01 - Back to Basics
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By Caron
Sunday, May 29th 2005 - 11:11:14 PM
Back to Basics
It's only recently my husband has revealed this site to me. Reading the older and newer stories and posts has revealed a patchwork of patterns in changes of attitudes and real strong opinions but one of the things which strikes me is that there seems to be a real passion within this group. This is my first post on this kind of site, so I hope you don't mind me putting in an opinion, but I think it's a bit sad to hear the various versions of "lets get a new site, this one sucks... Etc, etc"
It's much the same as saying, "This car is dirty, I'll have to get a new one". You don't like this site? (I do!), why click on it then? Want to read what YOU want to read? Simple. Put the work in. Make it the site you think it has evolved away from. The Groundrules are clear.
I read a couple of stories from the early days which reminds me of something that happened a while ago. I'm hoping that this is in keeping with the site. My apologies if it isn't.
Anyway. Hubby has posted a couple of times in the past two years, (not about me - I haven't been a teenager for fifteen years!) Here's who I am, and this is what happened. My name is Caron, I'm thirty-five years old, and I'm from just west of London. My husband is a quiet and, ...well, he's my husband.
I love him.
Seven years ago, I was married to another man who needed to travel with his job. We had to live in Germany for eighteen months or so, but one of the welfare advantages of his job supplied us with a fairly generous small town of other families who also travelled with this type of job. There were about two hundred couples, some with children, some just couples who lived here, all English speaking, and while our men were out doing their Career thing we could either turn into the Stepford Wives, or actually have a bit of fun. I had my first child about a year before we left for Germany and I wanted to get back to a size 10 in Dresses, - (OK, maybe, just maybe a size 12.) All the mornings I could, found me swimming or doing keep fit or self-defence combat with the Local PTI's until the only morning left was Tuesday, which Jackie, my neighbour - a twenty two year old from Swansea, who was married to one of the men on the base - finally filled for me. She got together enough of the parents' little girls to form a Ballet Class, and I was asked to come along to provide a little Parental Control during the various phases of the mornings.
On one March morning, Icy, with the Bavarian Sky a uniform leaden grey, two months after I'd felt comfortable enough with the body of the anorexic rhino I'd previously perceived in the mirror to take the final plunge and insert myself into a Black Leotard and Tights to fit in with the midget Greyhounds who had been darting around me, there was a practice for a show that Jackie had been choreographing for an Easter stage extravaganza for the proud unsuspecting fathers. Several of the mums were taking charge of the various practices, and inbetween sessions, Jackie and I would carefully negotiate the hazardous passage between the little girls whirling a skipping rope which is the seven year old's rite of passage -tween being throttled or having both ankles broken in the name of Lizzie Borden. (I hadn't remembered skipping being the vicious killing ground that I thought Hockey was...)
Me and Jackie were chatting, gripping defiantly to our hard-won hot chocolates, listening to the teacher torturing a piano which had long ago given up the ghost, when three or four angelic skipping Ballerinas drifted in, (it's possible they were levitating, you're talking "Girls and Chocolate" here. It's a girl thing...) (And then again, it's possible there were around thirty of them. There's justification of thinking there were that many, in hindsight.)
And in hindsight, I suppose, I had heard the sinister giggling and light squeals. Intuition is there for a purpose you know!
Several girls surrounded Jackie in her chair, and produced several skipping ropes. She smiled and calmly laid down her hot chocolate and helpfully curled her arms behind her, round the back of the chair, whilst the Gremlins' sorry, little girls, began to secure her to her seat with several miles of hemp, whilst she chatted to me obliviously. After a few missed beats, and double takes she realized what the problem with me was.
"S-ok, we go through this every few weeks or so. It's just a bit of fun."
Well, she didn't seem to be in much pain or anything, but I let it go for a while, but I suppose I had become conscious of the demonic whispering going on behind the curtain. My suspicions were finally confirmed when I saw one of the girls take Jackie's ear and make a silent, but rather obvious request.
"I'm sure she won't mind..."
I think they call it "Checkmate".
Several more candidates of Cute surrounded me and several turns of skipping rope were utilized for entirely a different purpose. My wrists were tied together behind the chair, my rather helpless body tied to the chair and my ankles tied together. Now, looking at Jackie, who they seemed to have made quite a thorough job of, I had assumed they'd be about as proficient as knot tie-ers as a Goldfish would be at connecting up the DVD to the Television. That was mistake 1,2, and 3, all made simultaneously. Now, even then, I was no angel, to be honest, this wasn't the first time I'd ever been tied up, and that subject is for an entirely different website audience. Just a couple of heaves against the rope made me realize I was not going to be getting up for a chocolate refill. The girls were giggling and even Jackie suddenly worked out that I'd been caught out.
"It's ok, they'll let us go shortly", she grinned, "they do this all the time...." Later, I found out, what they DIDN'T do all the time was coming next. A sticky hand held up an equally sticky chunk of flapjack which I obediently opened up for, only to have a length of silk sash wrapped between my teeth, and the rest of the four miles of material wrapped around my mouth. Jackie was as surprised as my eyes obviously were and of course she fell into it. She opened her mouth in preparation for an instructive and authoritative protest, only to be silenced by silk similarly.
We found ourselves, entirely embarrassed and helpless, murmuring and struggling, staring at each other with ever more pleading and surprised eyes whilst we struggled, rather realistically against our submissive kidnap, whilst the girls retreated, squealing and shining with delight. Cherubic faces appearing at the corner of the curtain every few seconds to admire their handiwork.
It's funny, but even when I type out the term, it's just one of the things you don't expect to have applied to yourself.
Like "I'm a millionaire!"
We, Jackie and I, were Bound and Gagged.
Eventually, one of the wee camp commandants appeared on scene to help out. Which was rather depressing, since the knots were too tight for her to undo, and she couldn't reach high enough upward to reach our gags, which the other girls thought was hilarious. (Glad someone did!!!) To add insult to injury, she'd been carefully instructed by an over-zealous German primary school teacher never to use a sharp knife (Thanks Eva!!!) and she thought she'd get into trouble if she cut the skipping ropes, so she just stared at us both with innocent eyes for ten minutes whilst we gave the clearest instructions we could to her through half an inch of silk scarf. There is a God however, there wasn't a hidden video camera for someone to sell a highly watchable tape to the television programmers!
Finally, the deadlock was broken, Julie, the Piano - Torturer became aware of our absence.
Whilst untying us both, she said..
"Well, I never let them Gag me!"
Caron
England and Germany
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Caron's stories
- 01 - Back to Basics (f+/FF)
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section