The summer before my senior year in high school my parents got a divorce.
This didn't surprise me, because my father had moved out months earlier, but
I was surprised when my mother's boyfriend moved into our house two days
later and brought his three rotten sons with him.  His oldest boy was in the
eighth grade and specialized in sexual suggestions. Every time he saw me he
made smutty comments about my body and described in graphic detail what he
wanted to do with me, as if he could.  The middle boy was in the sixth grade
and he was a thief.  He stole everything of mine he wanted and wrecked what
he didn't want.  The youngest boy was never quiet.  If he wasn't shouting he
was whining or crying.  I put up with all this for a week, but then the
boyfriend told me that I was going to have to share my room with the noisy
kid.  I appealed to my mother, but she just said that the boyfriend didn't
think that it was fair that I had my own room while his boys were all
crowded  together.  I got the message and went to live with my father.
 After my father left he had bought a small house on the other side of the
city.  This was good for him, because now he lived only a few miles from
where he worked and before he had had to commute over an hour each way, but
it meant that when school started I would have to commute, and there was no
way I could do this.  I didn't have a driver's license, and even if I got
one I wouldn't have a car.  There was a high school within walking distance
of where I now lived and I was forced to transfer to it.
 When school started I didn't experience any hostility from the other
students.  I was totally ignored.  My new school was small for an urban high
school and all of the other members of the senior class knew each other.  I
just didn't fit in.  I have always enjoyed science classes and I am really
good in math.  The other girls were only interested in boys and clothes.
The boys rated girls by their looks and I was a 10, but on a scale of 100.
I'm not ugly.  I don't have two noses, or a twisted purple scar.  I have
plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, and a plain face.  My body has been
described as 'slim', which means I have small breasts and narrow hips.  If
I were nine or ten inches taller this would be a model's figure, but at 5'
1" I was just small, plain, and invisible.
 I hadn't been wildly popular at my old school, but I did have several good
friends, girls I had known since we were in junior high school.  We ate
lunch together and talked between classes and after school.  Now I was
always alone.  The only time I ever said anything was when I was called on
in a class.  The only bright spot in my day was my calculus class.   I had
previously studied most of the class material, and my teacher was so
thrilled to finally get a student who was really interested in her subject
that she helped me with some advanced topics.  I had already been admitted
to the local university, and I wanted to learn as much  math as I could so
that I could pass the advanced placement exams next fall when I got to
college.  I really applied myself to my studies, because it helped me to
forget how lonely I was.
 At home I did the housework and the cooking.  My father was working a lot
of overtime so during the week we only saw each other at dinner.  Sunday was
the high spot of my social life, because that was when my father and I went
grocery shopping.  My life was empty, but I didn't do anything about it
before October 16th, which was my eighteenth birthday.
 To celebrate my birthday my father took me out to dinner at a good
restaurant and gave me a department store gift certificate.  "Emily, I'm
sorry that I have to give you such an impersonal gift"  he said, "but I just
haven't had time to do any shopping."
 "It's OK,  Dad.   I know how much you've had to work.  This is fine.  I
need clothes and I like to buy them myself.  Thank you."
 I had never expected a big celebration.   I did expect my mother to send me
something or at least call me on the phone, but she hadn't called during the
day and there weren't any messages when I got home from dinner.  I couldn't
understand why she didn't call.  She might have guessed that I blamed her
for the divorce, but I had never said anything about it and I tried to keep
on friendly terms with her.  I stayed up past my usual bedtime waiting for
her to call, and when she didn't I was really hurt.
 I got into bed in a sad mood.  I brooded that the only person who cared if
I lived or died was my father.  I remembered some words from an old country
song that went,  "hello loneliness, goodbye happiness, I think I'm going to
cry".  I started to cry then and I couldn't stop.  I sobbed for a long time,
with my face muffled in my pillow so that my father wouldn't hear me.
 The next day I was kind of disgusted with my self-pity. It was up to me to
decide how I could make my life more interesting!  Whatever I did would have
to be something I could do alone.  Study? I was already doing that.  Sports?
Not team sports, but I could work out, run, and ride my bicycle.  Sex?  I
had never really considered this as a solo activity, but it was certainly
worth trying.  That evening I went to my room right after dinner, determined
to obtain sexual gratification.
 There was never any doubt about the fantasy I would use when I masturbated.
