hands calmly crack their knuckles, or whatever the magical equivalent is, and get busy. All over him.
I just want it to start right this second. Dammit...
Nonstop fuckin' riot. Never running out of smokes, either. Or booze. More food just shows up. And oil. Toys.
Some of the fingers locked around my left arm give me a little squeeze. Calm as ever. Maybe that comes with being in charge. This is control like I've never seen before...
Fuck happy - it wants me completely wasted. Delirious.
How could Sit leave all this?
"You okay?" he asks me.
"I... Yeah."
"Makes you just wanna run, don't it? But you can't."
Somehow I manage to nod - but I'm lying. It's got me interested. This is a feeling that comes from outside, I tell myself, but it's still powerful.
Wait. That's not the whole story. If I could get loose, right now, I'd run to my bike as fast as I could. Fuck. This is way too much of a good thing, coming right up. Any second now it could lock the door and get started.
Shit. I need it to fuck me up. Now. Unbuckling my belt, leading me to the bed, making the cuffs float over my arms.
Waking up, over and over - and still in here. Sure as shit. There's no uncertainty here. Done deal -
He starts moving toward the bed. A new cigarette comes his way.
A drawer opens - and there they are. I get to watch a pair of stained leather cuffs cruise down to his ankles.
"You son of a bitch," he says quietly, watching them arrive. "Fuck."
I have a thought, all of a sudden. "Going-away party?"
"Yeah," Sit sighs, "and it's gonna be one for the record books."
We watch the cuffs get buckled down.
When he gives 'em a few hard tugs, it's pretty clear that he's tried all this before and didn't get loose. Of course not...
The hands start pulling me backward, toward the door. Easy, but they're firm about it. I'm leaving. And Sit, he's really gonna get it.
I yawn, all of a sudden, and stumble a little.
"Good luck," he says. Sounding all tense.
Gloves are floating over him now. Four, six, eight. He can't fuckin' budge and there's hands ready to dive down. That's the last time I see Sit, with his eyes moving from one glove to another... starting to giggle long before they drop down.
For some reason I'm too fuckin' tired to keep my eyes open. It has to carry me down the hall.
A door shuts, and I hear this faint scream. Roars of laughter -
Guess I'll find out soon enough.
With a big yawn, I wake up.
There's a dull ache when I breathe out. But I know this one. A tattoo.
Fuck, I feel weird. Strong... like I really needed to sleep for awhile. Getting ready.
It takes me a few seconds to figure out what's going on, inside. But I get it. All charged up. Excited, almost. Something fuckin' great is on tap, sure as I'm sitting here, even if I can't remember just what it is.
My hands are caught. Way up over my head. Fat cuffs.
There's a footstool that won't move, so my legs ain't gonna slide around either. It stripped me - and locked me down in Sit's chair.
But he's gone. This is all about me now. My name is Sit, and that's so cool.
Private detention. Supervillain tickling. Hell, yeah.
A cigarette touches my lip.
This is my living room. That's what it wants me to think, so I do. My house is nice and comfortable, more secure than most jails, and every fuckin' thing I could possibly need is close at hand. I'm staying right here.
It's got serious plans for me.
My chest looks different. I glance over at my armpits - okay. Shaved. That'll make me feel the tickling even more. But that's not all.
It's already started slingin' ink. The tattoo looks... slick. White feathers, crossed, and there's a black glove reaching over 'em. Just above my heart.
First of a whole fuckin' crop of new artwork for me.
Something is floating over. I finally figure out it's a mirror -
"Damn!," I say. "You fucker."
It cut my hair. I've had that fuckin' moustache for ten years, and now it's gone. Beard, mutton-chops. Boom.
I look younger. Hell, from the neck up I almost look respectable. This must be part of the detention thing. It's gonna straighten me out, alright... and take a long fuckin' time to do it. But I can't do shit. The door's locked, and these cuffs won't budge.
Sit knows. Wait - that's not right. I'm Sit. The last guy - that kid - he's already forgotten everything.
That means not a fuckin' soul knows I'm caught in here.
"Home," I growl. Happy as a clam.
A big plastic coffee mug floats in from the kitchen. Then I see a tray following behind.
After the silverware feeds me, a new pack of smokes is on the way. They get packed in mid-air, real loud and flashy, against... nothing.
I smoke up, feeling better than I have in years. Fuck.
One after another - watching the cigs get taken down and snuffed out after I finish 'em - and I think about the bedroom. Dungeon. The restraints are already adjusted and everything.
For most of a cigarette I wonder if I'm really shaking 'cause I'm excited, or if there's some other reason.
Fuck it. We're here to have a good time. Me... and it.
I'm so ready.
That's when the first shiny pair of gloves starts floating across the room. That's satin, I think, and now my sanity is gonna get plumb tickled out of me.
They're coming my way, serious as hell - but packed full of fun too.
Takin' real good care of me, here. The tickling has to keep on coming.
I watch 'em reach down, and start to chuckle at 'em before they even grab my feet.
15nov05