## Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Mon Mar 21, 2011 8:07 am

I've decided to resume posting my TUG stories of my High School Years under True Tugs rather than Intimate Tugs because from this point on intimacy wasn't a particularly important part of my TUGs experiences overall. What ones there were are not particularly vital to my story.
As before each episode is a stand-alone story but may refer to events that happened before.
TO GRANDMOTHERâ€™S HOUSE WE GO
As should be clear by now, I was basically a normal kid; so I started looking forward to summer vacation months before the end of the school year. I liked the idea of spending more time on ordinary but enjoyable activities such as relaxing at home with a good book or watching TV, playing with my dog, spending time with my friends, getting tied upâ€¦ all the usual stuff. By Memorial Day weekend, the anticipation I felt for the first day of summer vacation was so keen that I could almost taste it.
However, right around then, the taste of summer was replaced abruptly with the taste of bitter ashes. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would have to spend my first week of summer vacation with my grandmotherâ€¦ in another cityâ€¦ away from my friendsâ€¦ away from my cousins... and away even from my dog!
It turned out that my grandfather (Momâ€™s father; my fatherâ€™s parents were both deceased) needed to have an operation of some kind. Not a critical one, but necessary, and it was scheduled for just about the time that school would end. He was going stay a week to ten days at the hospital. My motherâ€™s mother would be lonely with no one to keep her company (she had few peer-aged friends) and so somebody would have to stay with her to help keep her spirits up. When no other relatives volunteered themselves, I was â€œvolunteeredâ€ for the job. I learned that Iâ€™d â€œvolunteeredâ€ after the fact.
My first inkling of this came when my mother returned from visiting her mother and notified me that Iâ€™d be going. She explained this in a tone of voice which warned me that arguing about the matter would prove not only unavailing but unhealthy.
Not unhealthy physically, but there were implied threats to my allowance and the relative freedom to go wherever I wished and visit whomever I wanted, and to invite over whomever I liked for sleepovers. If I wanted to continue to enjoy these privileges, I had to do my duty by my grandmother. And so I expressed none of the outrage I felt when my mother finished delivering this totally unexpected and horrifying edict. Instead, I meekly agreed to comply. But inside I was seething with teenage rebellion and railing against the injustice that Fate had so casually dropped on me.
Granted, it was only going to be for a week; maybe ten days. But it was going to be the *first* week to ten days of summer vacation. I felt like a little kid who was told that Christmas was being canceled! Iâ€™d be away from all my friendsâ€¦ and my dog tooâ€¦ and spending time with a little old lady whose idea of a fun time was playing Yahtzee, Spades, Crazy Eights, Old Maid, and various other card games. Oh, and Bingo! She just *loved* going out for a fun night playing rousing games of Bingo!
She lived in a city where I knew no one else but her and my grandfather, so Iâ€™d have no one else to spend time with or even to talk to. Even better, sheâ€™d be out most of time during the day because she still worked for a living despite being old enough (67) and well-off enough to retire, so Iâ€™d be spending a lot of time all by myself in an empty house. This would be great if her house was close to where my friends lived, but she lived about fifty miles away. And she was allergic to dogs, so I wouldnâ€™t even be able to bring Blackie along for company.
My God! What a boring way to begin summer vacation! If I was missing a week of school, I might not have felt so bad. But the first week (or even ten full days) of vacation! My heart sank right down to my bootsâ€¦ well, to my sneakers, anyway.
Itâ€™s not that my grandmother was a bad person or anything. I loved her, even though I generally saw her (and my grandfather) only a few times a year â€“ mostly on birthdays and holidays â€“ and even then only for brief visits lasting no more than a few hours.
Sometimes theyâ€™d come to see us; sometimes weâ€™d go to see them. Usually, though, Iâ€™d be pretty much left out of conversations unless my cousins were along as well, and so I found the visits unmemorable and generally tedious. Even when the occasion was Christmas, Thanksgiving, or my birthday and I got presents, a good meal, or a nice cake out of it, I found these occasions uninteresting for the most part.
My grandparents were O.K. but they didnâ€™t talk to me much in general, whether or not it was a special occasion. They seemed to find my older brother more interesting to talk to; I donâ€™t know why. And my cousins Walter and Randy were the veritable apples of their eyes. I wondered why *they* couldnâ€™t have been â€œvolunteeredâ€ for this errand of mercy.
If one or both of my cousins had been assigned to come along with me, this would have helped. An interesting time would have been guaranteed. But thereâ€™d be no room for two of us, and certainly not for all three. As it was, Iâ€™d be sleeping on a couch that turned into a bed, and it was barely roomy enough for one person to sleep in. Two could sleep in it only if they were really, really close! Well, I *was* that close with both Walter and Randy, but none of us wanted this fact publicized. So, the bottom line was that my mission was going to be a solo affair.
Perhaps the worst part was being away from Julia. She and I had made plans to spend more time together once school vacation began, and some of those plans, at least, had now crashed and burned.
Julia was sympathetic about the matter, though; she had a widowed grandmother who needed a lot of time and attention from friends and relatives. She and her brothers were frequently shanghaied into spending time with their grandmother on day-long visits or even for sleepovers. Julia told me I should be glad I only had to do this *once* for the summer. It might have been twice a month!
Well, Julia made me feel like a selfish heel, but she was nice about it and at least this wasnâ€™t going to affect our relationship; that was good.
I made arrangements ahead of time for my friend Tom to look after my dog Blackie while I was away so that Mom wouldnâ€™t be burdened taking care of such an energetic dog. I knew Tom (probably with Freddyâ€™s enthusiastic assistance) would take very good care of Blackie while I was away. Additionally, his dog and mine got along well together; Blackie liked to romp with Hilda. So I knew that Blackie would be comfortable and happy for a while.
Despite what Julia had said to me, and the fact Iâ€™d made sure my dog would be taken care of, I was more than a little â€œdown" on the day that my mother drove me over to Grandmaâ€™s. I felt more like a convict on his way to spend fifty years at hard labor in Folsom Prison than a kid spending a week with his lonely old grandmother.
We went on a Saturday morning and arrived before lunchtime. Grandma was in a good mood and she seemed glad to see me when we arrived. She asked me all about school, recent events, and family, including my brother and especially my cousins (who she adored, of course, even though neither of *them* had volunteered to waste a week visiting her).
I donâ€™t think I managed to hide my feelings. In short, I probably acted like a spoiled brat. But the adults pretended not to notice.
Mom stayed to visit for a couple of hours, then kissed me goodbye and left me with Grandma. After that, she went to see Grandpa at the hospital before heading home. Heâ€™d been admitted there early Friday morning, had gotten his operation later the same day, and was already recuperating quite well. Grandma had seen him before we arrived and we both visited him that afternoon after I got settled in.
The visit to Grandpa at the hospital wasnâ€™t memorable. I remember the visit but I donâ€™t recall a word of what was said except for a political discussion that we had about a then-ongoing Presidential campaign (Nixon was running for a second term with George McGovern as his primary opponent).
Grandpa thought Nixon was the best President weâ€™d ever had and that McGovern would ruin the country if he got elected. Richard Nixon, on the other hand, could do no wrong! And, for reasons unclear to me, whenever Grandpa mentioned McGovern, he characterized the man as being my â€œfriendâ€. It was â€œyour friend McGovernâ€ this and â€œyour friend McGovernâ€ that. Iâ€™d never even said that I particularly liked McGovern, only that I detested Richard Nixon! But to Grandpa, Richard Nixon was the shining white knight who was the epitome of all that was noble about the United States of America. Nixon was going to save the country from the dark and terrible forces that threatened it both from outside and from within!
The reason this part still sticks in my memory is because the famous Watergate burglary that doomed Richard Nixonâ€™s second term as President occurred that very same night, although I donâ€™t think I realized the irony of this until much later.
After we visited Grandpa, Grandma and I went out to eat at some restaurant, but though I thought the food was okay she criticized everything.
Grandpa used to be a chef whoâ€™d owned his own restaurant before I was born, and Grandma had helped him to run the place, so at least she knew what she was talking about. She was a pretty great cook too in her day, and luckily for me Mom had inherited both her parentsâ€™ culinary talents, so I was always a well-fed boy. Regrettably, I never learned how to cook anything much more complicated than Hamburger Helper and Rice-a-Roni myself.
After the meal, we spent the night playing Bingo. Grandma won $15, but I didnâ€™t win anything myself.
That first night was a relatively quiet but sleepless one. I missed my friends. I missed my mother. I missed Julia. I missed my dog. In short, quite unambiguously, I wanted to go home!
The next day, Sunday, was dull and boring. Grandma and I had pancakes for breakfast. We went to church for Mass; she was a Catholic. We visited Grandpa again at the hospital. I went to the store and bought a bunch of comic books and a few paperback novels. We had meatloaf for dinner. We spent the afternoon playing Yahtzee. We had more meatloaf for supper. We watched TV for a while; the only thing I remember was that one of the programs was Walt Disneyâ€™s Wonderful World of Television. Finally, the day was over and I spent another difficult night trying to sleep.
I wasnâ€™t looking forward to another week of this. Or possibly ten full days! God, why were you doing this to me?
The next morning, Grandma fixed me breakfast, made me something that I could warm up for lunch, and left for work at 8am. By 9am, I was so bored that I resorted to watching an episode of the Flintstones. Fred had been kidnapped or something by a space alien and was being impersonated by a clone â€“ who could only say Yabba-Dabba-Do in a stiff monotone â€“ that the alien had sent out as a spy in Bedrock. I was feeling about as brain-dead as the Fred Flintstone clone was acting by about this time.
I remember wondering dully what else I could do to pass the time when I heard some kids yelling somewhere outside the kitchen window.
Idly curious, I went to the kitchen to look out the window to see what kids were doing in my grandmotherâ€™s backyard. But they werenâ€™t in her backyard... at least, not quite yet. Beyond her backyard was the back of a school playground on the adjacent street and there was a high, solid wooden fence in between the two. A couple of boys about two years younger than I was were sitting on the fence, yelling to some other kids on the other side of the fence; I couldnâ€™t see the other kids. Then, as I watched, they dropped off of the fence right into my grandmotherâ€™s backyard as casually as if theyâ€™d done this dozens of times before.
Wondering if my grandmother knew who these kids were, I silently watched them unseen from the kitchen window. What were they up to? Both boys were slender in build and middling height (perhaps 5â€™ 6â€ and 110 pounds) with sandy-blond hair in the long pageboy cut that was common at the time. Both wore dark-colored shorts running halfway to their knees, striped polo shirts, long tube socks (white with colored stripes, a popular trend for the early 1970s) and converse sneakers. They looked so much alike that I was sure they were brothers; Iâ€™d learn later on that they were fraternal twins.
They were still walking into the yard when three smaller boys, all about 11 or 12 years old, suddenly climbed up onto the top of the fence from the other side, clambered over the top, and dropped down into the yard to follow the first two. They werenâ€™t approaching the back entrance to the house, however; they simply wandered about in the backyard while scarcely even looking at the house. They seemed to feel that there was (supposed to be) no one at home. All three boys wore T-shirts, full-length blue jeans, socks, and sneakers. They also each carried medium-sized paper bags clutched in one hand, but at the time I couldnâ€™t tell what the bags contained.
I wondered where they thought they were going. Other than the rear entrance of the house (actually the rear entrance to the adjacent garage), the only way out of the backyard was though a narrow opening between the far corner of that side of the house and another fence that ran at an angle to the other. This gave the backyard roughly the shape of a right triangle, with the fence theyâ€™d climbed forming one side and the opening at the corner opposite to this, only that corner was truncated to form a fourth, much shorter side roughly parallel to the fence theyâ€™d climbed over. However, they werenâ€™t walking toward that opening. Instead, they simply stopped in the middle of the yard and began talking to one another.
Then the two older boys abruptly began to wrestle each other. They were quite lithe and wiry and wrestled for several minutes while I watched them with more than a little fascination.
The TV was still on, and Fred Flintstone was confronting the space alien and an entire horde of fake Fred Flintstones, but Iâ€™d stopped paying attention by this time. I only found out many years later what happened when I happened to see the same episode on Cartoon Network and recognized it. At my grandmotherâ€™s house, I only had eyes and ears for the far more interesting entertainment taking place in the backyard.
After a fierce struggle, one kid managed to bully-pin the other; straddling his chest and holding his arms down. There was a loud, slow count to ten by all three of the younger on-lookers, and the match was over. But instead of letting the loser up, the winner flipped him over onto his stomach and continued to keep him pinned down by sitting on the small of his back. As if this were not interesting enough, at the same time the three younger boys opened up the paper bags they carried, pulled a coil of well-used rope from each, surrounded the other two boys, and began to tie up the boy whoâ€™d lost the match!
O.K., this had my full attention. I was quite engrossed by this point. I watched with absorption as the losing boy had his wrists tied together behind his back and his ankles and knees tied together as well. Then the other boys flipped him over on his back again, taunting and teasing himâ€¦ and then all four boys proceeded to sit on him!
My jaw must have fallen to the floor around this time, though I donâ€™t remember picking it back up. The best part of home had followed meâ€¦ to my grandparentsâ€™ backyard! TUG was perfectly normal, but somehow it was the last thing Iâ€™d expected to find here! This visit was supposed to be boring! A hospital, Fred Flintstone, and Bingo!
But Fred Flintstone would need to wait. The winner of the wrestling match was taunting the loser as he straddled his chest, and began playing slapping his face, twisting his nose, and pinching his cheeks.
Suddenly I realized that this was taking place *live*. It was right in front of me and not on a TV set. I could actually interact with the others! As soon as this seemingly-obvious thought occurred to me, I dashed to the back kitchen door, ran into the garage beyond, and opened the nearby sliding door that led into the backyard.
In the few seconds that the other boys were out of my sight, they must have heard me coming (I wasnâ€™t in the least bit stealthy in my haste to get out there), because when I ran out in the backyard the four boys on top were already hastily untying the fifth one and looking in my direction with panicked looks in their eyes.
However, when they saw that it was merely another boy only somewhat older (if considerably bigger) than they were and not an adult as theyâ€™d expected, and that I was obviously curious rather than hostile, their panicked looks faded, though they were still untying their defeated playmate.