  Even when I was a little girl I had always wanted to be the captive roped
to the tree during our games of cowboys and indians.  When I was in the
sixth grade another girl and I tied each other up.  We started by taking
turns, but we quickly found out that she liked to do the tieing and I liked
to be the tiee.  Being helpless caused me to have strong  feelings that I
didn't understand then.  We did this almost every week for months, but then
her family moved away and I never did anything like this again.
 When I got to my room I took off all of my clothes and got out an old
scarf.  I tied a knot in it to form a loop.   I got into bed and slipped my
hands through the loop behind my back, and then twisted my wrists so that
the loop tightened up.  I imagined myself as a captive of savages, trying
desperately to escape before they came to drag me to the torture stake.  As
I struggled against the loop my nipples got hard and sensitive and I could
feel heat and moisture in my crotch. My breathing quickened and my heartbeat
got faster.  Finally I untwisted my wrists, pulled my hands out of the loop,
and rubbed my slit until I came with convulsive spasms.  After I had calmed
down I thought, Wow! That was fun!  Why haven't I done this before?
 During the next couple of  weeks I repeated this process again and again,
but the effects lessened over time.  The loop was so easy to get out of that
I had a hard time imagining myself to be helpless.  It also abraded my
wrists.  I needed something more secure, and chains were more of a turn-on
for me than rope.  I had no way to get handcuffs, and I didn't have the
tools to do much metalwork, but I thought of a substitute.  I bought a piece
of thick leather at a craft store and cut out four straps about two inches
wide.  I fit a strap to each of my wrists and ankles, cut it to length, and
punched a hole in each end.  To fasten the straps and secure the chain I
used a bolt, a nut, and two washers.  I put a washer against the bolt head
and then put the bolt through one of the holes in the strap.  Next came the
chain, and then I wrapped the strap around my wrist or ankle, put the bolt
through the other hole in the strap, then another washer and the nut.  I
tightened the nut with my fingers and then used two wrenches to get it
really tight.  The process takes almost as long to describe as it does to
apply, and after a little practice I could fasten both my wrists and my
ankles in a couple of minutes.   I used about eight inches of chain between
my wrists and about fifteen inches between my ankles.
 The next evening I tried out the chains.  I took off my clothes and bolted
on them on.  I walked around my room and imagined that I was a barbarian
queen, captured by the Romans and forced to walk chained and naked in the
Emperor's triumphal parade.  After a lot of rubbing and stroking I was able
to produce an orgasm, but something was lacking.  I figured it out.  I was
still able to release myself at any time.  I wanted to be secured so that I
couldn't get loose, at least for a while.
 My room had a walk-in closet that was almost empty.  I installed a large
eyebolt in one wall about six inches above the floor and bought a large
padlock.  If  I locked my chains to the eyebolt I would be helpless, because
I couldn't get them off without the wrenches.  What I needed now was a way
to hold the padlock key out of my reach for a while.  After a little thought
I came up with a way to do this.  I got a tin can and used a nail to punch a
hole in the center of the bottom and two holes in opposite sides near the
top edge of the can, and then tied a piece of string loosely between these
two holes.  I took a foot of string, put it through the hole in the padlock
key, and tied the ends together to form a loop.  I threaded this loop up
through the hole in the bottom of the can and put it around an ice cube.
Then I hung the can from a small hook in the ceiling.  Perfect! The ice
supported the key and the can supported the ice.  To be sure that the key
would fall where I could reach it I tied a long string to it and tied the
other end of the string to a hook in the ceiling over the eyebolt.  The
string length was adjusted so that key would just touch the floor.
 After I  tested the key release mechanism I put in another ice cube, took
off my clothes, and put on the chains.  Leaving the wrenches outside, I went
into the closet, turned out the light, and shut the door.  Then I used the
padlock to fasten the chains between my wrists and ankles to the eyebolt.
It was dark in the closet, so it was easy to imagine that I was a kidnapped
princess, chained to the wall of the Evil Duke's dungeon.  It was scary to
know that I couldn't move until the ice melted.  With a little effort my
hands could reach  my crotch, and I came several times before the key was
released.
