My Cousin
When I found out my cousin was committed, I knew I had to visit. It had probably been fifteen – at least fifteen – if not twenty years since I had seen him. It had been longer since I had really talked to him and had not just simply seen him. We had been close enough when I was really young but as he grew and I grew, we drifted ways. He was more of a rebel and probably mixed with a rougher crowd. I was too focused on school and getting out of that small town we shared. I had made it out and lived an hour away by air or eight hours by car.
Still, I had to visit him. Sure I wanted to see him, catch up on old times, and get to know my cousin by way of an adult meeting another adult. But secretly, I wanted inside of an asylum. I wanted to see strait jackets, padded cells, and of course, leather restraints. If reason would have guided me closer or further, I paid no heed. My visceral reaction remained a powerful magnet drawing me nearer and nearer an actual asylum. Nothing would get in the way of it. I saw my chance and had to take it.
The first step was figuring out exactly where he was. Extended family gossip had only informed me that he was committed. Internet searches were of little help. Prisons are easy enough to dig up information on but Asylums are much more elusive. For one, they don't even go by that name anymore. You have to sift your way through a multitude of euphemisms such as "Behavioral Care" or "Mental Health." Despite this, the task at hand was easy enough. All I had to do was dig up an old Christmas card from a few years past in which my uncle had listed an email address. I had no motivation for using it up until now. I wrote. It was a simple message. I just asked my uncle how things were going and hinted at possibly visiting back at some point.
To my surprise, my uncle wrote back the same day. The message was short but warm. I had pried open a window and was able to now ask about being able to write Shaun. I knew enough not to talk about why he may be where-he-was. I just made sure to go out of my way to make no judgments (as I suspected most other people, including family, would be doing). Again, my uncle shot back another email rather quickly and listed the official address right away.
Shaun Eslinger 878565
CCBI PO Box 2551
Waunakee, WI 53704
He said I should write Shaun since he always appreciates letters. My uncle made it sound like it was the only highlight Shaun had anymore.
Of course, I instantly googled the place which turned out to be Calm Crescents Behavioral Institute. It was about two hours away from the sleepy town in which we had both grown up; however, from me, it would still be an hour plane ride and then some driving time. The website left a lot to be desired. The home page was nothing but pictures of smiling patients all seeming to be enjoying fresh fruit while in the midst of grocery shopping. There were a few pages with feel good messages about how CCBI would like to help without actually describing how they could help. More euphemism words like 'forensic treatments' and 'behavioral pathways' littered the pages. There was nothing about visiting or visitor hours. Buried was a telephone number. I dialed it immediately and save for the standard "If this is an emergency, dial 911," I was left to discover their offices were closed. I vowed to call the next morning.
Until then, I set about writing my letter to Shaun. By definition, it had to be short. I had no cards to play because I was only writing so I'd be able to visit. Therefore, I needed to pad my letter somehow. I came up with a clever idea of writing a very short note while attaching a big self-made word search puzzle. I came up with some pretty crazy words such as, "doctor," "courtyard," "roommate," and "visiting hours." I thought it might prove that I had no hangups about him being in a mental hospital. I wanted it to be somewhat fun; something he'd enjoy doing especially if his hours to himself were long. I tried to be careful not to seem as if I was poking fun at him. I wanted it to be clear that I was on his side. My hope was that most people were staying away from him and the place. My hope was that I'd appear as someone who had his back; someone who cared – cared enough to write, cared enough to visit, and cared enough to be told intimate details about the place.
My heart was in the wrong place. My soul was not.
A week later, I received a letter from Shaun. On the front of the envelope, a sticker was attached which read, "Warning: This letter was sent from an inmate in a correctional institute."
Wow, this was the real deal. My heart raced.
Shaun had written a very long letter. It was two pages, double sided. He thanked me for the word search puzzle but said he had not received it since, "You could have put a secret message in it." At least my original note had gone through. Shaun went on to say how he had made some mistakes, how he was really glad to hear from me, and stunningly, how he even hoped I'd visit. He said I'd have to fill out a lot of paperwork but that the place could arrange it all.
I will admit I hadn't been able to call the CCBI phone number since my first failed attempt. I figured I'd wait for Shaun's response before digging further. I knew my flight options, how difficult renting a car would be, and where I might stay over for the night. There was only one motel in the area. I even knew when I could get vacation from work.
It was do or die time.
The rest of the letter was filled with questions for me about my life. Things I'd rather not answer. Things that had been reasons for not being in touch with Shaun before. I needed there to be only one more letter sent. It would be the one listing the day he'd see me.