â€œHi,â€ I called to them in as friendly a manner as possible. â€œWhatâ€™cha doing?â€
â€œJust playing,â€ one of them answered cautiously. â€œWho are you?â€
â€œJason,â€ I told them. â€œIâ€™m visiting my grandparents for the week.â€
â€œIn this house?â€ one of the other boys asked. â€œWe thought no one lived here. Weâ€™ve come out here lots of times, but weâ€™ve never seen anyone.â€
I should add that my grandparentsâ€™ backyard wasnâ€™t very well tended to. The grass was mowed only often enough to keep it from becoming a field and the paint on that side of the house was peeling badly. There were also various pieces of old, broken-down lawn furniture and other pieces of junk lying all around the place. So, if these kids only came along during the daytime when no lights were showing from inside and neither of my grandparents were at home, their assumption that the house was deserted wasnâ€™t entirely unreasonable.
â€œNo, my grandparents live here, but theyâ€™re normally at work this time of day,â€ I told them conversationally.
By this time the fifth boy was untied and the others were hastily stowing their rope away, evidently having decided that they should leave. â€œWell, we didnâ€™t mean to trespass or do anything,â€ the boy whoâ€™d wrestled down the other one told me, still apparently wary of me. â€œSo weâ€™ll just go andâ€¦â€
â€œWait a minute! You donâ€™t have to leave!â€ I hastened to assure them. â€œYouâ€™re not bothering me! In fact, I was getting bored before I heard you guys out here. You can stay if you want, especially if you donâ€™t mind me joining you.â€
I meant every word. Even the oldest boys were a couple of years or so younger than I was, but they were older than some of the boys I hung around with back home, I was bored out of my mind, and this was a golden opportunity that I did *not* want to miss out on. After all, if they liked to tie up one of their own number, maybe theyâ€™d tie *me* up too!
â€œWell, okay, thanks,â€ said the boy. â€œWhen we heard you coming, we thought weâ€™d gotten someone mad at us and they were gonna chase us out of here, even though weâ€™ve played here dozens of times after school let out and no one ever came out before.â€
The five of them then introduced themselves to me. The boy Iâ€™d been talking to was Billy, and the other boy heâ€™d defeated in wrestling was Ryan; they were both just a few weeks past their 14th birthdays. The other boys were Jack (12), Alex (11), and Andy (11); all pretty typical of boys their age in size and appearance. Other than Ryan and Billy, these five were unrelated to one another, all five attended the middle school on the other side of the fence and they even lived on the same street the school itself was on. Ryan and Billy, however, would be attending a high school that was a few blocks away in the fall.
As it turned out, the three younger boys would often come out into my grandparentsâ€™ backyard to play after school let out because it seemed quiet and private, and no one ever appeared to notice them or object. They usually left before my grandparents would have come home and noticed them, and they never came out here on evenings or weekends when my grandparents would more likely have been around.
In fact, this was the first time theyâ€™d come out here when school hadnâ€™t just let out since late last summer, which was when theyâ€™d started doing this. So it wasnâ€™t too surprising theyâ€™d never noticed my grandparents, or that my grandparents had never noticed (or possibly had never felt concerned about) signs of their visits to the backyard. Part of it was probably that the kids hadnâ€™t stopped by during the winter, so theyâ€™d never left tell-tale tracks in the snow.
â€œSo, what were you guys doing before I came outside?â€ I asked as casually as I could.
â€œOh, we were just goofing around,â€ Bully replied, a bit shyly.
â€œIt looked like you were having fun wrestling,â€ I said in an encouraging tone. â€œYou guys like to wrestle a lot?â€
â€œYeah,â€ replied Billy with a little more confidence. â€œWeâ€™re all pretty good at it.â€
â€œThey always wrestle each other, and we always get to tie up the loser and torture him!â€ one of the younger boys piped up with considerably less reticence.
â€œYeah, it makes them fight harder to win,â€ added one of the others.
â€œReally?â€ I asked, trying to conceal how intensely interested I was in all of this but probably failing. â€œYou do that a lot?â€
â€œA coupla times a week anyway,â€ Ryan admitted. â€œSometimes I win; sometimes Billy does. Letting the others torture the loser makes us more determined to be the best wrestler. Weâ€™re already the best wrestlers in our weight class in school.â€
â€œReally? Cool!â€ I replied with some enthusiasm. â€œThink you could wrestle me?â€
Ryan and Billy looked me up and down a bit doubtfully. I could hardly blame them, as I was a full head taller than either and outweighed each of them by about fifty poundsâ€¦ though that was hardly all muscle. Though Iâ€™d slimmed down from being a pudgy boy at age thirteen, I was still more flabby than muscular. However, I did have a genuinely bigger build than the twins, who were built like my rather slender cousins but were younger and shorter than they were.
â€œYouâ€™re too big for either of us to wrestle!â€ Ryan finally said.
â€œHow about if you both wrestle me at the same time?â€ I asked.
They seemed more willing to consider this possibility but their reaction was still rather on the underwhelming side. So I played my ace.
â€œBetter yet, Iâ€™ll wrestle all five of you at once,â€ I suggested with a strong note of self-confidence in my voice; â€œand if I loseâ€¦ then you can tie *me* up!â€
Well, that did it! In fact, two of them proceeded to tackle me before a formal agreement to my proposal was declared and all five of them were clutching at me before I was quite ready to defend myself.
Not that I tried terribly hard!
Well, I did put up some resistance just for show, and I probably would have eventually lost even I was actually determined to winâ€¦ but since I didnâ€™t want to any such thing, the result of the wrestling match was a forgone conclusion.
Within a minute or so, Ryan was straddling my chest pinning down my wrists, Brian was straddling my shins pressing his hands down on my kneecaps, one of the other kids was straddling my belly, and the remaining two were gleefully taking their ropes out and tying me up with them the same way theyâ€™d tied Ryan earlier.
A couple of minutes later, my hands were tied behind my back, my feet and my legs below my knees were tied together, and four of the boys were kneel-sitting on top of me.
My visit to Grandmaâ€™s house wasnâ€™t turning out to be so bad after all!
Being well-experienced with being tied up, I assessed how well Iâ€™d been tied this time. I thought theyâ€™d managed it well enough for kids, but their rope-work was much less expertly done than what Iâ€™d grown used to over virtually my entire life. I estimated that, left to myself with no one pinning me down or acting to prevent me from trying, I could have freed myself within five minutes. Even so, I was as happy as I could be!
Ryan, still straddling my chest, suddenly grabbed his shirt and pulled it off; revealing a nicely toned upper body underneath. â€œItâ€™s getting hot out!â€ he pointed out. â€œYou donâ€™t mind my taking my shirt off, do you?â€
Did I mind? He was *perfect*.
â€œNot at all!â€ I replied quite honestly. â€œIâ€™m feeling kind of hot myself.â€ I really was, too; and probably not just because the sun was shining down on me. Ryan smiled pleasantly, tossed his shirt casually aside, placed his hands on his knees, and simply smiled down at me.
Behind him, Billy sat knees-up on my belly and pulled off his own shirt. The three younger boys hadnâ€™t exerted themselves as much, however, so they kept their own shirts on even though they wore full-length pants rather than shorts. I was dressed much as they were, but for some reason I was getting very warm indeed by this time.
After a moment the other boys decided unanimously that some torture was in order. Ryan began to tousle my hair and play with my face the same way Billy had played with his. Billy began to bounce on my belly. Two of the others just sat on my legs and poked me here and there. The last one suggested pulling of my sneakers and tickling my feet.
Before this idea could be tried out, however, there were sounds of more kidâ€™s voices on the other side of the fence, calling the names of the kids Iâ€™d already met.
â€œHey, Billy! Ryan! You out there in the yard?â€ inquired one boy.
â€œYeah, Peteâ€¦ Hankâ€¦ come on over and check this out! Weâ€™re sitting on some guy over here!â€ Ryan loudly announced to the unseen kids loudly enough (I thought) to be heard throughout the entire neighborhood.
Seconds later four more boyâ€™s heads popped into view from the some side of the fence and looked at us with mild astonishment for a moment. Then all four of the new boys clambered over the fence and ran over to join us.
Ryan and Billy introduced them as Pete (13), Hank (14), Ned, (13), and Greg (14). Hank and Greg were slightly larger and taller than Ryan and Billy, while Pete and Ned were somewhat smaller but still larger than the other three boys Iâ€™d already met.
They all seemed friendly and curious as they just stood around watching the other five sit on me and asking questions about who I was and why they were sitting on me. The five gleefully told their story while making no move to get off me â€“ which was perfectly fine with me. None of the other four made any attempt to join the first five in sitting on me, though; there would scarcely been any room for any more sitters anyway unless one of them sat on my face, and I wasnâ€™t bold (or rash) enough to suggest that any of them do anything like that!
â€œHey, weâ€™d better get to classes now before one of the teachers comes out here looking for us,â€ one of the newcomers suddenly asked.
â€œShoot, itâ€™s that late already?â€ Ryan asked in evident dismay as he looked at his watch and grabbed his shirt to put it on before standing up. â€œWeâ€™d better hurry.â€
â€œYou still have school here?â€ I asked in some puzzlement as I saw my hopes for a day-long TUG crashing and burning.
â€œJust summer classes,â€ Ryan told me as he had me turn over as he crouched down beside me and untied my wrists. â€œArts and crafts and that sort of thing; itâ€™s just something to kill time with during the summer. Classes begin at ten and go to two with an hourâ€™s lunch break in-between.â€
â€œOh. I didnâ€™t know. I was hoping you guys could stay a bit longer.â€ I told them.
â€œWish we could, but we gotta go,â€ he told me. â€œBut weâ€™ll come back and wrestle some more after class,â€ he suggested with a smile. â€œWe can come back here at two oâ€™clock!â€
â€œOkay!â€ I replied in a voice that made it obvious Iâ€™d be quite happy to see them after they finished their classes.
â€œOkay if we leave our ropes here?â€ asked Billy as the other kids finished untying me and hastily stowed their ropes in their bags. â€œWe donâ€™t want to take them to class with us.â€
â€œSure! Nobody will take them!â€ I assured them.
The kids grabbed up their shirts, left their bags of rope beside the fence, and quickly left. I went back into the house, where the forgotten TV was still on and playing a new program; a soap opera, I think. I switched it to some game shows and idly watched various contestants fumble their ways through their half hour of fame and potential fortune, but I wasnâ€™t paying attention. After that, I idly ate the lunch Grandma had prepared for me without really tasting it (or even remembering what it was afterward). My mindâ€™s eye swam with the images of the kids Iâ€™d met. I hoped theyâ€™d return at two as theyâ€™d said.
Actually, they came at one-thirty, and started yelling to me as another new program was starting.
â€œHey, come on out and wrestle if you ainâ€™t chicken!â€
I hastily clicked off the TV, called through the window that I was coming, and hurried out to meet them. Billy and Ryan were there, but instead of the three younger boys theyâ€™d been with before, there was another kid between their age and mine named Daniel with them instead. Daniel was almost as tall as I was but somewhat thinner in build, though not as tall or as thin as Stevie. He had long, wavy, and flamboyantly red hair, freckles (every redhead I met back then seemed to have freckles!), and a huge toothy grin. He loved to laugh. He was athletically muscular (which I could see right away because he already had his shirt off) and probably weighed about 150.
â€œWe told Daniel about you and he wants to wrestle you all by himself!â€ Billy and Ryan told me. â€œWinner gets to tie the loser up until four.â€
Well, I think we all knew who the ultimate winner was going to be, but I made a good show of it all the same. And actually Daniel was a damned good wrestler; although I outweighed him by about thirty pounds, he was strong, wiry, full of energy, knew a lot of holds and tricks, and he was almost able to beat me fair and square.
Almost, but not quite; I had just a bit too much of a size and weight advantage.
We wrestled for at least fifteen minutes, with Ryan and Billy cheering Daniel and then cheering for me quite impartially. It was quite a struggle, but I was beginning to outlast my opponent when I decided to have an inconvenient accident, slipped, and fell on my back. After that it was all over but the tying.
Daniel was as skilled with tying people up as he was in wrestling. He was also a lot more thorough. By the time he finished tying me up, I knew I wouldnâ€™t be able to get out of it in a mere five minutes. His rope-work was still noticeably less tight or secure than anything my cousins or most of my older friends could have done, but it was better than what Tom, Stevie or the other younger kids could do. All in all, I estimated I could have freed myself in about half an hour if I had to.
About the time Daniel finished tying me, Alex and Andy belatedly showed up, and Jack came along a few minutes after them. So now I had six boys ready to torture me.
Bliss!
However, much to my regret, only Daniel sat on me at first while the others just stood around us and watched him slap my face and taunt me for about a half hour. After that, I spent an hour and a half enduring some pleasant light torture from all six of them.
About the only time things got a bit rough was when Andy and Alex â€“ the two smallest, lightest kids of the six â€“ decided to do some belly flops on me. Either would stand over me, kick both his feet out, and literally drop onto my belly! Even from a lightweight like either of these two (weighing perhaps 80 pounds each), that hurt quite a bit. Luckily for me none of the other boys wanted to do it. If Daniel (who was almost as heavy as both of them together) had done it, he could have seriously hurt me!
At any rate, the boys were more interested in getting to know me and telling me about themselves than in torturing me more than casually, and so we had some pleasant story exchanges until the others finally had to go home. Alex suggested leaving me tied up, but I donâ€™t think he was serious; in any case, Daniel untied me without going along with the joke. Since I indicated Iâ€™d be there the whole week, they agreed to meet me there at the same time the next day. And then they went their way and I went back into the house, idly watching TV until my grandmother got home.
For the first time in my life, Iâ€™d had a TUG situation with other boys *without* the help of my brother or cousins to smooth the way. Always before, Iâ€™d stumbled into the situation by pure luck and things had been pretty much arranged for me (not always with my acquiescence first, especially concerning my brother and his friends in earlier childhood). Hereâ€¦ well, it was still pure dumb luck that I was in the right place at the right time, but Iâ€™d had to work for it a little bit without a mutual acquaintance there to introduce me and then tie me up. In the end, though, Iâ€™d managed it. TUG on my own!
I wish I still had such dumb luck, but I guess I used up my entire lifetimeâ€™s quota in regards to TUG in my adolescence.
That evening, my grandmother and I played various card games and watched more television. Now, however, I was much happier and probably much better company for Grandma than Iâ€™d been before. She probably noticed this, based on the way she smiled and talked, but she didnâ€™t comment on it.
