03 - My First Real Story
Story index at the bottom
By Dan Dare
Wednesday March 8th 2000 06:59:01
MY FIRST REAL STORY
Well, after several months reading and a couple of "snapshot" contributions, here goes.
I grew up, the youngest of three boys, in a farming community in what used to be called Natal, South Africa. All the kids from the surrounding farms knew eachother, attended the same local town schools and played together. The only entertainment we had (no TV and only the weekly Saturday afternoon movie in town - IF we were lucky) was our own games. We were a very "rough-and tumble" bunch and most of our activities involved playful games of team conflict - the "cops & Robbers" sort of thing but with endless variations. Realism was the rule and the inevitable tying-up element of the games was, to the best of our ability, as "real" as true life. If you got tied- up, there was no question of chafe-protection, special soft binding materials or concessions for girls. The universal binding medium was the thick, rough hessian twine used in all farming environments for a million practical agricultural applications.
The rules of our games were simple - no injurious or hazardous restraints and no "running to mommy". If you didn't want to be tied-up, locked-up or "tortured", you just didn't play. The binding techniques were refined by generation after generation and the rules were understood by all participants, almost instinctively. We had no hang- ups about tying eachother up in the presence of our parents or other adults, all of whom appeared to accept our activities as a normal part of growing-up. There was occasional adult involvement, but, with analytical hind- sight, I cannot recall a single incident where the adult involved appeared to have a sexual motive for their participation. It really was just good, clean fun.
As I was the youngest of three boisterous brothers, obviously I got to be the "victim" of my siblings' games on an on-going basis. I was tied-up on so many occasions that I cannot now possibly remember a fraction of the events concerned. I was ALWAYS being captured and restrained by someone, if not my brothers then one or more of their friends. There were many highlights during those happy and care-free years, though, which I recall with crystal clarity.
One memorable experience occurred just after I turned 10. I recall the age because I had just started to "weekly board" at the hostel of my primary school, spending week- ends at home. Our farm was well out of town and it became something of a mission for my parents to drive me and my brothers to and from school every day - there was no school bus serving the farms.
A couple of months after I took up residence at the hostel a new buddy of mine, Christopher (Chris for short) and I made the necessary arrangements for him to spend the forthcoming school holidays (Easter) at our farm. We had become good buddies almost immediately we met, though he had, initially, been my middle brother, Cam's friend. Chris was a town dweller (rather looked down upon by us farmers) and was eagerly looking forward spending the 10 day holiday at our farm. Due to some domestic problem, the nature of which I never discovered, Chris was a "yearly boarder", meaning he only got home at school holidays.
By this time, my "big" brother, James, had started at a private boarding school some 500 miles away (family tradition) so we didn't see much of him. Cam, however, boarded at the hostel with me so it wasn't that much of a trauma for me to be there as well.
My mother collected the three of us on the Thursday afternoon, after classes, and, as soon as we got home we all changed out of the loathed school uniform of Khaki shorts, short-sleeve shirt, grey stockings (long socks) and suede ankle-boots, and put on our usual "home" dress of gym shorts and, if necessary, T-shirts.
While planning the week-end, we had decided to live in the 4 - man tent which I and my brothers jointly owned and which was usually pitched in a grass meadow which occupied the 200 yard space between the main farm house and a river. The tent was about 50 yards from the river bank (on the insistence of my mother, who feared crocodile attack - an unlikely but POSSIBLE threat), and, thus, some 150 yards from the house.
My dad had organized for the meadow to be mown in advance of our arrival as well as the installation of a "lead- light" from the house to the tent. Being autumn (remember, this is the southern hemisphere, so Easter is autumn, not spring as in the northern hemisphere), the weather was still pretty warm during the day and not too cold at night.
We spent a couple of hours getting our supplies organized - cans of beans, bully-beef, etc; torches, matches for the Primus cooker, and a pile of assorted camping necessities, and, after supper, we all strolled down to the tent with our ruck-sacks containing clothes, toiletries and games equipment.
