Imagine being strapped into THIS contraption:
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Colin stayed in the changing room for about forty-five more minutes before working up the nerve to leave. He regretted now that the day had been warm; his clothing consisted of baggy jeans, a T-shirt, socks, and sneakers. No matter how he arranged things, there would still be a lot of exposed rubber. Of course, his face was covered by the rubber, too, so that gave him a certain anonymity. Still, everywhere he went he would be a freak.
That realization was what finally drove him out: he was only a few blocks away from Times Square. If there was any place where a freak could blend in, it was there. Especially ten days before Halloween.
He put on everything he could and packed the few other items into the gym bag. Easing the door open, he slipped into the empty hallway and started down the stairs. Here in the early afternoon the locker areas only held a few people; rush hour was when all the commuters from New Jersey and Pennsylvania would swarm through on their way in or out of the city. Now there were only a handful: a white woman in her fifties, a dark young guy, Latino or possibly Arabic, a Wall Street wanna-be in an expensive suit, and a father with his daughter of about six. Colin emerged from the stairwell and strode through the hall with more confidence than he felt.
The six-year-old stared, of course, but that would have happened without the rubber. The rest ignored him in that practiced way New Yorkers have. He kept his own eyes forward… not that any of them could see his eyes… from their point of view his face was a blank mask.
By Mister-X/Spartan
That house was a natural for hosting a Halloween party. It was really creepy looking. It had been built many years ago, an old Victorian relic. It sat on top of a hill on the outskirts of town. It looked like a copy of the house in that Hitchcock movie “Psycho.” The only problem was that the owner, the guy who lived there, was just as mysterious as the house itself.
Bobby and I had been discussing approaching the owner with Willie. We wondered if the owner would be interested in having us rent it for Halloween. We could fix it up great, making it something that our friends would talk about for years. But we were trying to find some way to approach the owner. We figured you couldn’t just walk up to a total stranger and ask him if you can rent your home for a day. Bobby and I had been working on this for a couple of weeks, checking records to see who owned the place, verifying that the owner lived there, and checking any records we could about him. But we came up with nothing, nada. There had to be something.
He wasn’t a member of any club that we knew about. He never seemed to leave his house except to go grocery shopping. And that was another strange thing, he only left his house at night. Plus he always came out dressed in black clothes. Nowadays, that is popular dress, but for someone his age, it isn’t. He didn’t seem like someone who was modern in any way. He also had an eastern European accent. That sent us off on a different research quest.
Willie finally said, “Hey, I don’t have a problem approaching strangers. Leave it to me to talk to the guy and check out the place.”
By lthr_jock
Without thinking, Clark stood up which made Greg curse angrily and use his crop on Clark’s leathered arse. Clark reflexively knelt down again and flushed bright red as Vickers laughed. Greg glared down at him and paused before looking back up at Vickers.
“Hold on, did you just call him Samuel?”
Vickers grinned an evil little smile and nodded. Greg let out a roar of laughter which made several people close by look up from their own conversations.
“You mean to tell me that the man I have been pestering you about for 2 months is right here kneeling at my feet.”
Vickers joined in the laugher. “Yes – and from the look of it Samuel has had quite the evening.”
Greg chuckled and stroked Clarks hair, ignoring the increasingly urgent grunts that were coming from the restrained man.
“Damn. I’ve wanted to get him into some of my gear for ages. See – I was right – it suits him.”
“I never doubted it would.”
“MPPPHHH!”
Greg didn’t look down, just rapped the tip of his crop against the faceplate of Clark’s muzzle. “Quiet, boi, your betters are talking.”
Clark ignored this and continued to grunt into the gag. Greg frowned at him and with one hand behind Clarks head, used the other one to pinch his nose shut. Clark then realised how secure he was trussed up as he struggled vainly within the straitjacket, his booted feet slipping on the floor. He could get some air in past the gag in his mouth, but his struggles increased his need for air and Gregs control over his nose meant that he couldn’t get it. He struggled harder and harder until Greg released his grip. He gasped air in through his nose, coughing and spluttering around the drool in his mouth. Greg knelt down so that he could hear him whisper.
By Joshua Ryan
“This is Officer Nolan,” he said to his cellphone. “Open A292.” I heard the bars slide back.
“Inside, convict.”
I opened my eyes. There was a gap in the bars. The cell door was open. It wasn’t very wide. It was just the gate to a cage. I could tell that I’d have to tilt my bedroll to get it through. I lifted one side, maneuvering it. I would have to be careful not to let anything drop . . .
Then I saw it. There was something long and thick lying on the lower bunk, something brown that was shaped like a man. There were letters and numbers stamped on its surface. It was a convict, lying face down in my cell. Wait a minute! Couldn’t the officer see that the place was already full?
I almost blurted that out. Then I remembered: there were two convicts stuffed in all those other cells. That bundle of clothes on the bunk was only one convict. I was the other one.
I stopped in the doorway. I was scared to wake up that thing on the metal shelf. Jesus, it was dark in there, especially after the spotlight I’d faced outside. I could see a naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn’t turned on. The only light was the gray stuff leaking in from the walkway. That was enough for me to see that the whole cell wasn’t much larger than a medium-sized closet. It was a lot smaller than my bathroom at home. What used to be my home. Half the cell was bunks, one shelf above the other on the right side, against the wall. A lot of the rest was toilet — a metal toilet squatting against the back wall, a toilet without a seat, with something that looked like a little sink built into the top of it. The thing was gleaming at me in the faint light. Christ! I thought. They wash in the shitter. A wave of contempt ran through me. Probably one of them crapped while the other one washed his face in the crapper. They were like cats in a cage, with a little litterbox all their own. And now I was one of them.
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By Mister-X/Spartan
Our college was putting on a play to mark the 150th anniversary of Lincoln’s assassination. Most people knew about John Wilkes Booth’s role in it. But few people knew about the others who helped him, and what their fate was. I was to play the role of one of the co-conspirators.
I made no pretext of the fact that I was gay. I also wanted acting to be my career. When it came time to pick the one who would be put into prison in those horribly difficult cuffs that the co-conspirators where put in, our director asked for volunteers. He normally would pick people for the roles, but he didn’t want to assign someone who would have difficulty playing this role. After no one seemed to want this role, I volunteered for it. Our director thanked me. He said I would need a backup, but no one else wanted to even be the backup. I was going to have to make sure that I would always be available. That was my first warning that this was going to be a difficult role to play.
Now that the director had someone to play the role, the next problem was getting the cuffs made. They had to fit the person who was portraying the role, and I was sent to the metal workshop to be fitted. Due to the fragility of the original cuffs, the director decided to make a modification. He also figured that I would prefer being placed in this modified version. He knew something about my interests, since he was also gay, and we’d played some.
At the metal workshop, the director told the workshop teacher what was required. He was surprised, but said that he’d be able to produce them. The director told him that I would be the one playing the part, and told him to make them to fit me. He said everything needed to be tight fitting, since that was the way they had it done at the time. The workshop teacher said “if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. But if you don’t like it, don’t blame me. Your man here will have to be the one to be put into them.” That was my second warning that this was going to be a difficult role to play.