Each of the other weekdays, when I was alone in the house, the six boys would climb over the fence to visit me for an hour or so in the morning before their school art classes and again in the afternoon for another hour or two. Sometimes weâ€™d have a preliminary wrestling match (with me versus any two or three of them), which I always lost (sometimes fair and square if Daniel was one of the ones I wrestled along with someone else); and sometimes weâ€™d just go straight to tying me up.
From the second day on, though, we went into the garage to do the tie-ups. It had two levels, with the second level used as an attic. There was an old discarded mattress in there (surrounded by boxes of old magazines) for me to lie on when I was tied up and being sat on and tortured.
A couple of times, the art classes let out early and some of them would be wrestling or bully-pinning one another before I even knew they were in the backyard.
And in the evenings Iâ€™d play more card games with Grandma (or weâ€™d go out and play Bingo) and then weâ€™d have dinner. My improved mood persisted, so everything was swell for everybody.
One evening Grandma and I even went to a movie together, though I forget now which one it was. We also visited Grandpa for an hour or so at the hospital every evening. He seemed to be recovering well and was in good spirits, though it looked like heâ€™d have to spend a second week at the hospital.
But when Saturday came I was descending into the doldrums again. Grandma was staying home and as there were no art classes on Saturday, I expected that Iâ€™d seen the last of my new friends unless I was still there on Monday. And sure enough, none of them appeared in the backyard that morning. So I started to feel a little blue.
Then, around noon, I was standing on the front porch reading a comic book when Daniel, Ryan and Billy came walking around the corner of the house from the backyard. â€œThere you are!â€ one of them exclaimed. â€œWe were calling for you! No wonder you didnâ€™t hear us if you were way over here!â€
I *hadnâ€™t* heard them from where I was. It was no surprise if Grandma had not heard them either from inside the house, as she was almost as deaf as my own mother.
â€œWant to wrestle some more?â€ one of them asked.
I was tempted, but I didnâ€™t want to do it in the backyard where my grandmother might see.
â€œClimb over the fence with us, then,â€ suggested Daniel. â€œWe can wrestle behind the school. No one will see us there.â€
â€œOkay, just let me tell Grandma where Iâ€™ll be,â€ I told them. They went on ahead behind the house while I went inside to tell my grandmother Iâ€™d be out for a while.
I looked over to her and she looked up and smiled at me, but I didnâ€™t get a word out before I looked up beyond her into the kitchen and saw that the spaghetti sauce she was cooking was on fire! The flames were at least two feet high!
It looked like the fire had been going a while. Itâ€™s not surprising she hadnâ€™t known about it, however; there wasnâ€™t much smoke, she was facing away from the kitchen, and a partition blocked her view from the chair she sat in even had she looked in the right direction.
I yelled and pointed. She reacted quickly enough once she knew about the fire and took care of it herself; but to this day I wonder what might have happened if I hadnâ€™t been there, or hadnâ€™t gone into the house just then and saw the fire myself.
The sauce was ruined, so lunch would be delayed. I told her it was all right, and that Iâ€™d be out for a while with some friends anyway. So, recovering my mental poise much more quickly than I might have had I been older, I hurried out to the schoolyard where my friends awaited me. I took the long way around though; for some reason I didnâ€™t want my Grandma to see me scaling the fence out back (which she would have noticed while she was in the kitchen making a new batch of sauce).
The backyard of the school was small and not much to look it. It was a middle school rather than an elementary school (the elementary school was a couple of blocks away) so there was no playground equipment. However, there was a set of stairs at the rear entrance. There was also a landing about ten feet high with stairs leading down at right angles to it going in both directions along the wall, with an open space down beneath it that was roofed over by the stairs. Additionally, there were two support posts inside that were about six feet apart; just right for either tying two people to them (one each) or laying one person down between them and tying him to them both.
The others asked me if Iâ€™d like to pick an option. I wasnâ€™t entirely adverse to the idea. And so, five minutes later, I lay between the posts with my hands tied around one of them in an embrace with my ankles bracing and tied to the other, and with Daniel, Ryan, and Billy sitting on me and teasing and tormenting me.
Pete, Hank, Ned, and Greg were there as well. They had Jack, Alex, and Andy tied standing to three small, separate trees that stood between the stairway and the fence that led to my grandparentsâ€™ backyard. The younger boys didnâ€™t seem too happy about being tied up, but they werenâ€™t seem distressed about the situation either. I gathered that this was a regular occurrence for them, though nowhere near as frequent as it was for me.
Daniel straddled my chest while shirtless and made things interesting for me, while Ryan and Billy sat upright on my belly (occasionally bouncing gently on it). It was all innocent TUG fun, however. There was never once any hint that any of them would be interested in taking things to a more intimate level of the type that happened between many of my friends and I back home. This was fine by me; for me, TUG and friendship were the main things.
We all had to go our various ways after an hour or so but agreed to meet again behind the school later in the afternoon. However, after I got home and had lunch, Grandma wanted me to stay home and play cards with her out on the front porch. Bummer. At one point I could hear the others calling to me out from the backyard; the front door was open and so I could hear them through the kitchen window. My grandmother, though, was oblivious to them because of the deafness issue.
I told her I needed a drink and dashed into the house. The three youngest boys were out in the backyard calling â€œChicken!â€ to the back window; apparently thinking I was suddenly afraid to come back out to get tied up and tormented by them. I regretfully (very regretfully) told them I couldnâ€™t make it because my grandmother wanted my company as well.
Iâ€™m not sure they believed me, as they seemed to be jeering me somewhat rather than showing any understanding about the matter. But eventually they climbed back over the fence and vanished from sight. I was sorry to see them go, but I had to choose my lonely old grandmother over my new friends; they still had one another to spend time with and she had nobody but me.
That was the last time I saw any of them. Attempts to find them later that day or the next day turned up nothing. I didnâ€™t know where they lived and I couldnâ€™t find any of them outdoors. This was a bit depressing. I figured, though, that Iâ€™d be able to see them Monday when they went back to their school.
However, I was disabused of this notion on Sunday afternoon. My mother and Aunt Yvette drove up in my auntâ€™s car with a not-terribly-happy-looking Walter riding in the back seat. It seemed that since my grandfather would be in the hospital at least another week, the adults had decided that it would be unfair to me to make me spend so much more time at my grandmotherâ€™s house than had been planned. So theyâ€™d decided to shanghai Walter and have him take my place for the next week.
Walter was about as pleased and delighted about this turn of events as Iâ€™d been, though he had the grace and maturity to hide it a bit better than Iâ€™d done (at least, from everybody besides me).
I was happy that Iâ€™d soon be back home with the rest of my friends (and with Mom and Blackie too), but I was disappointed that I wouldnâ€™t have a chance to say goodbye to Daniel and the other kids Iâ€™d met here.
Though we didnâ€™t dare try to play any TUGs between ourselves while we were briefly alone together at Grandmaâ€™s, I told Walter about the other boys, thinking that perhaps they could help him to pass the time as they had with me. Walter wasnâ€™t too interested; he felt that the age gap between him and the others would be too great. However, he promised to pass my goodbyes on to them if they came into the backyard again, and to give them my address if any of them felt like writing to me.
None of them ever wrote to me. But Walter told me later that he did meet them and pass my message on. According to Walter, they just shrugged, left without saying anything (I guess they didnâ€™t find him any more interesting than he found them to be), and never came back.
Mom, Aunt Yvette and I waved goodbye to Walter and Grandma as we left them to go back home. I felt a bit sadder leaving Grandmaâ€™s house than Iâ€™d expected I would be when Iâ€™d arrived. However, I perked up when I got home and Blackie was there to greet me.
Randy was there as wellâ€¦ already missing Walter. He wasnâ€™t used to being without anybody near his own age for company, so he asked if he could sleep over that night. Well, that was fine with me. Julia wanted to have a date that night too, but Randy had a date of his own, so it worked out pretty wellâ€¦ especially as we went to different places rather than do a double-date thing like weâ€™d occasionally done before.
At any rate, Julia helped make the evening special, and Randy helped to make the later part of the night interesting in his own way as well.
It was nice to be home!
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Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by sarumansauron » Mon Mar 21, 2011 10:25 am

Great story! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

### Delete

Post by MattyH » Sat Mar 26, 2011 6:40 am

Delete
Last edited by MattyH on Fri Dec 09, 2011 7:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sat Mar 26, 2011 8:30 pm

The backgrounds (and some props) in my drawings are clipart but the people in my drawings are 100% my own creation.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by king tugger » Wed Apr 13, 2011 3:31 am

hey matty, is that you in your avatar?

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Fri Jul 01, 2011 6:03 pm

PRISONERS OF THE BOY SCOUTS - PART 1
The summer of 1972 was a good one for me, primarily because I spent most of it with my friends. We were engaging in fewer intimate acts than before but our ties of friendship (literal and figurative) were as tight as ever. There were, of course, days when I stayed at home and just spent time with my mother and my dog; however, much of the time, my friends and I got together for the day â€“ not just for TUGs but often for other equally normal activities such as soccer, baseball, swimming, or hiking to help keep us in shape.
One incident that summer went a bit beyond the ordinary. It started out in an ordinary enough way.
For the first week after I returned from visiting my grandmother, Randy was around my house almost every day â€“ apparently feeling lost without his older brother around for company. Well, Randy wasnâ€™t actually there *all* the time; he also spent more time than usual with his other cousins (David and his brothers). But he preferred spending time with me because I let him do whatever he wanted (which often involved my being tied up). David and his brothers had their own ideas of fun which cast Randy in more of a receiving role. Since they outnumbered Randy three to one and were all pretty wiry, Randy naturally chose to visit me more often. He knew that when he was with me, his dominance of the situation would never be disputedâ€¦ let alone effectively challenged.
I probably could have taken Randy on in a wrestling match at this point and won â€“ if Iâ€™d really wanted to. Even though I was a year younger than he was, I was taller and twenty pounds heavier, pretty fit myself, and had gained some expertise in wrestling (and built up more stamina in frequent wrestling bouts). However, though we often wrestled, I generally lost â€“ not because I couldnâ€™t defeat him but because I didnâ€™t really want to. However, I usually made a good effort instead of capitulating right away. I was a masochist, but I wasnâ€™t a pushover.
When Walter returned from his week-long exile at Grandmaâ€™s, I figured that would be the last Iâ€™d see of Randy for a while. But to my surprise both he and Walter paid me a unexpected visit no more than an hour after Walter returned home.
Both were members of the Boy Scouts â€“ Eagle Scout rank, of course â€“ but I rarely happened to see them in their Boy Scout uniforms. However, both were wearing their summer uniforms this time. They had a Boy Scout meeting in town that night and had decided to visit me for a while along the way.
Since Mom wasnâ€™t home, they practiced their knot-tying skills on me (simultaneously doing their good deed for the day like good Scouts should) and then they made themselves comfortable in the usual manner while I lay on the couch.
I loved the way they looked in their uniforms (in my opinion, it wasnâ€™t just men who looked good in uniforms). I especially liked the way their shorts showed off their athletic (if now noticeably but not thickly hairy) legs. It occurred to me that it would be fun if I could have more Boy Scouts play TUGs with me on a regular basis the way that my cousins did. Though Iâ€™d matured in some respects, I was no more cautious most of the time now than Iâ€™d been in the past; so, naturally, I made a comment about Boy Scouts and TUGs out loud instead of keeping my thoughts to myself.
â€œYou know, a lot of us are in the Boy Scouts,â€ Randy told me as he sat on my chest, spread his long, slender legs out, caught my head in a scissors lock, and began to squeeze. â€œDavid, Michael, Brian, Al, Ron, Tom, Morgan, Jirou and Gary are in the same patrol we are. Stevie is too, though heâ€™s not an Eagle Scout yet. Gordon and some of the others are in the Cub Scouts. Fred just joined, in fact. How come *you* never joined the Scouts, Jase?â€
â€œTried once, back when I lived in (the other town Iâ€™d lived in),â€ I replied truthfully. â€œBut Iâ€¦ I dunno. I just didnâ€™t feel like I fit in. And most of the others there were kids I didnâ€™t know, or who I didnâ€™t like too well, and none of them seemed particularly friendly to me. So I gave it up. It never occurred to me to try joining the Scouts here. Seemed to me I was too old to join. Iâ€™ll be 16 in a month, so Iâ€™m definitely too old to join now.â€
â€œWell, we usually donâ€™t get new members that old, but you could probably have joined if you tried,â€ said Walter. â€œYou could be my replacement. Iâ€™m 18 now, and Iâ€™m going to quit scouting when I leave for college in the fall.â€
â€œIs it true there are a lot of tie-ups in the Boy Scouts?â€ I asked.
â€œWell, weâ€™ve had *some*,â€ Walter admitted with a smile. â€œBut nothing as elaborate as what we have with you. The scoutmasters usually donâ€™t let us keep one another tied up for long, and they donâ€™t like torture. They wouldnâ€™t let us sit on one another either.â€
â€œForget it, then,â€ I replied with a sudden and total loss of interest in the possibility. â€œSounds like too much hard work and too little fun.â€
Walter and Randy chuckled at this and tried to convince me that scouting offered other rewards, but they failed to win me over and soon good-naturedly gave up. They untied me shortly afterward and went on their way to their Scout meeting just before my mother returned home. However, judging from the way they glanced at each other and grinned, I suspected that they were once again up to somethingâ€¦ and I soon discovered that I was right.
Early that evening (about an hour before sunset) I was outside walking my dog when Walter and Randy came up again in Walterâ€™s car, along with David and Brian. They stopped the car and the four of them got out and approached me. It was an isolated road and nobody else was in sight, so I thought for a moment that they were going to tackle me, tie me up, and sit on me right there or possibly kidnap me. Not that I would have minded any of this very much; but I was worried about how my mother would react if I didnâ€™t return home as soon as expected!
Instead of a surprise tie-up though, they smiled amiably and started walking along with me.
â€œWe came up with a great idea,â€ Walter announced with a grin as we walked down a familiar woods trail. â€œWe have a weekend campout coming up. No scoutmasters; just us Eagle Scouts. We talked it over with some of the others after our scout meeting, and weâ€™ve decided to invite you along to our campout.â€
â€œAre you allowed to do that?â€ I asked suspiciously.
