Everything in the story is true (at least as far as I recall). However, the incidents happened at different times and places but have been conflated into a single narrative. Even I have not had the pleasure of a three-day tie-up.
Another point: I have read the admonition against posting stories in multiple parts. But what the hey... I’m a rebel.
PART ONE
Just as we crested the ridge, the wayward sun at last broke through the clouds. After nine hours of slogging through the damp and gloom of the forest, hemmed in by oppressive stillness, weary and clammy, we paused only for a moment to bask in the convivial warmth and light. For beyond a ragged hedgerow lay a broad valley in the full bloom of spring. Along its floor, a silver ribbon meandered through a chequerboard of fields and a spiderweb tracery of roads and bush tracks. The bluffs and spurs which flanked the creek were lightly sprinkled with the houses, sheds and barns of perhaps a dozen farmsteads. We started downwards.
I was at the rear of the line, and by the time I reached the summit, the vanguard of our party had already begun the descent. I stopped to draw a breath and take in the panorama before a brusque tug on my halter urged me forward. Rivulets of perspiration seeped into the corners of my eyes; a maddening itch and some obstreperous insect tormented my nose; but my immobilized hands could only have signalled my plight, had my companions noticed or cared. My throat was parched, yet the wad of cloth clenched between my teeth was saturated with saliva that dribbled down my chin. Errant tree branches and talons of undergrowth clawed at my unprotected arms and legs. The weight of my backpack bore down on my shoulders and seemed to grow heavier with each laboured step.
The file bunched up at a fallen red cedar which barred our way. Once a giant of the forest, now toppled and decaying, the trunk was waist high where it straddled the walking track. Two of the boys were assisting Rachel to clamber across. She slipped and pitched sideways, skidding on her backside along the trunk before sliding off and disappearing on the far side. My brother, who had been farther up the trail, came back and helped her to her feet. Most of her left side, her knees and all of her face were caked in mud, a thick, black, gelatinous goo. Alex obligingly dabbed off the muck from around her eyes, nose and mouth. He flicked away the leaves and sticks that had pasted to her bare shoulders. He readjusted her gag, which had been displaced by her fall.
I did not see Rachel’s expression as she steadied herself, mustered what vestige remained of her dignity, and set out up the pathway. Alex scrambled after her, almost losing his own footing on the slimy ground. He seized the leash that trailed behind her and pulled the girl back into her proper place in the line.
I blinked away a bead of sweat as I studied the obstacle before me. It appeared impassable; but at least I could learn from Rachel’s misfortune. Matt took hold of my arm and tried to guide me towards a part where the trunk bifurcated, but I angrily shook free of his grip. I snarled a warning that was perfectly clear though muffled by my gag, and he backed away. The look on his face, bemused and intimidated, was priceless. So without his help, I carefully slung one leg over the barrier. With my wrists bound and secured at my waist, I could not use my arms to balance my body, but I could place my hands on the trunk directly in front to steady myself as I swung my other leg over. Matt stood behind me, ready for a catch if I tumbled backwards, but I was extra-cautious. Even so, as I slid down to land squarely on my feet, the coarse bark peeled skin from the backs of my thighs. It only stung for a moment; and anyway, I was determined to prove my mettle.
The rest of our passage to the foot of the mountain was incident-free, though no less arduous. By the time we reached level ground, I was panting and sweating. My leg muscles burned and my shoulders ached. Matt padded my brow and cheeks with his sleeve, and brushed a stand of hair from my eyes. He caressed my neck and refitted the loop of rope that encircled my throat, where it had begun to chafe. He massaged my sore shoulders; but he did not relieve me of the weight of my overloaded backpack; and once we were ready to move on, without a word he yanked hard on my leash. I followed, unresisting.
**********
I have never understood people’s infatuation with the camping trip. To me, it’s about sand in your shoes, bugs in your hair, charcoal in your food, spiders in your bed and snakes in the toilet. I’m afraid that my idea of roughing it is the absence of room service. Still, there’s something about a rustling tent, a crackling fire and the smell of carbonized meat products that turns folks misty-eyed. So when my friends organized our very own hiking and camping expedition, I really had no choice but to go along.
The instigator – and architect of my purgatory – was Rachel, my otherwise best friend. She undermined my resistance by suborning boyfriend Matt; and he recruited his buddy Ricardo (aka Rick). I took revenge by inviting my brother Alex to join us, and Rick brought along his girlfriend Beth. To complete the circle, Rachel, who was then between loves of her life and looked askance at us two couples, fearing a pair-up with my brother, issued a summons to classmates Hamish and Osman (alias Oz-Man or just plain Oz). And so we were eight.
A five-day expedition was planned. We aimed at setting up a base camp after a full day’s hike into the mountains. On the second day, we would strike out with minimal equipment for a trek over the range, to a secluded spot that Rachel assured us was a slice of paradise (without explaining specifically what constitutes a “slice of paradiseâ€). On day three we would embark on a return hike skirting the high country, back to base. Day four was for rest and recuperation, followed up on the last day with a return to the start line. That was the program. Rachel planned it like a military operation. The problem lay in the execution.
