By Hunter Perez
“Jock, will you please let me out of this?” I asked.
“Eventually, Bingo, but not right now,” he responded.
It was around eleven at night and we were in the basement den of Jock’s home. He was reclining on a couch, dressed in tight jeans and a black tank top that seemed to make his pale muscular upper torso glow. I was all in silver – or, to be more precise, I was trapped against a pillar while wrapped from ankles to shoulders in silvery duct tape.
“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened,” I said.
Jock chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve told you already, I’m not angry at you.”
I tried to push my arms against my duct tape imprisonment, but I was unable to move – the binding was too tight to allow even the slightest of wiggles.