The CCBI phone system turned out to be a maze. I ended up using email to request a visitor application. It was an entire packet of pages I had to print out, sign, and mail back in. The application asked for all my information as well as my reason for visiting. They wanted to know my relationship with Shaun and why this visit was a good idea or what it hoped to accomplish. I tried to keep my answers short and pleasant while at the same time being very direct and clear about their being no criminal history in my past including with Shaun, about their being no drugs or alcohol in my life or in relation to Shaun's life, and about their being no negative emotions or feuds. I knew my official record was non-existent. I had one speeding ticket in my life and that was it. Other than wanting to be inside of a mental hospital, I was sparkly clean.
And so, on September 16th, I boarded a plane to Wisconsin. The flight was uneventful. However, the transition from urban mecca to slow small town was both calming and frightful. There was so much that could go wrong. There was so much inside of me that could be revealed. I had to take an interest in the place without having too much of an interest.
The airport was small and I was glad I had not checked any luggage. There were no rental cars so I collected my bearings, grabbed a sandwich and water to eat and drink, and counted the minutes down on my watch until it would be time for me to reasonably approach a taxi. There was a long line of them parked just outside the airport doors. My visiting time with Shaun was set for 1pm. It was now only 10:24am.
Finally, I couldn't help myself and figured I could stroll outside the 'Asylum' if I was earlier than reasonable. I knew for sure I would not, could not, and should not be late.
Much like the plane ride, the drive out and up to Calm Crescents was both mellow and eerie. Riding along countryside rolling hills, creeks, and fields was peaceful. Traveling further and further from civilization was unnerving. As we embarked up the hills of which CCBI nestled among, we entered thick forests of trees. The road curved considerably and branched off several times with other trails. It would be extremely easy to become lost up here. There were also no clear markings. In fact, the cab driver had to make two U-turns after forking incorrectly onto two separate narrower roads.
Just as soon as I had become comfortable with my current situation, I could see the massive compound break among the trees. If the website said 'Calm Crescents Behavioral Institute,' my current view screamed 'Calm Crescents Asylum.' Reality won against any claim otherwise.
We jetted nearer and the building's hinted presence became fully realized. This was indeed an Asylum: thick walls, gated entrances, and wings upon wings of structure. There had clearly been additions, remodels, and updates. But the soul of the building could not be changed. It was as if I was stepping back in time 100 years or more. This was a place where people came to be housed, for long periods of time, without the luxury of a definitive release date. Even the more modern all glass wings could not break contrast with the older all brick sections: the vast sheets of glass simply reflected the trees – multiplying them in number – and making the entire structure as visually impenetrable as its brick and steel elements. This was an asylum from top to bottom. Not being able to 'read' this building otherwise was part of the appeal that drew me instinctively closer while feeling as if I should immediately flee.
My cab driver slowed just after piercing an auxiliary gate. Since he was now creeping at a snail's pace, I didn't immediately register when he completely stopped a few yards from the main entrance. Expecting payment, he held his hand towards me. I struggled to gather enough cash while unable to release my gaze from the massive structure before me. It was neither my very eyes nor mind that were peering up at the slanted roof, jetted wings, or flanked high fencing. Instead, it was indeed my soul which was grasping forward.
What happened next is what dreams are made of. There were many doors to pass, many guards to answer, and many corridors to walk. However, not one instance was different than the next. From the time my foot hit the pavement near Calm Crescents threshold to the time I stood before Shaun's room door, I felt utter dread and nirvana. The floors were cold, shiny, and vast. The corridors were echoing, tall, and windy. The guards were intimidating, stern, and questioning. Leather accentuated all rooms in the form of couches, chairs, and benches. All were black, grainy, and drippy. The orderlies were deft, skeptical, and sly.
The only man who took any interest in me, which I recognized by his deviation from institutional protocol, was Tristan. While everyone else wore white, he wore a western cowboy blue-and-white finely striped shirt tucked neatly in to his brown jeans. While the orderlies and guards wore slip-resistant rubber sneakers, Trist wore brown boots. Everyone else had on a standard-issue black belt; Trist wore a neatly fitted brown one. And while everyone had their waist free of any object, Trist carried a large set of keys clipped to his waist. I could tell he was a man who could gain your trust in an instant. While everyone else seemed to have an ulterior motive, Trist seemed genuinely concerned about you. He seemed as though he could collect your story from a few sentences of dialogue and that you could trust him with the gathered information. Instead of using it against you, he would use it to help you. That disarming quality about Trist made me want to avoid him. At the same time, I wanted to never leave him.