It was heavily overcast when we set out. While the cloud cover provided welcome relief as the hike became strenuous, the threat of rain hovered about us all morning. By early afternoon, however, as we reached our first day’s objective with hours to spare, the sky had cleared. We established our camp in a clearing amidst a stand of beech trees, on the bank of a small stream that emptied into a pond about the size of a domestic swimming pool. Even I had to admit that the setting was sublime. A carpet of grass verged the pond, emerald green and soft as velvet, and here we pitched our tents. A nearby pile of small boulders proved perfect for our campfire.
The boys began collecting and chopping firewood, putting up the tents and digging a latrine. We girls, in the meantime, stripped down to our bikinis and made for the pool. Now I should say, in defence of self-reliant womanhood, that the guys insisted on doing all the hairy-chested manwork. I might add – rather spitefully – that the end result was that the fire was puny, the tents were lopsided and the latrine was but a shallow trench of little use to man or beast. But they were proud of their efforts and appreciative of our moral support. There were good feelings all round, and this was truly the proverbial calm before the proverbial storm.
I tested the water with a tentative toe. It was crystal clear but icy cold. So the boys, once their tasks were completed, decided that swimming was out of the question and fishing was in order. They set off along the creek – Matt and Alex upstream, Rick and Oz downstream, to find a fruitful spot to extend their rods (so to speak). Hamish stayed behind, to put the finishing touches to the fireplace, his masterwork. We tried not to disabuse him – except for Rachel.
She was in a playful mood. After teasing Hamish about the quality of his “erectionâ€, to escape retribution she made a sudden dash for the pond and plunged into the frigid water. I, not wishing to be outdone in the impetuosity stakes, leapt in after her. Beth followed. We were, of course, insane. Once when I was young and foolish, I took an ice cube bath, for a dare. That was like a steam bath compared to this impulsive dip. The cold shock passed through my body like an electric charge.
Hamish witnessed our bravado with amusement, but Rachel continued to taunt him. He refused to take the bait.
“Why don’t you join us?†she finally said. “Afraid of shrinkage?â€
“That’s not a problem for you,†he responded, gesturing towards Rachel’s chest. I glanced down at mine. The combination of low temperature and Lycra bikini top has a pleasing effect for those who admire that sort of thing.
Rachel then said more things, flaunting our fearless audacity and impugning Hamish’s manhood. It was a straw too much, and as we emerged shivering from the water, a grappling match ensued. Beth and I joined the fray, and together we got the better of him. However, I discovered how difficult it is to restrain someone when they are struggling desperately to evade the ropes. We gave up trying to force his flailing arms behind his back, but we managed to bind his wrists in front using the first thing that came to hand, a tent rope. Securing his thrashing feet was even harder; and just as we succeeded, the others returned to camp.
The battle of the sexes was now on. Rick dashed into the scrimmage and quickly freed Hamish. After that, outnumbered and outmuscled, the girl team succumbed. Rick and Hamish went after Rachel. They dragged her to the ground and wrestled her onto her stomach. As this was happening, Beth tried to break for the safety of the trees, but she was brought down by Matt. He stumbled as he reached for her; but even as he hit the dirt he flung out a hand that grabbed her ankle and she went down with a yelp. Alex was immediately on top of her, forcing her face-down into the grass and wrenching her arms behind her back. At the same time, Oz turned towards me, and I raised my hands and clasped them behind my head. Yet my surrender counted for nothing. I was pushed to the ground, onto my belly. Oz straddled my rear end and seized my wrists.
The other girls were already being bound. Rick and Hamish had obviously never tied anyone up before, at least not someone fighting back, as Rachel was. Alex, while roping a cowered Beth, was calmly calling out instructions: “Cross her wrists in the middle of her back... yeah, like that... now loop the rope around the wrists, then between them... that’s it, you got it.â€
Rachel gasped and grunted as Hamish took his revenge, binding her elbows with such vigour that they almost touched. Even so, she continued her struggle. Twice she managed to roll onto her back and once to even wriggle free, before being subdued. Meanwhile, my brother was methodically hog-tying poor Beth, who was staring straight ahead, slowly blinking and making “o†and “oo†shapes with her mouth.
As a veteran of many tie-ups, I knew better than to offer resistance; but I did not escape the hog-tie. Oz was efficient, but not gentle. He pinioned my arms very tight, pulling my shoulders backwards so emphatically that I was afraid my bikini top would pop right off. Every muscle, every sinew was stretched and strained and twisted. It was very nice.
The three of us wallowed helplessly in the grass as our captors admired their handiwork, Beth’s string-tie bra-strap had come undone, but Rick gallantly refastened it. Eventually, begrimed and bedraggled, we were freed. The guys were satisfied. Justice had been served. Now dinner had to be served.
Immediately following the meal, we retired to our tents. Any thoughts the boys had of more tie-up games that evening were quickly dispelled with deadly stares and threatening gestures. We were simply too exhausted. After that, I remember only my head touching the makeshift pillow and the morning sun peeking though the tent flap.
End of Part One