Being too early to go to bed, we decided to play one or other of the many "cops and Robbers" adventure games which occupy the leisure time of most pre-teen kids. It was decided that Chris and I would be the fugitives while Cam, my brother, would be the "cop".
The plot was simple. The fugitives got a 10 minute head start and could hide anywhere within the farm house compound (a 4 acre, fenced enclosure containing the main house, hen-coup and kitchen garden), excluding the house itself. The cop had to capture us, after which he had to keep us captive for the prescribed period of one hour. If, however, he was careless enough to get bushwhacked during the search, or, if his prisoners managed to escape, then the cop became hostages of the fugitives for an hour. The only "weapons" permitted was a water pistol (repeating variety) and a pair of plastic had-cuffs, for initial "arrest" and conveyance to "jail". The fugitives were unarmed in order to give an advantage to the cop.
Off Chris and I scuttled, leaving Cam, the cop, in the tent, counting up to two hundred before commencing his search for us (we didn't wear watches at that age).
I led Chris up to and round the house, just in case Cam took it upon himself to cheat, after which, giving the tent a wide berth, we went to the river where we hid in a thicket of willow trees. From this vantage point we were invisible from the meadow (and tent) but could observe most of the compound. We settled down to spy on Cam's movements, discussing how we could ambush him without ourselves getting shot and captured.
After half an hour of spotting no movement at all, we became curious and decided to break cover. By this time it was twilight and we were able to "leopard-crawl" up to the tent without being seen. When we got to the tent we got the shock of our lives. There, in the fading light, we saw Cam on the floor of the tent, writhing and mumbling! He was bound hand and foot in a wickedly tight hog-tie and was gagged with what looked like a rugby jersey.
We just stood, just inside the tent, gaping. How had this occurred and who had zapped Cam in this dastardly manner! As we stood there, trying to take in this impossible scenario, all the possibilities I could think of rushed through my mind. 1 - Cam had been attacked and robbed by REAL robbers: 2 - he had bound and gagged himself: 3 - my mom or dad had decided to intervene in our game, OR . !
Just as the only realistic alternative dawned on me the now breaking voice of my big brother broke the silence from right behind us!
"Stand still, guys, you're caught!".
We spun round and there was my brother, James, and another boy who I'd never seen before, both grinning broadly and holding Cam's weapons.
At this stage, James couldn't hold it in anymore and he broke up into fits of laughter. Between gales of mirth, he told us how he had changed his holiday plans at the last moment and come home rather than spend the holiday with a friend as previously arranged, persuading my parents not to say a word to us. How my folks had managed to keep mum about it thruought supper, I will never know.
The joke over, James then explained that the game had changed. He and his school buddy, Jacques, were "super- crooks" and were taking over our camp. End of argument (not that there was one).
I was well used to my big brother's modus-operandi and authoritative ways and was not particularly distressed by the turn of events. After all, a "team" game between three is not particularly challenging for those involved and we, Cam, Chris and I were buddies and it would be much more fun to be on the same side.
While, on James' instructions, the new guy, Jaques, assembled the necessary materials from OUR bags, James dictated the rules of the game, as amended by him. We got to be tied up in the tent. If and when we got free, we were welcome to hunt for him and Jaques and, IF we found them and IF we were able to over-power them, we could take them prisoner. Simple. No discussion.
We were instructed to lie face down on the floor of the tent, next to the still gurgling Cam, and keep quiet. When Jaques had extracted the necessary gear from our ruck- sacks, he and James got to work, methodically rendering us immobile. Jaques, a tall blond guy with a funny accent, about the same age as James, I guessed, squatted on my bum and tied my hands behind my back with one of the ruck-sack draw-strings, while, out of the corner of my eye, I saw James doing the same to Chris. Having tied my hands, Jaques proceeded to tie my feet together with some hessian utility rope, finishing up tying my bound feet to my hands in what I learned, years later, was called a hog-tie. To prevent bringing our bound hands in front of us, our wrists were secured to our middles with a rope "belt", tied in a double reef knot at the front.
