This is a repost of a story I wrote in 2013 for a contest on TUGs.net.
The Therapy
By Dominik – 30.06.13
“This is better than dishwashing, isn’t it?” Stefan said and sipped at his soda bottle.
“Definitely, especially when it’s so hot,” I replied. Indeed it was the hottest summer we could think of. Even at night temperatures weren’t below 80°F.
We lay in the grass in a small clearing a few hundred feet away from the camp where we spent the summer. We both were in what had very soon become some kind of unofficial camp uniform: PE shorts only. (And shorts WERE short in those days, unlike those knee-long bags they call “shorts” today.)
In general, the camp was great: there was a lake we could jump into whenever we wanted, a football field, and in the surrounding forests we played Capture the Flag or similar games; you know, the ones in which ropes played an important role.
The only drawback was that, after each meal, the boys of one of the huts had to wash the dishes; this week, the job of our hut was doing that in the evening, after supper. But after we had managed on the first day to sneak away right after supper, we made a regular habit of our “after supper break”.
So we lay here and talked about school, football and so on, when suddenly counsellors Edward and Daniel stepped from behind the bushes that surrounded the clearing.
“We don’t feel like dishwashing, do we?” Daniel asked with a mischievous grin on his face.
“I ... I have an allergy against washing-up liquid,” I stammered; a lousy excuse, all right, but the only one that came into my mind.
“Me too,” Stefan assisted, “the doctor’s certificate must be in the office.”
“A washing-up liquid allergy?” Daniel asked. “Well, that’s serious. Of course, under these circumstances, we cannot send you back to dishwashing. But while we wait for the doctor, we cannot risk that you try to return to the dishes in spite of your allergy. Boys, secure them!”
Three or four boys from our hut entered the clearing from various directions. Seeing the coils of rope they all held in their hands, we knew that we were doomed.
Within seconds, we lay in the grass again, this time strictly hogtied and gagged.
“The doctor will see you as soon as possible,” Daniel said. “Meanwhile, don’t go anywhere!” and the counsellors and the boys left.
Of course we tried with our fingers to find a knot we could untie, but we knew from the games in the woods that the boys were all excellent knot-tiers, so all our attempts were futile. All we could do was lie quietly in our bonds and wait for things to come.
After what must have been an hour or so – meanwhile the night had begun – Silvio and Phil from our hut came and untied our feet. Our hands, however, remained tied behind our backs.
“Seems they found a therapy for you indeed,“ Silvio remarked with a grin on his face, using the rope he had removed from my feet to put a leash round my neck while Phil acted likewise on Stefan. “So, would you kindly follow me?”
“Boys, you have no idea how lucky you are,” Daniel welcomed us at the camp. “We have a real expert here. Doctor Robertson here,” he pointed at Edward, “is the leading authority on the field of washing-up liquid allergy. Doctor Robertson, would you kindly give us an idea of what you’re planning?”
“Well, washing-up liquid allergy is a frequent problem among 13-year-old boys,” Edward began, “The best results are achieved by what I call the X therapy: The patient is laid down on his back with his arms and legs spread out so that his body forms an X – hence the name. If the patient stays in that position overnight he is healed, in most cases after just one night.”
“Unfortunately,” he continued, ”most patients tend to change their position during the night, so they have to be secured. Phil, Silvio, could you bring the patients over here?”
A tug at our leashes convinced us to follow our “nurses” over to the fire. I noticed that eight tent pegs had been hammered into the ground, forming two rectangles of some three by six feet, maybe a bit more.
What happened now was, after ‘Doctor Robertson’s lecture’, not really surprising: each of us was ‘requested’ to sit down in one of the rectangles and our feet were lashed to one of the pegs each.
“I forgot to mention,” ‘Doctor Robertson’ continued, “that it is essential that the patient doesn’t talk during the therapy. But I see that problem has already been taken care of,” he added when he noticed our gags.
Our wrists were untied, only to be pulled upwards and lashed to the pegs above our heads. As soon as the job was finished, I tested my bonds: I was not completely immobilized, but there was very little slack, and of course my attempts to find a knot with my fingers were unsuccessful too.
“Aw, forget it,” Silvio said after he had watched my experiments for a while, “You should know meanwhile that we are experts.”
Very soon I realized that he was right, so the only thing I could do was writhe myself into a position as comfortable as possible under these circumstances.
“I’ll look after you in the morning, boys,” ‘Doctor Robertson’ promised before he left.
“Hope you’ll get well soon, and good night!” Silvio said patting my bare chest. He’d be sorry for the grin he had on his face when he left us alone.
* * *
Well, I didn’t sleep much that night; after all, I wasn’t used to spending the night like that (yet!). Whenever I looked over to Stefan I saw that he had the same problem.
Of course, we hurried to declare ourselves “healed” as soon as we were untied the next morning. Unfortunately, the “allergy” returned shortly afterwards, and another.stronger “therapy” was considered necessary. But that’s another story.
, , , which I’ll maybe post here some day.
The Therapy (m+/mm; repost)
Thanks for reposting this; don't remember seeing it before. Hope to see more "therapies." And the comment about "knee-long bags" is right on; that's a much better name for them.
Nothing like a good ol' rope treatement to heal most of the youth's diseases! Thanks for sharing again this story, missed it from the old board! Hope you decide to post the other story!