â€œWe donâ€™t know. We didnâ€™t ask,â€ Randy replied honestly and cheerfully. â€œNo one you donâ€™t already know is going to be along anyway, so we can keep it just between us. David and Brian are coming, and so are Jirou, Al and Ron. Gary canâ€™t make it. Morgan wasnâ€™t at the meeting, but heâ€™ll probably go along with it. Tom canâ€™t make it either â€“ chores again. George isnâ€™t in the Scouts anymore but he might come along too. Thatâ€™ll be enough people to make things interesting, donâ€™t you think?â€
â€œAnd weâ€™ll all be wearing our uniforms,â€ Walter pointed out gleefully. â€œDidnâ€™t you tell us youâ€™d love to be a prisoner of boys in uniform?â€ he continued. He seemed to think that he was a boy dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horseâ€™s nose. And he was right. I pictured the uniforms and agreed immediately. Later we asked Mom if it was all right for me to be gone for the weekend; after a little cajoling, she said it was O.K.
About the only sticking point was that I would not be able to bring Blackie along, but I got Tom (who had to stay home anyway) to take care of him for the weekend, just as he had the week I was away visiting my grandmother.
Fortunately Blackie and Tom got along quite well (Blackie liked everybody!), and my dog and Tomâ€™s dog were also good friends, so it was all arranged. Early Friday morning someone would pick me up and take me to the bus depot. From there, we would all take a bus to the campground, where we would spend the weekend.
At nine oâ€™clock Friday morning I was packed and, I thought, ready to go. But when Walter and Randy arrived to pick me up, they brought an Eagle Scoutâ€™s uniform with them and told me to put it on. â€œThe driverâ€™s a scoutmaster, and he might not take you if youâ€™re not wearing this,â€ Randy told me with a serious look that was somewhat marred by a lopsided grin struggling to get out.
â€œBut wonâ€™t he wonder who I am?â€ I asked blankly. â€œWhat if he asks me about scouting, orâ€¦?â€
â€œHeâ€™s not from our troop, so he wonâ€™t know any of us,â€ Walter assured me. â€œNo one is taking attendance or anything either, so donâ€™t worry about it. Once weâ€™re on the bus, heâ€™ll just be driving us to the campground. Now shut up, hurry up and put it on, and letâ€™s go!â€
So I shut up and changed into the outfit. It was a little tight but not uncomfortably so. I wondered where they got it; it was too large to belong to Walter or Randy â€“ or to anybody else I knew who was in the Scouts. But although I started to suspect that my cousins had acquired the uniform by not entirely honest means I decided not to ask about it.
Then off we went. My mother wasnâ€™t home (sheâ€™d gone to work an hour earlier); this was fortunate, as she might have been puzzled when she saw me in a Scoutâ€™s uniform. Iâ€™d already left Blackie with Tom, so Walter and I headed straight for the bus stop. Once we got there, Walter checked me over, adjusted my neckerchief and scout cap a bit, and was apparently satisfied that I looked like a genuine Boy Scout instead of an impostor.
David, Brian, Al, and Ron were already there waiting for us. Jirou arrived shortly afterward when Sho dropped him off. Sho stayed to talk with us until the bus arrived, said it was a shame that he couldnâ€™t come along, then said his goodbyes as we boarded the bus. Morgan hadnâ€™t arrived yet, and he didnâ€™t show up at the bus stop before the bus left, so in the end there were a total of eight of us going to the scout camp.
As Water had surmised, the scoutmaster driving the bus scarcely gave me a glance as I loaded my small amount of luggage into the bus and climbed aboard. David and the others were already there ahead of us. There were other scouts there too â€“ boys I didnâ€™t know â€“ who had boarded the bus at an earlier stop. I was concerned about this at first, but Walter told me that they would be having their own separate campout rather than joining ours, and so would not be a problem once we arrived at our destination.
However, with them along and with the driver apparently alert for any squabbles among us (as if he were ferrying warring factions from the Middle East instead of two troops of boy scouts), we didnâ€™t discuss our upcoming plans. Actually, I didnâ€™t talk at all; instead, I simply listened as the others discussed various scouting matters among themselves. The discussion wasnâ€™t too boring; none of it was very technical, so I was able to follow along despite my lack of scouting experience.
Along the way we stopped at two other towns and picked up more scouts, and by the last stop the bus was filled almost to capacity. Scouts from various troops talked with one another amiably enough about various things to pass the time, but none of those from the other troop were close enough to try striking up conversations with me. I occasionally talked with one or another of my own friends quietly and never got a chance to meet any of the others.
At least, not then.
Our bus reached the campground after about three hours and we were all immediately treated to a nice lunch at a barbecue party that was being held for us there. We spent a couple of hours there relaxing over fried chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers, potato salad, potato chips, cold soda and all the other fixings of a traditional picnic. I almost forgot I wasnâ€™t a real Scout myself amidst all the camaraderie, and I actually started to regret Iâ€™d never joined so that I could be a regular part of such activities with other boys my age.
The barbecue broke up just before two oâ€™ clock so that our groups would have time to find suitably quiet and isolated areas to make camp. It was only then that I discovered that we had a good two-to-three hour trek ahead of us before we reached the site where weâ€™d actually settle in; the place where weâ€™d had our barbecue was just a pit-stop. There was going to be another long journey, this time entirely by foot!
This was unexpected but not a problem; after all, I was already used to (and enjoyed) long walks in the woods with my dog and some of my other friends. The woods here were unfamiliar to me (though not to the others; theyâ€™d all been there before on similar excursions), but that only made it more fun, and I had everybody to keep me company. Weâ€™d be walking along a trail following a stream, so there was no chance of getting lost even if Iâ€™d been by myself. I looked forward to reaching the planned campsite where we would, I assumed, begin playing TUGs.
As it turned out, I didnâ€™t have to wait that long. In fact, the TUGs began just as soon as our group was out of sight and earshot of the other Scout groups (which were initially going in a different direction along a mountain trail) and the rest of the campers at the main campground. That was when the others surrounded me and proceeded to tie my hands behind my back. â€œSurprise!â€ they all said cheerfully; grinning mischievously.
I didnâ€™t make any protest (Why would I? This was what Iâ€™d come along for!) as my hands were thoroughly tied and a rope leash was fastened around my neck.
My feet werenâ€™t hobbled; apparently it was decided that this would slow things down too much on our long trek. The others didnâ€™t mind slowing things down to some extent, however. As evidence of this, everybody tied their bedrolls onto me! This was rather awkward; individual bedrolls werenâ€™t very heavy (and everybody was carrying the rest of their own gear), but carrying eight of the unwieldy things (each of which weighed ten to twelve pounds) and my own knapsack as well proved somewhat awkward.
I started to protest, but (as I should have expected) I was immediately gagged with my own neckerchief for my trouble. I was given no sympathy at all as the others proceeded to treat me like a dumb beast of burden.
The bedrolls were as well distributed as possible and so carrying over a hundred pounds of gear wasnâ€™t as difficult as it might sound â€“ but it wasnâ€™t exactly easy either as some of the bedrolls kept shifting around or bumping into my legs. Hobbles would have been redundant, as the best I could manage even without them was a slow, staggering plod along the trail.
Sometimes the others encouraged me to move faster by taking switches to my unprotected legs, but this was only effective for a short while before I grew too tired to continue. Finally, after weâ€™d gone about a mile, the others saw that their prank was taking a heavier toll on me than theyâ€™d expected, so they relented and carried their own bedrolls again. However, my hands were left tied behind me and I was still led along on a rope leash. This wasnâ€™t too bad, so I recovered my strength rapidly.
At one point they considered taking turns riding on my shoulders, but fortunately for me they decided that even the lightest of them (Jirou) was too heavy for me to carry for long under such circumstances. So they concentrated on making good time to the campsite rather than tormenting me further along the way.
We continued to follow the wood trail upstream.
Every so often, when the group paused for a drink, I was ungagged and given a drink of water from my own canteen, but my gag was promptly replaced each time before I could say anything.
Occasionally, one or two of the others would scout on ahead to make sure no one else was on the trail ahead of us who might see me tied up, one or two others would lag behind us for a similar reason, and sometimes one or two more would walk along to one side of the trail in case anybody else was out there somewhere (the other side of the trail taken up by the stream). However, no one else was seen along the trail during the entire trek, and we reached our intended campsite â€“ on the flank of a low, heavily wooded mountain â€“ by about four in the afternoon.
I was startled to see that the campsite was already occupied.
â€œHi guys!â€ Morgan greeted us cheerfully as he started a campfire in front of a large olive-green tent that had already been set up. â€œAbout time you got here.â€
A moment later, George appeared from out of the nearby woods, shirtless and carrying a sizable load of firewood in his muscular arms. â€œGlad you could make it, guys. We thought you might have got lost in the woods somewhere.â€
How had these two gotten here ahead of us when neither could yet drive a car? The answer stepped out of the tent. â€œHi, guys!â€ a shirtless Sho said to us with a casual wave. â€œGlad to see you could make it. We have everything all set up for you.â€
Sho pointed to a set of four tent stakes pounded into the ground to form a rectangle about seven by three feet with a thin blanket laid out in the center. Even before the others began hustling me toward this setup, I knew who the stakes were for; it didnâ€™t come as a big surprise.
Once they got me there, they untied my wrists, pulled my knapsack off me, had me remove my shirt, cap, socks, and shoes as well (but not the neckerchief Iâ€™d been gagged with, alas!) and then had me lay down on the blanket.
I spread my limbs out wide without protest as several of the others knelt down all around me and proceeded to tie me to the stakes. They worked with such speed and efficiency that, working on all four of my limbs simultaneously, they were all finished in little more than a minute.
â€œNow all we need is another volunteer,â€ said Randy as he immediately pulled off his own shirt and seated himself on my belly, while Walter straddled my chest and began to flick my nose.
â€œIâ€™ve got that covered,â€ replied Sho, who immediately stepped back inside the tent. We heard sounds of movement (and what seemed like a bit of a struggle) for a few moments, and then Shoâ€™s left arm flung aside the tent flap again as he emerged â€“ while his right arm helped support a gagged and mummify-tied J.J. He was wearing nothing more than a set of scanty (and rather tight-fitting) gym shorts which covered less of his muscular body than his ropes did.
He was forced to bunny-hop along out of the tent, which displayed his muscular development quite nicely for the rest of us. The others all laughed, heedless of the fact that he could have thrashed any three of us if he werenâ€™t tied up.
Unlike me, J.J. was not used to being tied up in front of more than three others (usually the three Ashida brothers); his TUGs were usually more private than mine were. But though J.J. seemed a bit mortified about being on display in front of so many people at once, he took it with good grace as Sho bunny-hopped him over toward me. When he was only a few feet from me to the right side of me, Sho and George eased him down to a face-up prone position on the ground, and then promptly sat on top of him while facing us.
The other six promptly joined us as well; three atop J.J. and the others atop me, so that J.J. and I each had five other boys sitting on top of him from ankles to clavicle. Nobody elected to sit on our faces however, which was a good thing since we were both still gagged. But I was sure that this respite would not last the entire weekendâ€¦ nor did it. As it was, both J.J. and I felt like we were being crushed into jam by the combined body weight (perhaps 800 pounds each) of the others. But I wouldnâ€™t have asked them to stop even if I could have, and Iâ€™m pretty sure that J.J. wouldnâ€™t have either.
In any case the others didnâ€™t sit on us for very longâ€¦ just long enough to discuss who was going to do what regarding making camp preparations, and then they got off of us and began their assigned chores. Well, all but Morgan, George, and Sho, whoâ€™d already done more than their share by getting there ahead of us (I still didnâ€™t know the full story) and doing the hard work by setting up the (first) tent and getting the firewood.
So while the others performed various tasks like getting fresh water from a nearby spring and preparing some food to eat, Morgan and George relaxed sitting on top of me while Sho and Jirou (whose assigned chore Iâ€™ve forgotten, but it was quickly accomplished) did the same atop J.J.
These four kept us entertained as their â€œguestsâ€ for the next hour or so while the others took care of their own chores. These chores included setting up four other tents â€“ each a lightweight, single-occupant tent that only weighed a few pounds each) â€“ that some of us had been carrying. They looked as complicated as they were small, but they were set up quickly and efficiently with the ease of apparently considerable practice.
Morgan bounced on my belly a lot, while George straddled my chest and squeezed my face between his thighs. This was what Iâ€™d come for! However, J.J. was even luckier; Jirou wrapped his legs around J.Jâ€™s head in a scissors and squeezed, while Sho did a scissors around J.Jâ€™s middle. J.J. was strong and actually pretty tough but even he occasionally grunted and moaned underneath his gag while his head and body were squeezed tightly between those two sets of legs!
But then, apparently believing that I was feeling neglected, George switched places with Morgan and trapped *my* middle in a scissors grip!
Oh, my God! George had just about the most muscular set of legs of anybody I knew other than J.J. himself (and at 6â€™ 3â€and 200 pounds, George wasnâ€™t much smaller or lighter than J.J. any longer). He squeezedâ€¦ and he *squeezed*â€¦ and he wasnâ€™t taking it easy on me either! He just about squeezed the breath right out of me!
Meanwhile, Morgan was scissoring my head with all his might â€“ putting even more pressure on it than George had because his brother had merely clamped his thighs together â€“ while simultaneously pinching my nose shut. Not only did Morgan also have strong legs but his muscles felt as hard as iron!
Naturally I thrashed about as much as I could â€“ which wasnâ€™t a hell of a lot under the circumstances â€“ and valiantly struggled to keep from passing out. Morgan merely smiled and kept torturing me. I looked back up at him and admired his chest and abdomen and the play of his lean muscles beneath that smooth, sweaty, ebon skin of his. I think I came close to the edge of passing out without crossing over it at least a dozen times (my torturers easing up just in time in each case) before those two finally relented. All in all, it was a diverting interlude.
Eventually it was time to settle down and cook dinner: toasted hot dogs with slices of bread (rather than buns) and some ketchup. Morgan continued to sit on me as he ate his hot dogs and then ungagged me to feed me mine by hand. Jirou did the same for J.J. The others simply sat on the ground or on some nearby boulders and a large log that was in the campsite. This gave J.J. and me a respite from being sat upon; possibly a good idea, but we had mixed feelings about it.
As I was ungagged to be fed, I asked Morgan how he and the others had gotten here. â€œOh, we arranged it ahead of time,â€ he told me. â€œSho picked us up after he dropped off Jirou at the bus stop and drove us here. Since we didnâ€™t have to make any stops, we got to the campground way before the bus. Actually, we didnâ€™t stop there; we drove a lot closer to the campsite. We parked the car on an old logging road that runs near here, so we only had to walk about a half hour after we parked. We were already here and setting up before you guys even started walking after your barbecue.â€
â€œIf you guys were coming, why didnâ€™t you just have me come with you rather than dress me up like a scout and put me on the bus?â€ I asked hesitantly.
