Algis - Kidnapped by a Neighbor Girl! (f/m)

[Zek_]

Kidnapped by a Neighbor Girl! (f/m)
By Algis

Travel back with me 30-some years to a Lithuanian neighborhood in a large city in the American Midwest. I was the middle kid in a family of three boys. I was 11, in 6th grade, can't remember what time of the year, but I remember (you'll see why) that I was wearing a sweatshirt, so I suppose fall or spring. I was always strangely drawn to tie-up scenes on TV or in the movies. Seems usually on the screen it was some damsel-in-distress, though in my daydreams often I was the one who got tied up by some girl.

To my mind, the cutest girl in the neighborhood was an 8th grader--I guess she must have been 13 or maybe 14?--long straight auburn hair, upturned nose, flashing brown eyes, lots of freckles. I sort of had a crush on her, though you know how it is, to a 6th grade boy an 8th grade girl is an older girl, mysterious and unattainable.

One day several of us neighbor kids fell to playing a game. The idea was, someone was going to get kidnaped. My older brother, 12, declared he would be a policeman. (In real life, he grew up to become a police officer.) So of course my kid brother, 8, had to be a policeman, too. Most of the other kids also "joined the force." I remember one girl wanted to be a "TV reporter" and cover the kidnaping.

This left only two of us. Me, and that cute 13 year old neighbor girl--let's call her Jean. One of us would have to be the kidnaper, and the other, the victim. I remember feeling a pang of disappointment: I knew the kids would naturally expect a boy to be the kidnaper, and a girl to be the victim. I wanted it the other way around. I wanted to get "kidnaped" by Jean.

All of a sudden Jean spoke up. "Okay, then let's say I'm gonna kidnap Al." My heart did a flipflop. Jean was going to kidnap me!

My big brother said, "Okay, let's say our garage is the police station..."

Jean interrupted. "Now I'm kidnaping Al, you guys go to the garage and count to 100...no, make it 200!" Jean made her right hand into a "gun." Suddenly I felt her forefinger poked into my back. "You get moving!"

Jean marched me along briskly. We ended up nearly two blocks away, down an alley, where Jean tested the door on a neighbor's backyard toolshed. She ordered me into the toolshed, and closed the door behind us.

I was thrilled beyond words, to be Jean's prisoner! Her wideset brown eyes looked around inside the toolshed, and lit on a couple of lengths of rope, each several feet long. "I want to make sure you don't escape."

I was almost beside myself! Jean picked up a rope. I turned my back to her, and silently put my arms behind my back. Without a word, Jean proceeded to tie my wrists together crosswise. She wrapped the rope around both ways, up and down, and sideways. She used the entire rope. She pulled it tight. I knew I wouldn't be able to get free, even if I tried.

Then Jean had me sit down on the floor, and with another rope she tied my ankles together. Again, with the entire rope, tight. This time I could see it: she finished by tying the rope into knot after knot. I had no idea how to get free! This girl had tied me simply, but very effectively.

Jean stood up and put her hands on her hips, that funny way girls have that's more like resting their wrists on their hips. She towered over me, and grinned. "There! Now you're my prisoner, and nobody's ever gonna find you!"

A bright idea struck me. Of course tie-up victims are often gagged, and I wanted Jean to gag me. So I said, "Oh yeah? They'll hear me when I yell for help!"

"No they won't! Not if you can't talk!" Now Jean spied a roll of masking tape in the toolshed. My heart was beating fit to burst as this girl who had just tied me up, now advanced toward my face with a roll of masking tape in her outstretched hands.

Jean started over my mouth, and she wrapped the tape around the back of my neck. She didn't wrap it just once, either; she wrapped that tape around and around and around my mouth and neck, tight, until everything from my chin up to right under my nostrils was covered with masking tape, several layers deep. She had me gagged, all right! I couldn't even turn my head right or left.

Now Jean sat back to admire her handiwork. I twisted and squirmed, I made stifled barking and groaning sounds, just the way a good bound-and-gagged kidnap victim is supposed to. I was having the time of my life! As for Jean, she just sat there on a box a couple of feet away, watching me. I got the impression she was pleased as punch at doing such a "nice job" on me: she was a girl who liked to do things well. I also could see she found my predicament amusing.

For many long minutes I writhed around and made noises, watching Jean watch me. I wished this could go on all day long!

At long last, Jean came over and knelt down beside me. She lifted up the front of my sweatshirt and....tickled me, you say? Close, but no cigar! Jean lifted up the front of my sweatshirt, and she dug a fingernail into the bare skin of my stomach.

This girl had long, sharp fingernails. My gag was too tight, I couldn't bend my head down to see. But I could feel what she was doing. Again and again, Jean would dig a sharp nail into my skin. I knew she must be leaving little purple crescent marks. From the feel of it, she was making some elaborate design.

Jean stayed engrossed with this "art project," she kept working at it for a long time. It's good for her she had me gagged: if I could have gotten my mouth open I would have had some choice words for her! Instead I was reduced to angry muffled noises. If I squirmed against my ropes, Jean would hiss, "Hold still! You'll ruin it." So I dutifully held still, except when she poked me right in the belly button.

Finally Jean completed her masterpiece, and again she sat back to admire her work. I lay there straining against my bonds in vain, and making meaningless noises at her. By this time I was no longer sure just what our game had to do with "kidnaping," but I was still thoroughly enjoying it.

After another several minutes, Jean got up and looked out the dust-grimed window of the toolshed. She said, "I bet by now they've given up looking for us." I bet they had! Looking back years later, I would try to guess how long Jean kept me tied up and gagged in that shed. Can't really say, though I'd bet it was on the upward side of half an hour.

Now Jean found some garden shears, and she cut my ropes. Those knots were hopeless. From a tingling in my feet, I knew I'd better not stand up just yet. But I reached up with my hands toward my face, and made noises, as if pleading Jean to remove my gag.

Instead, this cute girl just looked straight into my eyes, and gave me an impish grin. She said, "Good Luck!" Then she got up and left, leaving me there in the toolshed with my mouth still taped shut.

Using my bare fingers, it took me a while to tear through the many-layered masking tape on one side of my head. Then slowly peeling the tape away.....ouch!

I lifted my shirt and inspected my stomach. It was "tattooed" with an intricate and artistic design of purple crescent shaped fingernail marks. Before long they faded, but I was deathly afraid my brothers or my mom and dad might somehow catch a glimpse and ask what happened.

I never got Jean to tie me up again. I never dared! I would almost get tongue-tied around her, because I couldn't be in her presence without being reminded of how, yes, this was the girl who had once bound and gagged me. But this incident cemented my crush on her, and for a long time after, I used to daydream about that day I got kidnaped by the cute freckled neighbor girl.