And so, I found myself outside of Shaun's door. An orderly had unlocked it and said I was free to enter. I collected my thoughts and extended my hand. The metal handle gave surprisingly easy and the solid white door pressed forward inside of the room. Like a chicken hatching, I stepped in to the lion's den.
My eyes adjusted to bright light. I registered a blank white wall directly in front of me, a window filled with light to my left, and finally, a white metal framed bed to my right. Shaun's face as well as his body seemed to be a shriveled grape among a brilliant painting. His material did not fit the space. I did my best to concentrate on him: to make it appear as though he was who and what I was interested in. While locking my eyes with his, I couldn't help but see, in my peripheral vision, that his entire bed was filled with row upon row of thick, brown, leather restraints.
The creaking of leather made me know them to be actually there as Shaun struggled to sit up to greet me.
"Max!" he intended to exclaim although my name came out as a croak.
"You made it!" he continued with a somewhat less exuberant manner still containing phlegm.
"Hey Shaun," I managed to start. I knew I'd get a full view of the mechanical aspects of his bedded arrangement eventually. The more time I spent establishing credibility with him, the more time I'd get later for the institutional aspects.
I was able to pull up an arm-less metal chair with a loose small leather cushion on its seat. I instinctively pointed it towards the foot of Shaun’s bed. It didn’t seem right to look directly at him although now I would be looking directly at his restraints. I turned my head towards him to correct my mistake.
We talked. He mostly asked about how my ride-in played out and how I was doing. He tried to sit up again but the expanse of leather creaked, held, and ultimately contained him exactly where he had been. He gave up but his now heavier breathing kept the restraints singing.
Finally he did it. He addressed the elephant in the room: “So what do you think of these?” he said while lifting both arms and both feet upwards.
It was the first chance I was given to look directly at the straps. Shaun didn’t move an inch, but his jerky motion melted his body upwards in to the thick creamy cuffs. All of his straps stretched, creaked, and wrestled. Shaun soon relaxed which caused his entire body to melt back downward in to the leather. He seemed to be only able to mesh against the cuffs and restraints instead of actually able to move them.
Before, during, and after muttering something that I didn’t actually think about while saying, I desperately tried to stretch out the time I was given to examine the restraints. Dead-on, I saw them as both buttery and stiff – as both solid dark brown on the outside and creamy light tan on the inside. The smell was toxic: raw thick hide and milky smooth leather. Each strap was buckled down to the sides of the white metal frame of his bed. Metal clasps indicated each was locked. There didn’t seem to be any key-like openings though. Shaun’s ankles and wrists were looped tightly inside of the leather cuffs. Everything else: his chest, waist, hips, thighs, and calves were all belted with row upon row of straps. This was exactly what I was hoping to see.
“Those actually look awesome,” is what I now became aware of having said.
Shaun’s eyes beat directly up at me. He smiled.
“Ha,” he said, “You should try being in them.”
I took this as an invitation to be allowed further examination of the restraints and cocked my head back down at the bed. I took an expanded view this time and realized the metal bed was actually bolted to the floor. There was also a large piece of brown slippery glinting leather outstretched on Shaun’s chest.
“What’s this?” I asked. I became aware of my hand outstretching towards the contraption as well as the recollection that I had hoped to make more small talk with Shaun before diving in to this stuff. Shaun was as adept as the orderlies. He didn’t mind at all going down this rabbit hole that we seemed to be headed towards.
“See for yourself Max,” Shaun goaded, “Pick it up.”
I felt my fingers against heavy solid leather before I even realized I had given myself permission to touch. I was surprised how heavy the leather felt against my fingers considering how smooth and buttery the leather looked to my eyes. Upon holding the outstretched brown leather piece in my hands, the device slid over Shaun’s pectoral muscles and broke away from the bed entirely. Small strips of leather on either side of the device flopped gently down in to my lap as I began feeling the brown leather contraption with both of my hands.
“You put it over your face,” Shaun blurted, “well, it goes over my face, that is.”
“Like a mask,” I half questioned, half answered.
“Yeah, exactly, it’s part of the whole get-up,” Shaun continued while kicking his legs up once more against the full bed of restraints.
What followed can only be described as being under the influence of a drug. I was clearly showing signs of perspiration, eye-dilatation, and heavy breathing. Under the surface, my heart was also racing and my mind was euphoric.
Shaun caught on that I was interested in leather. I didn’t talk about the restraints but I started talking about the leather thinking it was a safer bet. Shaun didn’t judge. He guided me further. He agreed with anything I said about the leather and always took the comment a step further. He kept trying to demonstrate any part of the leather he could.