â€œWell, the others wanted to have some fun with you along the way,â€ Morgan pointed out reasonably as he gave me a sip of water from my own canteen (which someone had refilled for me). â€œBesides, there wasnâ€™t room for more than four of us and the gear we brought along, and we decided Iâ€™d be more help setting up camp than youâ€™d be.â€
It might seem annoying to be told this by a kid two years younger than I was, but he was right. Heâ€™d been in the Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts for over five years and had known more about woodcraft by age 10 than I did now at nearly 16. I had the grace to concede the point without hesitation. That seemed to please him, so we didnâ€™t dwell on the subject.
After we were done eating, Morgan sat knees-up on my chest. By this time, he was the same height I was, and at 180 pounds he was getting to be as muscular as his older brother. I was about as heavy but nowhere near as well-toned as he was. In any case he was not the lightweight heâ€™d been when Iâ€™d met him two years earlier, and the sitting made breathing a tad difficult. But I scarcely noticed this; I was too busy admiring his lean body atop mine. He wore only his uniform shorts, socks, and shoes at this point. Actually, he still had his neckerchief on as well; this made for an interesting effect on his otherwise bare, dark, shoulders.
Once everyone had been fed, J.J. and I were gagged again and the nightâ€™s activities began.
First there was a competition to see who else would get tied up, as it was decided that two prisoners among ten tormentors wasnâ€™t enough. Obviously, four prisoners split among eight tormentors would be *much* better.
The matter was decided in our groupâ€™s inimitable style. Everybody removed their shoes and socks. Then, one at a time, each of them was required to kneel entirely on top of me or J.J. (instead of straddling us like they normally did, with their knees to either side of us rather than *on* us) and balance themselves without holding onto anything, touching the ground, or falling off.
This may not sound too difficult; however, to make things more interesting, the boys who werenâ€™t being tested were going to kneel next to J.J. and me and tickle us while their compatriots did their best not to tumble to either side.
Walter had a stop watch so that everybody could be timed. The two who managed to stay atop me and atop J.J. (for each of them was to kneel on each of us in turn) for the least combined time would get tied up and endure the same tortures from the others and J.J. and I did until bedtime.
I expected the others to have an easier time staying atop J.J. than on me, as he was larger and heavier than I was and presumably easier to remain balanced on. However, he was apparently more ticklish than I was. Also, he was strong enough that he could twist and turn his body as he thrashed about under the tickling (despite somebody kneeling on him) more readily than I could. Putting these factors together, most of the other boys averaged less than half as much time kneeling on J.J. as they did kneeling on me.
I was doing my share of writhing and thrashing as well; while being tickled, I couldnâ€™t help it! If J.J. and I hadnâ€™t been gagged, our frantic laughing and screeching would probably have been heard for miles â€“ assuming, of course, that anybody else was within those miles of forest to hear us.
After a contest that must have lasted at least two hours, it was determined that Al and Ron were the losers. These two were promptly and effectively trussed up by the others and laid on the ground next to J.J. and me; Al to my left and Ron to J.Jâ€™s right.
The others then drew lots to determine who would get to torment who (as opposed to proceeding based on relationships, as we sometimes did). The result was that I wound up with Morgan and Jirou, J.J. got Walter and George, Al wound up with Randy and Brian, and Ron got David and Sho.
After that, the next phase of the campout fun began.
Sometimes the four of us were subjected to the same kind of tortures together, such as when our captors tried standing on us. In this, at least, I suppose I lucked out, as Jirou was one of the lightest boys present (Brian and David were heavier than Jirou even though they were shorter). But though he was one of the youngest boys there, the trimly muscular Morgan was now also one of the heaviest, and this balanced things out to some extent.
It must have been harder for J.J., though. Walter was about 165 pounds by then; still much lighter than George but not a lightweight anymore. He hadnâ€™t grown much taller in the past couple of years but heâ€™d filled out his previously lean frame through continuous exercise. He was one of our schoolâ€™s best athletes, although he was still slimmer than George or J.J. In any case, having Walter and George stand on him one after the other must have been grueling even for J.J., but he made hardly a sound of complaint. I began to speculate that heâ€™d been through this before â€“ the three Ashida brothers had probably stood on him.
By the time our tormentors stopped standing on us and moved on to other things, I was sore all over my chest and belly. The next few hours are a blur, but they involved a variety of games that focused more on humiliation than on pain. At one point, Morgan sat on my belly and rubbed his bare feet in my face and told me to lick them. Unless I performed to his satisfaction, Jirou was going to kick me, and not too gently either. So rather than take a kicking Iâ€™d keep on licking.
Once Morgan was satisfied (which took a while as he was developing a definite foot fetish by this time), he and Jirou switched places, and I had to lick Jirouâ€™s feet while Morgan was poised to kick me at Jirouâ€™s signal. Fortunately Jirou was easier to please, foot-wise, and so Morgan wasnâ€™t given many chances to kick me.
Finally it got close to midnight, and the others finally decided to call it a night. J.J. and I were briefly untied and allowed a private relief break out in the woods. I was then re-tied the same way J.J. had been, while J.J. took his turn being staked out for the rest of the night.
Sho and George slept in the large tent theyâ€™d brought. Al and Ron were untied and slept in two of the pup tents, while Walter and Randy slept in the other two, as they were the ones whoâ€™d brought them. The others hadnâ€™t brought any tents and so slept on their bedrolls outside. Iâ€™d spread mine out and laid on it before being re-tied, while J.J. had to settle for the thin blanket Iâ€™d lain on before (for some reason, he hadnâ€™t been given a bedroll of his own).
Then, to help keep us warm, Morgan and Jirou placed their bedrolls on top of me and laid down on them while David and Brian did the same with J.J. Only my head was visible beneath the bedrolls and the bodies atop them, and with the campfire still going as well on a rather warm night I was as warm as toast. Morgan and Jirou idly patted me on the head like a dog for a while, and I was soon fast asleep.
We awoke early the next morning to a bright and sunny day. J.J. and I were untied and allowed another privacy break to relieve ourselves and to wash up in the nearby stream as well.
Some of the others had woken up earlier, while it was still dark, and had gone fishing. By the time J.J. and I were ready to wash â€“ and to scare away all of the fish â€“ theyâ€™d already caught enough to make a nice breakfast for everybody.
I doubt Iâ€™d have caught a single fish even if my life had depended on it, but they managed it with nothing more than some string tied onto makeshift poles made from branches and a few night-crawlers theyâ€™d trapped earlier. These Scouts knew their survival techniques, for sure; they could have thrived indefinitely in places where Iâ€™d have probably starved to death in a matter of days.
J.J. and I were tied up again after we changed our underwear and put our clothes back on (he wore his basketball uniform, as they couldnâ€™t find a Scout outfit large enough to fit him), but this time in kneeling positions with our backs to tree-trunks and our wrists and ankles wrapped around them.
I figured that this might be a prelude to a little oral recreation, but that didnâ€™t seem to be on the menu. We got fish into our mouths all right, but only the kind that was caught from the stream and cooked over the fire. We were fed by hand as opposed to being allowed to feed ourselves, but otherwise it was a nice breakfast.
After breakfast we were gagged again and kept tied that way while the others took care of routine camping duties (gathering firewood for the next night and so on). Fortunately, our knees were resting on bedrolls, so being kept tied in that position wasnâ€™t as rough as it sounds. Although my legs and shoulders were threatening to cramp by the time we were released in mid-morning and given a chance to stretch our limbs, my knees were okay.
Once our muscle kinks were worked out and our hands tied behind us again, we all went for a hike. J.J. and I were led on a leash by the others, who took turns. In addition, we were made to carry riders on our shoulders.
Brian was my first rider. He wasnâ€™t too heavy for me to carry, and he stimulated me into sustained efforts by gently scissoring my face between his thighs. After weâ€™d trekked about a mile or so through a forest trail, Jirou took a turn riding on my shoulders. *His* idea of stimulation involved rubbing his groin against the back of my neck â€“ and at some point he unzipped his fly and let his thing rub on me without any clothing in-between!
If anyone else noticed what Jirou was doing, it was not commented on. I didnâ€™t comment either (and couldnâ€™t, anyway, as I was gagged again). But I made a few pleased sounds and Iâ€™m sure some of those who could hear me knew why I was happy.
In the meantime J.J had to carry the almost equally muscular George around! Better him than me! Iâ€™d have collapsed underneath Georgeâ€™s weight immediately, but J.J. managed to carry him without complaint for over two miles before the somewhat lighter Morgan took his older brotherâ€™s place.
Though I was the largest boy after George and J.J., and Iâ€™d improved my fitness over the past year, I was still the least fit person on this expedition; I was less well-toned and had more flab than any of the others. But compared to these two and Morgan, we were all second-class when it came to sheer strength and stamina. Even my cousins were well behind them in physical fitness â€“ though they were still ahead of me, and I was hardly a weakling!
At any rate, J.J. was able to carry rider after rider for mile after mile, whereas it was decided to leave me without a rider after Jirou finished his turn. Though I didnâ€™t protest, it was obvious to the others that I was incapable of carrying any of the other, heavier boys any great distance. The decision wasnâ€™t entirely a relief; I was envious of J.J. and his muscular body â€“ carrying all those other muscular bodies on his shoulders one at a time! *Sigh!*
It didnâ€™t even occur to me to wonder where we were all going (or even if we were going *anywhere* in particular) until we arrived at our destination. Not that I could have asked anyway since I remained gagged throughout the trip except for a couple of brief canteen breaks.
As it turned out, our destination was a small secluded pond almost entirely hidden by the trees. Although weâ€™d walked for several miles (and about 90 minutes) along various trails, the pond was actually only a couple of thousand feet away from our chosen campsite (less than ten minutes of straight walking through the woods).
I figured weâ€™d come there to go swimming, and that is what most of us promptly did. The majority of the boys let out joyful whoops, peeled off everything they had on, placed their clothes carefully in piles close to one another, and ran into the pond to skinny dip. The only exceptions were Ron and Morgan (who were leading me and J.J.) and J.Jâ€™s rider, Sho.
I thought that Ron, Morgan, and Sho had held off in order to free us so that we could go swimming too. I was wrong. Instead of freeing us, the other boys securely tied J.J. and me to adjacent birch trees facing outward and left us gagged. But instead of stripping down and skinny dipping with the others they simply stood around as though they were guards and we were genuine honest-to-God prisoners who couldnâ€™t be trusted out of their sight for a minute.
Despite being watched, J.J. kept trying to struggle out of his ropes as though his life depended on it. I simply stood there passively. The results were the same in both cases; neither of us was likely to go anywhere without assistance.
No one tried to make J.J. stop struggling. In fact, Sho (whoâ€™d been the one who tied him to the tree) watched the play of J.J.â€™s muscles with keen interest. So did I, come to think of it.
Our guards didnâ€™t simply watch J.J., however. They kept looking around alertly and I soon realized that they werenâ€™t there to ensure that we didnâ€™t escape; they were expecting something to happen.
And then it did. I saw some movement in the woods in the direction I happened to be looking, which was opposite the way weâ€™d come and further along the shore of the pond. A second later, I saw the heads of several teenage boys past some intervening bushes; they were coming straight toward us.
I frantically began to made noises through my gag to attract attention. Morgan was closest to me and heard me first. He looked at me to see what the matter was, and I nodded my head toward the approaching boys. I expected a flurry of activity of untying and calling the other boys ashore at this point. Well, Morgan called to the others all right, but in a relaxed manner that implied that the arrival of the newcomers was expected.
The reason for this became evident when the boys came more clearly into sight. It was one of the other boy-scout troops we had ridden on the bus with. There were eight boys, ranging in age from 13 to 18, all wearing outfits similar to ours but with subtle differences that indicated their troop affiliation.
The new boys looked at J.J. and me tied to the trees with some interest, but did not seem surprised to see us like this. I learned why a moment later when two more boys bringing up the rear entered the clearing â€“ each leading another boy who was bound, hobbled, and gagged like J.J. and I were.
They brought the two bound boys over a couple of other small trees to one side of me and tied them to the trees as casually as if they were tethering a pair of dogs. Then, paying little attention to us, most of them stripped off their own clothes, placed them in neat piles, and joined my skinny-dipping friends in the pond.
The two boys whoâ€™d led the bound boys here were the only exceptions; they remaining standing guard as if protecting valuable property from possible theft (or liberation) by the boys who were guarding *us*!
There was no wariness in their manner, however. Ignoring their captives, J.J. and me, they struck up a conversation with Sho, Morgan, and Ron as if they were old friends. I soon found that they were. Though from rival troops, theyâ€™d met and interacted with one another on several occasions in the last few years during various Boy Scout get-togethers and the like. And it turned out that this rendezvous had been planned for weeks beforehand, though I could not immediately tell what the purpose of the gathering was.
I looked at the rival troopâ€™s two captives, who looked straight back at me. They were fairly tall, rather slender boys about a year or so younger than I was, with light brown hair and pleasant faces. They looked enough alike to be brothers but I found later than they were unrelated. I couldnâ€™t learn anything about them at the time, though, because they were gagged just as J.J. and I were and neither their captors nor ours made any move to alter this situation even after weâ€™d grunted to one another while they talked.
Eventually everyone who was swimming came out of the water, dried themselves off, and put their clothes back on unselfconsciously. They then came to where the rest of us were and had a short powwow.
It turned out that the two groups were going to play a game of capture the flagâ€¦ only played in an interesting variation that had to have originated with my cousins or somebody else on my side. In this variation, there were two flags per side and each flag was a human prisoner. I suddenly realized that J.J. and I were the flags for our team and the other two bound boys were the flags for the other team.
Weâ€™d be led away someplace and our team-mates would have to capture us and bring either of us back â€“ at the risk of being captured themselves (literally, for theyâ€™d be tied up too). The winning team would be the one who first succeeded in capturing either (or both) of the other teamâ€™s flags or all of the other teamâ€™s members. The winning team would also get to keep the losing side as their prisoners for the entire night and get to torment them any way they liked (within reason) until sun-up the following morning.