 Later I wondered what would happen if I was aroused without being able to
touch my clit.  I got a short piece of quarter-inch nylon rope, doubled it
over, and tied an overhand knot near the loose ends.  Then I put the rope on
top of the closet door with the knot outside and closed the door.  This gave
me a secure loop of rope inside the closet.  I used the same key release
method, but I shortened the key string and moved it to a hook in the ceiling
over the loop.  I locked the center of the chain between my wrists to the
loop so my hands were held above my head.  I could now rub my nipples
against the door, but I couldn't reach anything lower down.  The effect was
amazing!  I was soon squirming and trying frantically to friction my crotch.
  When the key finally released and I could get my hands down it took just a
touch on my clit to produce an orgasm that knocked me to the floor.
 While I still had this setup in place I tested what it would be like to be
suspended by my wrists.  I relocked the wrist chain to the loop and  then
bent my knees until my feet were off the floor.  I could feel the pressure
on my wrists, but the straps were wide enough that they didn't cut into my
skin.  I didn't like the door bumping against my face and body, and I
decided that when I did this again I would pick a place where I could hang
freely.
 Next Saturday I got a chance to do my suspension experiment.  My father had
to work so I would be alone in the house all day.  A garage was attached to
our house and it was empty when my father's car was gone.  I attached an
eyebolt, which I had pried open a little so that the chain could be hooked
to it, to a beam in the ceiling near the center of the garage.  I had a
kitchen stool to stand on, but I needed some way to remove it and bring it
back.  (I knew that kicking it over was a bad idea).
 I looked around the house and found a furniture dolly, which is a low
platform about two feet square mounted on four sturdy wheels.  I took it
into the garage and put the stool on it.  In a wall of the garage I fastened
a hook a few inches above the floor and mounted a small pully to it, and
mounted another hook and pully in the ceiling directly above, about six
inches from the wall.  I tied an eighth-inch rope to the side of the dolly
and ran it through the lower pully and then up and through the upper pully.
The rope end was tied to the handles of a plastic grocery sack so the sack
just touched the floor, and I put a can of soda into it.  When I rolled the
dolly away from the wall the sack went up.  When I released it the weight of
the can rolled the dolly back under the eyebolt.  I installed a similar
setup on the opposite side of the garage, but I tied the sack about five
feet above the floor.  I dumped a tray of ice cubes into this sack and let
it go.  The ice weighed more than the can so the dolly rolled out from under
the eyebolt.  I put a board on the floor to stop the dolly before it could
roll into the wall and possibly jam the rope.  I tied a string to the ice
sack, ran it through the hook in the ceiling,  pulled up the sack, and tied
the string to the eyebolt  The dolly rolled back into place.
 I took off my clothes and bolted on the chains.  When I tried to climb on
the stool I found that the ankle chain was too short, so I released my right
ankle, stood on the stool, and re-secured my ankle.  I untied the ice sack
string and held it in my left hand, and used my other hand to put the center
link of the wrist chain into the eyebolt.  Then I bent my knees, pulled up
my feet, and let go of the string.  The stool rolled away and I was
suspended with no way to free myself.
 It was warm in the garage, so I estimated the ice should melt in less than
an hour.  The time was now just after ten a.m.  (I had put a clock where I
could see it).  My father usually got home around six, so there was plenty
of time to clean everything up before he got back.  The erotic sensations
were even more intense than they had been when I was in the closet.  I
looked down.  My breasts were almost completely flattened, but I could see
my nipples sticking straight out.  I drifted away in an erotic haze.
 The pain in my wrists brought me back.  I looked at the clock, and it was
almost eleven.  The ice should have melted by now.  I looked at the plastic
grocery sack, and I could see that the lumpiness of the ice cubes had been
replaced by the smooth curve of water.  Smooth curve of water?  I suddenly
realized that I had forgotten to put a hole in the bottom of the sack!  The
water was trapped!  So was I!  The shock was so great that my bladder
released and urine poured down my legs.  In a frenzy I tried to escape.  I
pulled myself up until my head touched the ceiling and I tried to flip the
chain out of the eyebolt, but the opening was too small and too close to the
ceiling.   I tried this again and again, even though the jolt after each
failed attempt increased the pain.  Finally, I couldn't pull myself up any
more and I dangled limply from the chain.  I started yelling for help, and
then screaming for help.  Soon I was just screaming.