By now the idea of putting the mask on my face was out in the open. The idea of putting the mask on his face was as well. The idea of just chucking the mask in to the corner and breaking Shaun out was thought up too. We both knew that idea was unrealistic. Wearing the mask wasn’t unrealistic though.
I never did put the mask on and neither did Shaun have me put the mask on him. Crazy ideas had been established between us though. We had cultivated the safe ground necessary to be able to say anything. And it was then that he mentioned his key. He said he stole a key awhile back and always kept it in a crack near the floorboard in the corner of the room. He wasn’t sure if I’d be allowed to see him in his actual room today so he had transferred the key to the space between his big toe and the next toe over on his left foot. He was wearing some kind of cotton mesh slipper-sock device and told me I should ‘Go ahead’ and ‘Check it out.’
I kept the banter going and didn’t realize he was serious until he started shaking his foot and something sort of jingled down in to his slipper.
I stood up. I looked around cautiously. There was a camera above the door aimed directly down on Shaun.
I sat back down. If Shaun’s leather restraints made me nervous, the possibility of a key made me frightfully stunned.
I tried to return Shaun back to reality. He just kept reassuring me. He said there was no way of breaking out of ‘Big Moon’ as he called it referring to the ‘Crescents’ part of the name. He said the place was too massive, the guards too numerous, and the security too tight. He said he only wanted to have the key to be able to show me how the place worked – how his ‘getup’ worked. He said I might like to be in this. He said I might like to experience what they all might be like. He said, “in the leather.”
Leather.
Brown Leather.
Thick Brown Leather.
Thick Brown Leather Institutional Restraints.
I began to ask Shaun more about it.
He detailed the plan pretty quick and efficiently. I’d start walking around, being playful like, like we were having a rough-house time as two cousins. He said I’d end up throwing the mask around. He said I’d eventually get it so the mask was covering up over the camera. There would be no telling how soon the security guards would notice the camera had gone dark. We wouldn’t know how long it would take them to get to the room nor how likely they would be interested in entering a room that was still completely locked shut. In record time, Shaun said that I would fetch the key, unstrap Shaun, switch places with him, and allow him to strap me up. This would let me feel what the leather felt like and allow me to enjoy it for as long as it took the orderlies to correct the situation. Worst case scenario, Shaun would unlock me himself and switch places back. And again, there was no way out so there was no worry of him actually getting us both in to trouble.
I didn’t allow myself to think about it. Shaun smiled at me and my soul smiled back. Against Shaun’s advice, I actually played around his bed and grabbed the key first. It was the oddest shaped piece of little metal I ever saw. Then, I sprang up and slipped the mask squarely over the camera; just as if the lens of the camera was a nose on a face.
“Undo the wrist first,’ Shaun instructed. He was less playful and more direct in his words.
I really shouldn’t have been able to unlock his wrist so quickly but the universe’s intent took over and somehow that small metal clasp took hold of my small metal key. Shaun’s hand sprung quickly in to motion and took care of the rest. His thick brown leather cuff popped off instantly and he had already began working on his other wrist. The unsnarling of each cuff revealed a long stretch of creamy inner padded leather in contrast with the stiff springy outer leather shell. Shaun quickly used the key to unlock his belts starting from his chest and working his way down. He yelled at me to unstrap them as they were unlocked. I did so with fervor intention. Soon Shaun was sitting bolt-upright and was freeing his lower extremities himself.
As soon as Shaun had sat up, I saw his bed for what it was. Looking at the space that had previously been below his upper body, I realized that his bed was leather. A large brown leather padded sheet stared back at me. It was raw, full, and thick. It was creamy, waxy, and sticky. It was cloaked in sweat. I didn’t understand how it was attached: was it a sheet, a pad, or the bed itself?
Transfixed by this under layer of leather, I was caught off guard by Shaun towering against my right side.
“Hop in,” he commanded.
I couldn’t think.
His arms grabbed hold of me and I was horizontal in an instant.
The leather met my body like a glove fitting a hand.
ANKLE CUFFS looped around my legs with the help of Shaun.
WRIST CUFFS grabbed hold of me next with the help of Shaun.
Shaun didn’t waste time with any other straps. He grabbed the mask off of the camera, swiftly bent towards me, and wrapped the brown leather mask firmly across my mouth. My eyes struggled to peer over the leather of the mask’s thick edge.
Shaun quickly grabbed my shoes and haphazardly positioned his odd cotton slippers over my feet.
He threw the key at me; it’s metal made no sound against the leather of the bed.