In the event no side captured either flag (or each had captured only one but neither captured both) before an agreed-upon time limit (six hours from now), each team would be permitted to keep what prisoners it still had overnight as long as they were freed in the morning.
Prisoner exchanges and ransoming hostages (for loot which, unlike prisoners, would be permanent acquisitions) would also be allowed. Ransom demands could be as extravagant as the captors wished, since the goal of the game was to have prisoners to torment for a night; ransom was a side issue and captors would not be required to agree to it.
Each team member was armed with a plastic squirt gun. Members of the opposing team shot with a squirt gun were â€œparalyzedâ€ for five minutes if in enemy territory or one minute if in their ownâ€¦ during which time they could be tied up.
Somebody whoâ€™d been tied up was not allowed to resist being taken away to the opposite camp unless his captors were being actively opposed by more of his uncaptured teammates.
After arriving at the enemy camp, though, a captive was allowed to do whatever he could manage to do in order to escape. At the same time, his captors were free to punish him if he was caught in an escape attempt. The details of the punishment were not spelled out but I didnâ€™t have much difficulty imagining possibilities.
Special rules applied to flags. For example, they were not allowed squirt guns. Additionally, once taken, flags could be untied so that they could escape but they could not help capture anybody on the opposing team. They were also required to submit immediately if recaptured by the â€œenemyâ€ rather than attempt to fight or run away.
At this point I learned why weâ€™d taken such a roundabout route from our own campsite. Iâ€™d thought the idea had just been to torment J.J. and me. Well, there was that, but the real goal was to explore our own â€œhome terrain" thoroughly without leaving a clear trail that the rival troop could readily follow to find our â€œhome baseâ€.
Most importantly, the others wanted to know the lay of the land and find the best defensive positions to guard against the enemyâ€™s attempt to recapture their â€œflagsâ€. The rival troop had probably done the same thing in their own territory on their way to meet us at the pond that lay between our two campsites.
Walter and Sho walked up to me and J.J. and had a quick quiet talk with us. â€œYouâ€™re going to go with them now, Jase,â€ Walter told me with a grin. â€œDonâ€™t worry; they wonâ€™t abuse youâ€¦ much. They might torment and tease you a bit, but we know *that* wonâ€™t really upset you, right? But however much you enjoy it, and however unlikely it is that youâ€™ll get a chance, if you and J.J. can manage to free yourselves and return to camp, do it! Theyâ€™ll watch you like hawks, though, so be careful! And whatever you doâ€¦ please donâ€™t get lost in the woods!â€
I looked at him with an aggrieved look on my face. Not because I was going to be used as a bound and helpless flag in a game of â€œCapture the Flagâ€â€¦ the idea was starting to seem exciting! But I was annoyed to hear my cousin suggest that I might get lost.
As Iâ€™ve said, my woodcraft was not so hot in most respects, but I had (and still have) an excellent sense of direction. Even if it were a cloudy day (which it wasnâ€™t), I always knew which direction I was facing. Iâ€™d known even before anybody told me how close we still were to our own campsite and in what direction it was. The only way that I might have been confused would have been if Iâ€™d been blindfolded.
The two boys whoâ€™d brought the other two here on a leash came over to J.J. and me and put leashes on us. Then, before untying us, they blindfolded us.
Aw, nuts!
Within moments, the two troops separated and went (initially by roundabout routes to confuse the opposing team, I suppose) their own ways back to their own camps. I was led along slowly and carefully for a little while so that I wouldnâ€™t stumble or trip over anything. But before we went very far, I was told to halt. Then, before I knew it, several hands grabbed me by the shoulders and started to spin me around and aroundâ€¦ while also keeping me steady so that I did not fall over.
By the time they finished spinning me I needed that support; I was dizzy as well as disoriented! I gather that J.J. was spun about as well. Then we were given a moment to recover our balance before the trek resumed â€“ presumably in a different direction than before.
This might have messed up most peopleâ€™s sense of direction, but for two reasons, it wasnâ€™t a problem for me: I hear nearly as well as a dog does, and Iâ€™d gotten a good look at the terrain around the pond and could still remember the details pretty well as we went.
In particular, I could hear the sounds of a little stream (which Iâ€™d seen emptying into the pond as weâ€™d approached) some distance off to my right and could tell that we were now following it (though not walking right beside it), and therefore I knew exactly what direction we were going. I could hear it the entire way back to the rival Scout camp, which we reached in about fifteen minutes taking a much more direct route than weâ€™d taken when departing our own.
After we reached the enemy camp, our captors removed our gags (but not our blindfolds), gave us some water, and re-gagged us. Then we were taken away separately to different locations to be hidden by our captors. I didnâ€™t see or hear anything from J.J. for a long while after that.
Two of the boys took me, still blindfolded, along a smooth path through the woods that wandered away from the stream. I donâ€™t know which two as I couldnâ€™t see them and they didnâ€™t talk to me much. They didnâ€™t tease or torment me, but simply led me along â€“ careful to keep me safe from stumbling and hurting myself as I was virtually blind â€“ until we reached the spot where theyâ€™d decided to hide me.
When we got there, I was made to back up against a tree trunk and (with their help) sit down to make me a bit harder to see. Then, without untying the ropes that already bound my wrists, they tied more rope around my arms and body to lash me securely to the tree. They then left me, although I assume at least one of them kept an eye on me from a distance to help foil any attempts by my friends to rescue me or any attempts at freeing myself.
Well, up to this point the game had seemed pretty exciting and Iâ€™d had high hopes of enduring exotic new tortures from this troop of Boy Scouts. Regrettably, the reality was that it got pretty dull after I was tied to the tree trunk. I had no one to talk to. No one was there to take advantage of my helpless state. Nothing. Within fifteen minutes I was bored out of my mind and was hoping somebody would soon find me. I tried to free myself to pass the time, but I might as well have not bothered for all the success I had. These â€œenemyâ€ Scouts were as good at knot-tying as any of my regular TUGs-mates were.
Every hour or so, an â€œenemyâ€ Scout came to check on my bonds, both to verify that I wasnâ€™t getting loose and to make sure my circulation was still okay. Then Iâ€™d be ungagged, given a quick drink of water from a canteen (presumably my own), re-gagged, and the Scout would go away and leave me to my own less than exciting devices again.
As far as I know (as I was blindfolded, I couldnâ€™t see at least), no one else showed up until the six hours were up. If anybody ever came close to finding me, I never knew about it. Itâ€™s entirely possible that one or another or my friends passed within twenty feet of me without ever spotting me, as the ground foliage was rather dense around there. But as I never heard anything larger than a bird moving around in that foliage at any time, I doubt any of my friends ever came close to my position.
Eventually the same two boys who had brought me to the tree (judging from the sound of their voices the few times they talked to each other) came back for me and led me back to their camp. There I was tied to another tree and made to wait for another hour or so of pure boredom â€“ with no one so much as talking to me other than to direct me when I was given a drink of water).
Then, just as abruptly, I was untied from the tree and led along by the boy scouts back down to the pond. From the sounds I heard, not only was J.J. still a captive of this troop but several other bound boys were also being led along with me. Had my side lost, then?
We reached the pond just as I heard the sound of many approaching voices; whereupon my blindfold was removed (though I was left tied) and I learned the results of the game. Neither side had managed to capture either of the other teamâ€™s flags, but each had taken prisoners from the other team. The enemy team had captured Brian, Morgan, and Jirou â€“ all of whom I could now see standing bound and gagged alongside J.J. and myself. But my side had captured five members of the opposing team, all of whom appeared to be less than happy about the matter.
Walter and the â€œchiefâ€ of the other patrol â€“ a tall (6â€™ 3â€), slender (155 to 160 pounds), 17-year-old Native American boy with the face of a 12-year-old whose name was (incongruously, I thought at the time) Joe â€“ negotiated with each other.
Brian, Morgan, and Jirou were exchanged for three of Joeâ€™s teammates. The remaining two â€œprisonersâ€ in Joeâ€™s team were exchanged for a pair of hunting knives and some left over (and still unopened) snacks. However, Walterâ€™s team would keep Joeâ€™s flags as their â€œguestsâ€ overnight and Joe would do the same with Walterâ€™s â€“ namely J.J. and me!
I wasnâ€™t too surprised at this nor was I particularly upset. Neither was J.J. And neither, I was amused to see, were the two â€œflagsâ€ from Joeâ€™s teamâ€¦ which was undoubtedly why they (as well as J.J. and I) were selected to be â€œflagsâ€ in the first place. As it turned out, they were not actually members of the Boy Scouts either but merely friends of some of Joeâ€™s team members.
In any case, everyone seemed happy with the arrangement - except perhaps the two extra prisoners on Joeâ€™s team whoâ€™d been ransomed for loot instead of exchanged for another prisoner. This may have been partly because it was *their* hunting knives that got traded. Regardless, after a few more arrangements were made, everybody went back to his own camp except for the four â€œflagsâ€, who were to remain prisoners of the opposing teams until the following morning.
And so, for only the second time in my life a genuine prisoner of relative strangers (and to a troop of Boy Scouts at that!), I was led away into captivity.
To be Continued - - -
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Last edited by Jason Toddman on Sat Jul 02, 2011 6:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by xtc » Sat Jul 02, 2011 2:54 am

Good to see this on he road ( or, at least, trail) again.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by sarumansauron » Mon Jul 04, 2011 11:57 am

Great continuation! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Jul 31, 2011 3:03 pm

PRISONERS OF THE BOY SCOUTS - PART 2
For only the second time in my life, I was a genuine prisoner of people I didnâ€™t know.
The first time was, of course, when my cousins set me up to be found and taken away by Sho, Jirou, and Ichiro nearly two years before. That was more than a little scary, since I had no idea at the time that their finding me had been prearranged and I didnâ€™t know what they were going to do. I wasnâ€™t scared this time, as Boy Scouts werenâ€™t supposed to be especially threatening or cruel â€“ or, if they were, it was likely to be in ways that might be interesting.
But the other times Iâ€™d been taken captive, I hadnâ€™t been a prisoner of relative strangers; of strange relatives (or friends), maybe. At any rate, Iâ€™d known that I was reasonably safe. This time, even though my captors were Boy Scouts (and perhaps a little because of this fact), it seemed possible that the element of danger was present to some extent and I found this exciting. So the situation was complicated.
J.J. was still with me. I couldnâ€™t see him as we were led back to the â€œenemyâ€ Scoutsâ€™ camp because weâ€™d both been blindfolded again, but I was willing to bet that he was as excited about the coming nightâ€™s events as I was. I didnâ€™t know what he was hoping for, but *I* was hoping that these Scouts were as fond of sitting on their captives as my cousins and friends were. I doubted, however, that they would attempt anything too intimate. That was something I figured was only done with people you knew well.
The Scouts led us back to their campsite, holding me (and presumably J.J.) steady to make sure that we didnâ€™t trip or stumble along the way. Then we stopped at a spot that had apparently been prearranged and some quick instructions were issued to our guides. J.J. and I were freed of our blindfolds and forced to kneel on bedrolls laid on the ground beside a maple tree. Then a couple of Scouts knelt to either side of us to secure us.
My shoes and socks were quickly removed and my ankles were tied together so that I could scarcely move my feet. To test the results, somebody started tickling the underside of my feet while two other Scouts held me by the shoulders to keep me erect. I thrashed about, laughing hysterically, and would have fallen over but for the support provided by my captors. Seeing that I couldnâ€™t move my feet apart at all despite this provocation, the Scouts stopped tickling me and took further steps to finish securing me.
My wrists had already been tied together, but they were now untied briefly and massaged and checked for circulation problems. I was left untied just long enough for them to force me to remove my shirt and T-shirt; my wrists were expertly tied behind me again immediately afterward. Then my arms were bound to each other at the elbows as tightly as possible. My elbows couldnâ€™t be forced together without causing me genuine anguish so they brought them together only as closely as they could without hurting me unreasonably.
Another rope was tied around my wrists and the free end was tossed over a branch over my head I hadnâ€™t noticed before. The rope looped over the branch and the free end fell â€“ to be deftly caught by the Scout who had tossed it. He then pulled on the rope, bringing my wrists and arms up and back and forcing me to kneel erect and then bend over forward to compensate. Within seconds I was bending over forward so much that I was face downward with my nose mere inches above the ground and my stomach crushed against my lap.
The Boy Scout tugged further, apparently wanting my nose to touch dirt, but I couldnâ€™t bend that far unassisted. So he kindly provided that assistance by kicking off one shoe and planting a sock-covered foot onto the back of my neck. This forced me down a few more inches, and the resulting slack was immediately taken up. This wasnâ€™t enough for my captor, however, as there were still at least a couple of inches of space between my face and the ground. This was demonstrated when my glasses fell off my face with a small clatter as my face was pressed downward even further.
I grunted in some dismay through my gag, as I feared damage to my glasses more than I feared injury to myself (short, perhaps, of a broken arm). However, another Scout knelt down and pulled my glasses away, assuring me that theyâ€™d be kept safe.
I didnâ€™t like not being able to see what was around me, but it didnâ€™t seem to matter much under the circumstances. My nose was now practically touching the bedroll I knelt on and I was unable to turn my head more than a few degrees to either side, so I couldnâ€™t see anything but the bedroll, the ground immediately around my head, and a (blurry) set of shoe-covered feet anyway.
I tried to express disapproval of this turn of events, but I was gagged quite effectively and no one noticed my attempts at communication. They didnâ€™t seem to care much about what I thought in any case.
With my face pressed against the bedroll, the newly-created slack â€“ slight though it was â€“ was taken up immediately. I could hear the sounds of rope being tied off above my head, while the Scoutâ€™s foot continued to press down relentlessly though not painfully on the back of my neck. Then the foot was taken off as my captor stepped away and invited me to try standing up.
I obeyed. However, try as I might, I couldnâ€™t budge an inch up, down, or to either side; I was trapped in a kneeling strappado (if thereâ€™s another term for this position, I donâ€™t know what it is) and going nowhere. It didnâ€™t hurt much, but I was sure that my shoulders and arms would start hurting plenty if I was forced to remain in this position for very long.
I then felt rather than saw a pair of Boy Scouts kneel to either side of me. â€œStay still! Donâ€™t make a sound!â€ one of them told me quietly. Then, before I knew what was happening, I felt fingertips lightly brushing against the bottoms of my helpless feet. Naturally, I began to writhe and thrash like crazy and squeal frantically into my gag.
