By Pickle
“Don’t go anywhere Pick, I’ll be right back.” He unlocked the door and disappeared through it, closing it behind him. A few minutes later he returned carrying another army rucksack. This one was of a more normal size. My buddy carried it around behind my back and I heard him rummaging through it and taking things out. I tried to twist around to see what he was up to, but of course, couldn’t move my legs far with the 500 pounds on the spreader bar holding them in place, and Steve had gone far enough behind me that I couldn’t twist my upper body and head far enough to see what he was up to. He sang his little made-up ditty of …
“The waves come in, the waves go out!
The waves come in, the waves go out!”
“Kinda almost like a sea shanty, huh soldier?”
The fucker was truly enjoying himself at my expense. On one hand, I found myself wanting to evict him from my cottage and get him the Hell out of my life, and on the other, strangely kind of liking this side of him. He had me thoroughly confused. I realized I was enjoying this intensely macho treatment. How hard he was testing me. The punishment he was putting me through.