Without so much as a smile, Shaun swung open the room’s door. It was not locked as he previously claimed.
The door closed with an uneventful soft tap. Silence filled the hollow space of metal and leather.
I imagined guards swinging open the door with quizzical expressions on their faces. I dreamed up orderlies concerned and attentive to my explanation. I even thought of Tristan and how his brown leather would match against mine.
Instead, hours passed.
Perhaps even a day.
I woke from sleep with a start. I figured the sound was of the door opening but it had actually been of the door closing.
“Hey bud, how are you feeling tonight?” the man coated entirely in white said to me. All of his energy was focused on me. I felt a sigh of relief in knowing he’d be able to right the situation.
There was another man in the room, similarly encased entirely in white, who seemed to be fiddling with something near the window.
“Let’s get this spit-guard off you bud,” the first man said as he neared closer to me. His name tag read ‘Phil.”
He peeled the sweat coated leather mask away from my face and the second man, who’s name tag read ‘Thom’ handed him a small plastic cup.
“I need you to drink this for me,” Phil immediately proclaimed. I thought he’d take issue with the misplaced mask but instead focused on his cup which was held firmly between his neat strong yet intricate fingers.
“I shouldn’t be here, Shaun – Shaun, he, well he had that key, and, how long has it been now?” I stuttered.
Thom interrupted, looking down on me knowingly, “That’s right, just drink your juice and we’ll figure everything out for you.”
Phil’s hand pressed the cup against my lips and I found myself inexplicably nursing down the overly sweet cherry liquid.
“That’s good! That’s very very good,” Phil smiled.
“Looks like second shift didn’t do a good job on those secondary straps again Phil,” Thom informed as they both towered over me and began doing up each individual belt tightly against my body.
“Wait,” I started to proclaim, “I was visiting my cousin and he switched spots with me.”
“Visiting someone? Where did you go visit someone?” Phil inquired as they both continued to busily do up each strap.
“Well look at this!” Thom smiled. “Looks like our boy found a key,” he continued as he picked up the shiny small piece of metal laying near my shin.
Phil finished the final strap near my neck, stopped, and examined the key: “Huh, well look at that.”
Thom grabbed hold of the key and placed it in to his pocket.
“That’s how he made the switch,” I started to explain but I soon realized it only came out as “THATS RRICH.” My body suddenly began to feel very weak and my jaw was having trouble forming exact words.
“The cherry-flavor is very rich,” Phil explained, “Now don’t you worry buddy, third shift always takes better care of our guys than second. We’ll put a stop to these loose buckles and keys!”
Thom smiled. “Good job. He’s drifting now. Let’s just hope our other night checks are a little bit more up to snuff. We’ve got some serious bad dudes in this place. I wonder how this skinny bastard got hold of this anyway. If someone more dangerous had got it, we’d have a real problem on our hands.”
Phil raised his eyebrows, turned, and simply started to whistle.
I could make out his whistling. I knew I was eventually alone. The room was now quiet and hollow as before. My voice was gone. My head was swimming.
The leather beneath me was warm, filled with sweat, and embracing.
The leather above me holding down my body was tight and unyielding.
The leather around my ankles and wrists was buttery soft.
I was floating. I was flying. I was drifting. I was dreaming.
My soul was talking to the universe; and leather was talking back.
My Cousin (M/m, State Asylum)
Sounds like maybe he's right where he wants to be. Maybe where he SHOULD be.
Excellent story, different, well written and edited. Thanks for posting!
Excellent story, different, well written and edited. Thanks for posting!
This story is a real gem! It is amazing!!! How could I have missed it! I'm glad I dig into the archives of this forum sometimes 
Great story [mention]heybro[/mention]! It gave me real goosebumps
It's creepy but exciting at the same time. And perfectly written.
I got to it three years late but glad I found it!
Thanks!
Great story [mention]heybro[/mention]! It gave me real goosebumps
It's creepy but exciting at the same time. And perfectly written. I got to it three years late but glad I found it!
Thanks!
I agree, A very well written tale, quite arousing. Thanks for finding it.
That's really an interesting story. I wonder if they'll ever notice that this guy isn't their actual patient. And if they notice would they correct their mistake or just keep him instead so nobody else notices it? 
I doubt it
Public sector employees are poorly paid and usually highly demotivated to work - they used to take the easy way (joke!!!) 
I think Max will spend many days restrained and drugged before anyone takes an interest in who is actually lying strapped to the bed with leather straps. And even then, the staff may try to cover up their mistake instead of correcting it. Good thing that at least the boy is having fun with it