â€œStay still!â€ the same voice as before ordered while at the same time I suddenly felt something hard begin to spank me on the bottom (which, in this position, was thrush high into the air behind me). Although my shorts were still on, they didnâ€™t provide much protection. Whoever was swatting me wasnâ€™t using his bare hand but a paddle or something similar. I donâ€™t know exactly what it was, because I never saw it. But I know was that it was hard, flat, and hurt like hell!
Well, naturally I tried to stay still and stay quiet to make the spanking stop â€“ but it was no use. The moment those fingertips caressed my ticklish feet again, I was writhing and squealing just as much as before â€“ which brought about another round of punishing spanks.
I could dimly hear the sounds of more spanking and squealing â€“ mixed with some boysâ€™ laughter â€“ about six feet away; J.J. was apparently undergoing a similar ordeal. Based on what I could hear, he was having an even rougher time of it than I was.
I redoubled my efforts to resist writhing and thrashing, and was beginning to have some success when I suddenly felt more hands start to tickle my sides and ribs. My defenses collapsed once again and I writhed and squealed even more frantically than before, causing my arms and shoulders to ache under the strain put upon them. I scarcely noticed that, though, because by this time my butt felt like it was being used as an anvil by the Greek god of the forge, Hephaestus himself! It was hot, aching, and definitely throbbing.
After the Scouts had had enough fun, the ordeal finally ended. They allowed J.J. and me to kneel there and moan into our gags in peace and quiet for a while as they made preparations for their evening meal.
A little later, I heard rather than saw someone walk up to me. I turned my head as far as I could to try to make out who it was, just in time to see the top of a boyâ€™s bare foot no more than an inch or two away from my nose.
â€œOkay, prisoners, listen up,â€ another boyâ€™s voice loudly announced from a position opposite from the boy whose foot I was staring at (and inadvertently sniffing despite myself) and roughly midway between me and where I believed J.J. was tied.
â€œThe first one of you to lick the foot in front of you gets untied, put in a more comfortable position, and fed. The other can remain as he is and go hungry while getting spanked some more.â€
Well, Iâ€™d had enough and was seeking out that foot with my tongue before the boy had quite finished speaking. But alas, I was *still* too slow. J.J. beat me to it and had started licking at the word â€œfedâ€, from what I was told later. However, no one saw fit to inform me of this until after I had given the boyâ€™s foot a thorough tongue lickingâ€¦ the bastards!
I whined miserably as I heard J.J. being released from his kneeling strappado and retied into a presumably more comfortable position. I couldnâ€™t see what it was, but from what I could hear, he was apparently retied lying on his back, his gag was removed, and he was given some water while also being fed by hand.
I, on the other hand, was ignored for the next half hour or so as if Iâ€™d ceased to exist. Then, after everybody else had eaten, I was given a round of spankings that dwarfed everything that had been done to me before and I began to wish theyâ€™d go back to ignoring me once again!
Finally, when the center of my personal universe was the throbbing ache in my backside (with the increasing pain in my shoulders and arms also emerging from the background) and I was scarcely aware of anything else, I suddenly felt the relentless upward pull on my wrists go slack.
My nearly lifeless arms fell back upon the small of my back of their own accord and I dimly felt a number of hands on my shoulders and arms steady me and ease me back into a more upright and less uncomfortable position. The ropes around my ankles were released as well, and I was made to stand up, slowly, and then led around.
My glasses were placed back on my face after that, but I was still a bit dazed and couldnâ€™t see clearly for a few moments. I guess the Scouts decided theyâ€™d overdone things a bit, because they let me have a few minutes of being left untied and having my limbs massaged gently. In the meantime my gag was removed and I was allowed to drink slowly from a canteen and then fed a sandwich and a few corn chips.
After this luxurious treatment, I started to regain some energy. When I looked (and felt) more like a living person than a cast member of â€œNight of the Living Deadâ€, I was made to stand with my back against the tree trunk, gagged, and then quickly and efficiently tied to the tree with my arms wrapped about it in a way that was secure but not painful. My ankles were tied about twenty inches apart, but though I was unable to move my feet, at least I was able to stand firmly on the ground.
It was only then that my sense (and my vision) cleared enough that I thought to look around for J.J. I immediately found him, and my eyes flew open. He was lying on the ground dressed in just his gym shorts (same as me; I was only wearing my Boy Scout regulation shorts by this time) and staked out on the ground with his limbs spread-eagled.
A slender boy of about 14 was casually sitting sideways on J.J.â€™s chest with his arms wrapped his own knees as he sat. Another boy who was only slightly larger but looked about 15 or 16 was seated on J.Jâ€™s stomach, facing the same way as the first.
Three other boys sat sideways on J.Jâ€™s muscular legs while toasting marshmallows on sticks against a nearby campfire. A sixth boy, grinning widely, was kneeling on the ground above J.Jâ€™s head with J.Jâ€™s head clasped tightly between his thighs while he flicked J.Jâ€™s nose casually with alternating forefingers.
All six boys were dressed as simply as J.J. and I were (except that they still wore socks and shoes), as it was a warm evening and there was a blazing campfire nearby.
I stared at the scene. A surge of fierce jealousy stabbed through me and I almost hated J.J. for a moment! Darn him! If he wasnâ€™t around, that could be *me* those Boy Scouts were sitting on! Instead, I was simply tied to a tree and all but forgotten again!
I began to hope devoutly that, since there were several other Scouts present who were either seated on the ground or standing up, theyâ€™d decide they needed another warm seat! But alas, for once my cousins apparently had failed me and had not â€“ for whatever reason â€“ informed them that I â€œhatedâ€ being sat on more than anything.
Either that or theyâ€™d told my captors that a sure-fire way to torture me in a way Iâ€™d genuinely hate would be to force me to watch, ignored, while somebody else was sat upon instead of me! I never found out for sure, but Iâ€™m willing to bet that this was no coincidence!
J.J., for his part, acted like he was being tortured in the cruelest way possible, and thrashed about underneath the other boys as though he was actually trying to free himself. He glared and growled as if he was ready to commit serious mayhem among his captors if he managed to free himself.
The ham! I knew that J.J. *always* did this no matter who tied him up. For him, it was part of the game. The Scouts didnâ€™t seem to care; they had either been forewarned or were confident that he was tied too securely to be any threat to them.
At any rate, J.J. remained securely tied and made no noticeable progress in freeing himself. Instead, he was either ignored or tormented for his trouble. The boy seated on his belly responded by bouncing on him occasionally. The one seated on J.J.â€™s chest grabbed his nose a few times and squeezed it until J.J. quieted down; J.J. didn't have much choice, since he was gagged and unable to breathe through his mouth.
This went on for about an hour and it started to get dark. I felt a familiar sensation of fullness in my bladder and wondered if my hosts were going to see fit to let me relieve myself in privacy somewhere or leave me to wet myself sometime during the night.
Just as the fullness was getting intolerable, Joe â€“ the leader of this Boy Scout patrol â€“ noticed my growing discomfort and came over to me. â€œWant to explore the woods for a little bit?â€ he asked me with a grin.
I nodded my head eagerly to clearly indicate Iâ€™d like nothing better.
â€œWord of honor you wonâ€™t try to escape and Iâ€™ll take you for a walk,â€ he told me.
I nodded again. Where the Hell would I run to, anyway? Back to my friendsâ€™ camp? Theyâ€™d probably just tie me up and turn me back over to these guys without a qualm. And not only had I no idea where anything else was, but I was happy enough where I was â€“ though Iâ€™d be much happier if I could just be where J.J. was for a while!
At this moment, the boy seated on J.Jâ€™s ankles was tickling the bottoms of J.Jâ€™s feet (and sending the muscular youth into hysterics that made him sound like a little kid) while the others seated on him sought other spots to tickle him. The boy on his chest was erect on his knees so he could tickle J.Jâ€™s underarms while the boy behind him tickled J.Jâ€™s ribs. J.J. writhed and thrashed like someone being electrocuted while squealing like a pig.
Lucky bastard!
Joe placed a dog collar around my neck, and tied a rope leash to it. There was plenty of slack; the leash must have been a good half-dozen yards long. He then untied my hands to release me from the tree but re-tied them in front of me. Fortunately, the new tie was loose enough that Iâ€™d be able to do my business unassisted when the time came. After that, he removed my gag and encouraged me to talk while he led me off into the woods to one side.
It was getting dark out but there was still plenty of light to see by. We talked as we walked.
â€œSo whatâ€™s your name?â€ Joe asked me. â€œAnd howâ€™d you get suckered into this situation?â€
â€œIâ€™m Jason,â€ I replied freely. â€œUhhhâ€¦ I was invited to a campout.â€ I continued a little less freely. â€œAndâ€¦ uhhâ€¦ I wasnâ€™t expecting to get taken prisoner, though,â€ I lied outrageously.
â€œYou werenâ€™t, huh?â€ Joe replied with a tone of voice and a lopsided grin that plainly told me that he didnâ€™t believe the last part for a moment. â€œI guess Zack and Jerry werenâ€™t expecting to be guests of the other team rather than their own either. But come on now, tell the truth. What were you really expecting to do this weekend? Be honest!â€
Well, since Joe already sounded like he knew the score and seemed friendly, I dropped all pretense and told him what Iâ€™d been hoping for when my friends invited me over. At about the same time we reached a good spot for me to get behind some bushes and take care of my sanitary needs, with Joe politely looking in another direction and trusting me to attend only to the business at hand rather than try to escape. Actually, we both knew that I wanted to run away about as much as Iâ€™d have wanted a root canal without anesthesia. But we had to go through the motions.
So while I was attending to both #1 and #2 (and using Natureâ€™s toilet paper â€“ leaves) I told Joe briefly about how Iâ€™d been into tie-up games all my life; first with my older brother and his friends and then more advanced tie-ups with my cousins and *their* friends â€“ who eventually also became *my* friends.
I mentioned some of the tortures they routinely did to me â€“ especially about how they liked to sit on me â€“ in hopes that it might give Joe some ideas. I may have laid it on a bit too thick, as subtlety was never my specialty. However, if he noticed this, he didnâ€™t comment on it.
I didnâ€™t mention the intimate parts; I wasnâ€™t sure how Joe would react to that and I didnâ€™t want to find out the hard way if he disapproved of games of that nature. So I talked about face slaps and tickles and being sat on, but I didnâ€™t mention BJs or BDEs. If Joe noticed any gaps in the anecdotes I told him, he didnâ€™t comment on those either. In fact, I never did find out what his attitude toward such things was; though my instincts told me that in any case he didnâ€™t play games of this sort himselfâ€¦ at least, not with other boys.
â€œYou sound a bit like Zack,â€ Joe told me casually as I finished my business, but leading me deeper into the woods to prolong our walk rather than take me straight back to camp. â€œHe likes being tormented too, though in his case he likes it when smaller kids *stand* on his chest and belly and trample him with their bare feet; lightly, anyway. Jerry is different; he likes being smothered. But he likes being caught in leg scissors too.â€
â€œIâ€™m sure my friends will be happy to please them if they find out about that,â€ I replied with a small grin. â€œOr even if they *donâ€™t* find out about that.â€
â€œIâ€™ve no doubt they told them as much the moment their gags were taken out of their mouths to give them a drink,â€ Joe told me. â€œSo if thereâ€™s something youâ€™d like to do to pass the time tonight, tell me straight out. Of course, that doesnâ€™t mean we wonâ€™t indulge our own ideas of fun, but weâ€™ve found that our guests are willing to put up with almost anything if they get their own way some of the time too.â€
I had no doubt of that, so I told him straight out, â€œI like being sat on.â€
â€œWhere, especially?â€ he asked me casually.
â€œOh, anywhere,â€ I attempted to reply just as casually. â€œChestâ€¦ bellyâ€¦ legsâ€¦ just about anywhere. And the more the merrier, really.â€
Despite Joeâ€™s friendliness, I still didnâ€™t dare come right out and tell him that I liked it when other boys sat on my face as well. It seemed too strange a thing to tell someone Iâ€™d just met â€“ especially someone who could just as easily have me thoroughly pummeled in the nuts with bare fists or jump up and down on my belly instead if he decided that â€“ certain people â€“ deserved that!
Joe just looked at me enigmatically and said nothing. We continued walking along in the wood, until I saw that we had returned to the pond.
â€œOkay, lay down between those trees over there,â€ Joe told me quietly, pointing to a couple of small saplings near the shore. The ground in between them was smooth and level; sparsely covered with grass and a few fallen leaves.
I did as I was told without a word, lying face up. Joe immediately knelt down beside me, lifted my wrists and arms until they were over my head, and tied the rope heâ€™d used as a leash to bind my wrists to a low hanging branch over my head. The he went to my feet, untied them, moved my feet until my legs were flat on the ground and hugging the tree, and quickly re-tied them in place so that I could not move my legs.
Once this was done, he stepped over my prone body and gently sat down knees up on my belly. Though Joe was an inch or two taller than I was, he was 20 to 25 pounds lighter, so I was in no real discomfort when he did this. â€œIs this what you had in mind?â€ he asked me with a smile.
Though he was 17, his face looked more like that of a 12-year-old. In that regard he was similar to Steve, who by then was the same height as Joe was and really *was* only 12 years old.
I told him honestly that I was very happy under the circumstances.
â€œGood,â€ he replied as he pulled up his legs and rested his arms on his knees. â€œSo, anything else youâ€™d like to talk about while we rest here?â€
â€œWell, how about telling me about yourself?â€ I asked. â€œLike, isnâ€™t Joe an unusual name for an Indian?â€ I asked innocently. The term â€œNative Americanâ€ hadnâ€™t come into use at that time.
â€œWhat, havenâ€™t you ever heard of Chief Joseph?â€ Joe told me proudly. â€œI was named after him.â€ His tone of voice implied that if I hadnâ€™t heard of Chief Joseph then Iâ€™d find out the hard way; the School of Hard Knocks would then come into session!
As it happened, I *had* heard of Chief Joseph and the Trail of Tears from reading a Classics Illustrated comic special about Famous Indians. I recapped what I remembered and added that I thought it was stupid and cruel of white men to force the Nez Perce Indians off their land and onto reservations far from their previous territory.
Joe was apparently surprised that I knew anything at all about Chief Joseph. He said that I was, in fact, the first white kid (at least, one near his age) heâ€™d met in years whoâ€™d even heard of Chief Joseph. And I knew enough about Chief Joseph to carry on a halfway intelligent conversation about him, though Joe had to correct some mistaken impressions Iâ€™d had about him and what had actually happened.