The whole procedure took about ten minutes, after which we all lay, face down on the floor, securely bound hand and foot. According to James' new rules, there was no time limit on the game and no question of rescue.
After Jaques and James departed, still chortling over our reaction to their surprise appearance, I started to appraise our situation. I knew that my brother, Cam, was well used to this kind of sport and that he would, like me, not be fazed. I didn't know how Chris would be reacting, though - he was a "townie" and was probably not used to the rough and tumble of farm games.
SUMMARY:
1. Cam and Chris were bound in exactly the same way, hands and feet crossed and double reef-knot "square-tied" with farm rope, drawn into a close hog-tie - instantly recognizable as the signature method of my brother James.
2. I, on the other hand, having been tied-up by the somewhat mysterious and obviously foreign Jaques, had my hands tied in a tight hand-cuff style (without the separating "links"), palms together, and ankles parallel to eachother, also in the close hand-cuff style.
3. Only Cam had been gagged (a tactical mistake on the part of our captors as it made voice communication between us possible).
4. We were not blind-folded (another tacky mistake).
5. I could feel that I was very tightly bound and was unable to rotate my rapidly numbing hands into a knot- searching position.
6. I could see that the other two had no hope of reaching the knots securing the bonds on their hands and feet.
7. The one thing we had forgotten to pack was a knife or scissors.
I, ever practical and analytical, asked if the other two were all OK. Chris, strangely breathless, said "yea - but what do we do now?". Chris emitted a muffled "Uh-huh" and nodded his head.
There was a long silence which I eventually broke by asking if anyone had any confidence in being able to free themselves. The answer was a loud "NO" from Chris and a vigorous head shake from Cam.
OK - brain into gear: the bonds that secured my wrists and ankles were double reef-knotted and extremely tightly locked. No chance of my numb fingers being able to un-pick them. It looked to me as if the same applied to the other two. The alternatives were, either to "wriggle" out of the bindings - not much chance - or, to find some means of cutting the ropes which bound us.
I knew from years of experience that "wriggling" out of tight bondage, especially applied with the rough twine which had been used on all of us, bar my hands, was a painful and fruitless exercise. The only hope of self- extrication lay in us finding a cutting implement of some sort.
Chris and I conferred: what had we packed that may afford us a means of cutting ourselves free.
After much discussion and deliberation, I remembered having, at some time or another, cut a finger on the edge of the rear screw-off cup of a torch while installing fresh batteries.
I maneuvered myself into a position where my hands were able to delve into one of the ruck-sacks which contained our three torches. With almost senseless fingers, I explored the contents of the ruck-sack and, eventually, located one of the torches. It took me AGES to unscrew the rear cup of the torch and grasp it in a workable position. YES! - the edge of the aluminum cup was, indeed, rough and seriously sharp.
Instructing Chris, who lay nearest to me, to turn over into a position which offered his hands, I shuffled myself into a position where I could start the procedure of gradually hacking away at the twine which bound his wrists.
Forget the movies - the whole thing took about half an hour. Eventually, after a great deal of pain and perseverance on my part and fortitude on his, the twine which bound Chris' wrists parted. We were, effectively, free: thank you, Ever-Ready, for making torches with rough battery barrel caps!
When we had all cast off our bonds and while massaging our numb extremities back to life, we took stock. Retribution had to be exacted, not only because we were all pissed-off, but also in terms of the enemy's own boastful decree - IF we got free, we were welcome to retaliate! -. We did, but that's another story.
Dan Dare
argenaut@hotmail.com
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Dan Dare's stories
- 01 - Short Story (M/m)
- 02 - Jimmy's Story (M/m)
- 03 - My First Real Story (mm/mmm)
- 04 - Beach Liaison (f/m, ffm/m)
- 05 - Beach Games (ff/mm)
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section