 As the hours passed the pain in my wrists was joined by pain in my
shoulders, and then by pain in my back and chest.  Every breath hurt.  I had
screamed until my throat was raw and my voice was a croak  My body was
covered with sweat and tears ran down my face.  I was afraid I would die
here.  I looked at the clock.  Almost four.  At least two more hours.  I
moaned in despair.  The light suddenly got brighter as the garage door was
opened.  I heard my father shout something.  I fainted.
 I came to as my father put me down on the couch in the living room.  A look
of relief crossed his face when I opened my eyes.
 "Emmy! You're alive!  I'll get you loose and then take you to the emergency
room."
 My father went out and then came back with the wrenches and freed my wrists
and ankles.  I pleaded, "I don't want to go to the emergency room!  Please
Daddy, it would be so humiliating.  What if they got the police involved?
It could get onto the TV news.  Please, I'm OK now."
 "You're far from OK, Emmy, but the color of your hands is better.  Let me
see you wiggle your fingers.  OK. Now, can you move your arms?"
 Moving my arms really hurt, but I didn't feel any bones grinding.  "It
hurts, but my shoulders aren't dislocated.  Please,  there isn't anything
that the emergency room can do."
 "Well, I don't think your life is in danger.  We can wait a while and see
how things develop."
  I started to cry.  "Oh, Daddy, I'm so ashamed! Now you know I'm a sex
pervert."
 "Emily, you're not a pervert.  The kind of thing you were doing is not as
unusual as you seem to think it is.  I'd say that most couples try games
like that at least once.  Some like it so much that they do it all the time.
  Besides, you are an adult.  If you don't hurt anybody else you can have
any kind of sexual experience you want.  However, the way you organized your
little adventure was stupid and dangerous!  Suppose I had been two hours
late coming home instead of two hours early?  You could have passed out and
suffocated.  I want you to promise me that you'll stop, because you don't
know what you're doing."
 I nodded my head and my father left the room.  He came back and spread a
blanket over me and then helped me drink some water and swallow some pills.
Soon I was asleep.  I woke up in my bed, and stayed there most of Sunday.
By Monday morning my shoulders still hurt, but I was able to go to school.
I had some massive bruises on my wrists, but I could cover them up with a
long-sleeved shirt.
 By Thursday I was just about back to normal except for the bruises, which
had developed some amazing colors.  At dinner that night my father said,
"Emily,  I'd like to invite one of my colleagues to dinner here tomorrow
night.  He's new in town, lives alone, and I think he's lonely."
 "Fine with me, Dad." I replied.  "I'll think of something special for
dinner."
 Friday evening I had just finished setting three places at the dinner table
when my father came in from the garage.  I followed him as he went to the
front door and opened it.  There was a young man standing there.  He was
slightly taller than my father and wasn't bad looking, except for a strange
haircut.  He wore brown shoes, gray slacks, and a white, short-sleeved shirt
with a pocket containing a calculator and a half-dozen pens and pencils.  My
father said, "Emily, I'd like you to meet Jon Duncan.  Jon got his degree in
mathematics last June.  I'm sure you two have mutual interests.  Jon, this
is my daughter, Emily".
 I stepped forward and extended my right hand.  Jon did the same and we
shook hands.  I noticed how big his hand was and what a muscular arm it was
attached to.  I also noticed that my sleeve had pulled back so that part of
my bruise was exposed.  I tried to pull my hand back but Jon tightened his
grip and held it in place.  Then he reached over with his left hand, pushed
back my sleeve, and brushed his fingertips over the bruise.  I felt like I
was on fire! I looked up and our eyes met.  We just stood there until my
father literally pushed us apart and got us to the dinner table.
 After dinner we all went into the living room.  I sat in a chair and Jon
and my father sat on the couch.  I didn't dare get too close to Jon.  The
evening was very strange.  We would all be having a normal conversation and
then Jon and I would gradually stop talking and just look at each other
until my father broke the trance.  Finally my father said, "Well,  Jon and I
have to work tomorrow so we better call it a night.  Emily, why don't you
show Jon out?"
 I went with Jon to the front door and then followed him down the walk to
the sidewalk in front of the house.  We stood face to face for several
minutes without saying anything.  Then Jon took my hands,  moved them behind
my back, and held them there with his left hand.  His right hand grasped the
hair on the back of my head.  He tipped my face up and kissed my lips.  As
my body melted against his I thought, "hello happiness, goodbye loneliness,
I don't need to cry."
 

Copyright 2001.  All rights reserved.