But at least Iâ€™d known the difference between Chief Joseph and Injun Joe from the book â€˜Tom Sawyerâ€™ â€“ apparently unlike some other kids Joe had met over the years. This apparently impressed Joe somewhat, and we became even friendlier after that.
â€œShoot, itâ€™s muggy out tonight,â€ Joe suddenly told me. He then abruptly got up off me, shucked off his shoes, socks, and shorts (heâ€™d been shirtless all along), and â€“ clad in just his undershorts, ran off to go wading into the pond. I heard him swim about noisily for a minute or two, and then he waded ashore again, walked back up to me, and â€“ now dripping wet â€“ sat back down on top of me. â€œMan, that felt good,â€ he told me with a sigh of contentment.
â€œYeah,â€ I replied simply. I rather thought it felt good myself.
We continued to talk while he drip-dried all over me. After a while, when it was almost completely dark, he got off of me, put all his clothes back on, untied me from the tree, and walked me â€“ leashed, gagged, hobbled, and hands tied behind me â€“ back to camp. Joe had no trouble finding the way even in the dark, and we were there within minutes.
J.J. had apparently been moved (and given a relief break of his own) while I was away, because now he was tied to the same tree Iâ€™d been tied to before; only he was kneeling rather than standing erect and facing the tree rather than away from it. A couple of Boy Scouts were tickling his feet and ribs while a third swatted his bare back with a home-made switch every time he moved or made a sound through his gag. He was blindfolded, so he was oblivious to all else around him but his tormentors.
Joe left me to be guarded by two other Scouts while he had a whispered conference with several of his other friends. I could tell they were discussing me, because they all kept looking back at me, smiling and laughing every so often. I wondered if this would turn out to be good news or bad news.
My guards didnâ€™t talk to me, so there was no clue. They just ungagged me at one point, warned me not to say a word, offered me some water from a canteen, and gagged me again.
The bedroll Iâ€™d brought with me was laid out in the space between the tent stakes where J.J. had lain before, which told me at once where I was going to spend the night. And, sure enough, I was made to lie on the ground while four of the Scouts knelt down around me; one by each limb.
The Scouts quickly and efficiently untied my previous bonds, massaged my ankles and wrists to make sure I still had no circulation problems (as it turned out, everything was fine), and tied my limbs to the stakes.
The stakes had not been moved since my companion in captivity had been staked out, and they made for a slightly more arduous stretch for me than it had been for the taller and longer-limbed J.J.
I forgot all about everything else, however, when a slender, black-haired, well-tanned, shirtless boy of about 14 appeared suddenly and sat on my belly facing me.
He was immediately followed by a somewhat shorter and stockier blond 13-year-old boy who straddled my chest, clamped my head between his somewhat fleshy thighs, and began flicking my nose hard and fast with the forefingers of both hands. He had a somewhat bucktoothed grin and laughed gleefully as he flicked my nose long after it had grown red and sore.
After a few minutes, four other boys joined the first two. They seated themselves upon my legs â€“ two per leg as my legs were stretched wide apart. I quickly realized that this group included the boys that Joe had been talking to. I guessed I knew now what heâ€™d told them! I decided that I didnâ€™t mind this apparent conspiracy at all and settled back to enjoy a leisurely night of being tortured.
About the time the blond got tired of flicking my nose and moved on to flicking my ears, another boy came walking up. He was thirteen or fourteen, and was the darkest-skinned black boy Iâ€™d ever seen up to this time. He wasnâ€™t large and muscular like George and Morgan; this boy was only 5â€™ 6â€ and thin as a rail. I doubt he weighed much over 100 pounds. He wore only a set of regulation shorts, so I could see how slender he was. His ribs showed plainly, but he seemed healthy and fit rather than someone who was ill-fed.
â€œAw, thereâ€™s no place for *me* to sit?â€ he asked almost plaintively.
â€œSure, Mark! Here you go!â€ said the blond boy on my chest. He immediately removed my glasses and patted the cheeks of my face. He then clamped my face between his thighs more tightly than ever in case I had any ideas about turning my head aside to try avoiding the inevitable. â€œJust be sure to let him come up for air once in a while.â€
Mark apparently saw nothing incongruous about this â€“ and in fact I am sure it was his intention from the start â€“ as he turned around, got down on his bony knees, and then slowly settled himself in place on top of my face. Despite not being gagged, I didnâ€™t offer a word of protest or complaint â€“ as J.J. would likely have done whether he meant it or not. I simply took a few deep breaths in preparation while I had the chance and watched Mark come in for a landing.
If my passive acceptance of this development surprised anyone, I saw or heard no sign of it. I decided that Joe had been even more perspicacious than Iâ€™d originally estimated.
Mark didnâ€™t put all his weight on my face at once, but slowly, gradually settled down until his warm weight all but cut off my air intake. I could still breathe through my mouth, though with some difficulty (and with noises that aroused some laughter among my captors).
The other Scouts sitting on me didnâ€™t neglect me in the meantime. They continued to tickle me, bounce on my gut, pinch me, and entertain me in other ways. Many of them took turns straddling my face after Mark did â€“ some for as long as 20 to 30 minutes at a time. Between those times, one boy or another would sit on my chest, trap my head between their thighs in a scissors, and squeeze with all their might.
Sometimes a boy would scissor my belly as well, and once another boy did the same thing to my chest simultaneously. Eventually I felt well tenderized, but I was every bit as happy as my tormentors were.
A few times, a couple of the Scouts stood beside me, planted one foot on my chest or belly, and either massaged me with the foot or put some of their weight on me. They also rubbed their feet all over my face; sometimes two or three of them did this at the same time. They never went so far as to stand on me, however.
One boy planted the sole of his foot on my face and left it there for a while. He caught my nose between the big toe and the next one and made me lick the foot while I was struggling to breathe. He ground his foot down over my face briefly when he wasnâ€™t satisfied, but not hard enough to really hurt me.
In the meantime, J.J. was left tied to a tree; not only gagged but blindfolded so that he couldnâ€™t see what was happening to me. Whether he was as envious of me as Iâ€™d been of him earlier I couldnâ€™t tell, and I never asked (and he never commented on the matter).
But the Scouts didnâ€™t neglect J.J. He had his own team of devoted tormentors who kept beating him with switches and tickling him. Some even rode upon his shoulders and gently bounced while pounding upon his back with the flat of their hands. I wonder now if these were actually *his* stated preferences and he was getting his own wishes indulged as much as mine were. Iâ€™ve never known for sure, but it seems likely. It was certainly similar to the things I knew Sho and his brothers often did to him when he visited them.
Eventually the others decided that it was time to call it a night. Before they made preparations to go to sleep, however, they had one last trick to play as they placed J.J. into a more comfortable position to spend the night.
J.J. and I were each allowed a drink of water. We took just a little; neither of us wanted to deal with bladder issues overnight. Then I watched as three of the Scouts untied J.J. from the tree. I didnâ€™t get to watch for long before Joe abruptly walked over with my neckerchief in his hands, straddled me, and gagged me with it. He then held a bandanna over my eyes and I thought he was going to blindfold me as well, but then he smiled slyly, put the bandanna away, stood up, and stepped away from me.
Still blindfolded, J.J. was led away from the tree and towards me. My eyes widened a bit as the group got closerâ€¦What the Hell? Where were they going?
J.J. was stopped just two steps away from where I still lay - just when I thought the four of them were going to walk right over (and on top of) me.
â€œKneel,â€ one of his captors told him, and J.J. did so with the necessary assistance of his three attendants. â€œMove forward on your knees,â€ J.J. was then told. And so he crabbed forward on his knees until he was at my left side and just short of setting one knee down on my groin.
â€œStop!â€ one of his attendants just as I was getting alarmed. â€œTurn to the right,â€ he was then told, and they aided him until he was facing toward my head and his left knee was just beside my left hip. â€œLay down,â€ J.J. was then told, and he stretched out as much as he could with his arms still bound behind him. His head was now only a foot away from mine and his left foot mere inches from *my* left foot.
I had a sudden premonition about where J.J. was going to end up.
Joe joined the other three boys surrounding J.J. and they moved about until one boy was adjacent to each one of J.Jâ€™s extremities. A fifth boy then came up and squatted down beside J.Jâ€™s waist on the other side from me. He moved his hands down out of my sight behind J.Jâ€™s body, so I couldnâ€™t see what he was doing with them.
J.J.â€™s wrists were suddenly untied, and his arms laid out until he was in a spread-eagle of his own â€“ only lying face down instead of up. J.J. now had his arms and legs momentarily freed of bonds, even though they were each held down by its own Boy Scout.
Oddly, J.J. remained passive during this phase of the operation; even though it presented the best chance to escape heâ€™d had all evening. Of course, he must have noticed the opportunity; so the fact that he chose to lay there quietly rather than thrash about like he usually did when his chances of escaping were all but non-existent demonstrates that he didnâ€™t really want to escape this situation any more than I did.
â€œOn the count of three!â€ Joe suddenly announced as he and the first three boys each grabbed the nearest of J.J.â€™s limbs. â€œOneâ€¦ twoâ€¦ three!â€
Each boy heaved up and lifted the muscle-bound captive by his limbs, while the fifth boy lifted J.J. by his middle (in front) and by his own belt (in back). They lifted a surprised but unresisting J.J. up about a foot, shifted him to his left by a foot and a half, and then eased him back downâ€¦
â€¦right on top of me!
My eyes bulged and I squealed into my gag as J.Jâ€™s rather ponderous bulk settled on me, though as he was laying down rather than sitting up, his weight was better distributed (and thus easier on me) than when I was being sat on.
J.J. exclaimed through his own gag; he hadnâ€™t quite followed what was happening until then but now he was aware that he was lying on top of someone. Before he could react, the other Scouts tied his wrists and ankles to the same tent stakes that held me pinioned down. In moments, he was secured quite well and unable to move his weight off of me or shift to either side even an inch.
At this point I became aware that I was getting an erection. I also became aware that J.J. was getting one of his own.
J.J. became aware of both facts at the same time. He began writhing and thrashing around while making genuinely irritated sounds through his gag. I started to complain loudly into my gag as well; not only was J.J. heavy and making me feel like I was being stepped on by an elephant, but his erection was grinding right down into mine! Thank God we were both still wearing our shorts, and that none of the Scouts saw fit to alter that situation! The fact that this portion of our anatomies was hidden from sight also helped preserve some small shred of what little dignity either of us still had.
After a moment, J.J. apparently began to realize what he was doing to me and stopped moving. I moaned one more time (actually, I think I was a little disappointed), and was chagrined when some of the other scouts laughed â€“ I must have been louder than I realized. They made a few crude comments at our â€“ and particularly my â€“ expense but did not tease or torment us any further.
Joe abruptly stepped over the both of us and casually sat down on J.Jâ€™s shoulders (with his feet right beside our heads). With his weight pressing down on J.J. and both their weights pressing down on me, he grinned, leaned over with a bandanna in his hands, and blindfolded me with it â€“ leaving me as unable to see my surroundings as J.J. had been all along. Then I felt his hand pat me on the cheek for a couple of seconds. â€œGoodnight, you two,â€ Joe said to us cheerfully as I felt his added weight disappear and heard his feet step away from us. â€œGet a good nightâ€™s sleep.â€
I heard the others walk away one by one and heard some whispered conversation all around me for a while. I suspect we were still being watched in case we provided any further late-night entertainment. I probably wasnâ€™t much fun to watch; I just lay there in my usual passive style. J.J., on the other hand, kept shifting around restlessly and moaning quietly into his gag. This apparently was *his* usual style.
I made a few noises into my own gag in mild protest, which would quiet him down for a bit â€“ but before long heâ€™d resume shifting about again while either trying to escape or simply get more comfortable. In any case, it was starting to drive me a little nuts â€“ not because I minded his lithe body on top of mine but because I couldnâ€™t even see it while I was blindfolded!
After a while, his movements became less restless and he quieted down. By this time, though, my erection had grown to king-size as his body weight was right on top of it. I couldnâ€™t help but to hump my body upward once in a while â€“ consciously to relieve some pressure on my back but subconsciously for the obvious unspoken reason as well. Occasionally J.J. did the same thing back as well. We didnâ€™t go at it steadily, however, as neither of us wanted to mess up the inside of our shorts and have to endure the added discomfort of the wetness until we were released in the morning. The consequent jeering from our captors that was sure to result when they saw the results was an added consideration; at least on my part.
I think the hardest part of this for me to take was the fact that J.J. kept breathing into my ear. It felt good but also weird at the same time. I donâ€™t think he was quite aware that he was doing it, either.
Lying on my bedroll and having a living blanket enabled me to get to sleep fairly quickly, even though we both sweated wherever our bodies were pressed against each other. J.J. claimed later that he didnâ€™t sleep a wink, but I remember waking up briefly a couple of times to hear his slow, soft breathing (indicating he was sound asleep) before I drifted off to sleep again myself.
I woke up suddenly in the morning when I felt J.Jâ€™s weight being removed and then felt myself being untied. We were both stood up, hobbled with our hands tied in front of us, and walked around to get the circulation flowing. We were then taken out into the woods to relieve ourselves. After that, we were ungagged and offered a drink and a quick bite to eat.
J.J. and I were allowed to put our full sets of clothing back on and then we were left tied to trees while our captors leisurely broke camp. Subsequently, we were both walked on leashes down to the pond. Once there, we saw our friends with their own two captives in tow, and J.J. and I were formally exchanged for the other two hostages. We were then untied, and everyone went for a swim in the pond to wash up and cool off.
The two groups of Scouts intermingled freely for a couple of hours as we swam. I was able to talk briefly with Zack; one of the boys whoâ€™d been kept prisoner by my friends the previous evening. He told me he wished he had more friends like mine; heâ€™d never had so much fun before.
I never got to directly hear the other â€œenemy" Scoutâ€™s opinion about the previous night, but I gather he had no complaints about his treatment either. It sounded like the two of them and I had a lot in common. Iâ€™d have liked to have gotten to know them better, but our two groups had to get back to the main campground and go home.
I expected to rejoin the others when we began our hike back to where our bus ride awaited us. However, for some reason, they decided to have Morgan go back with the other Scouts while I took his place riding back home by car with J.J, Sho, and George. So J.J. and I helped load the tent back into Shoâ€™s car while Morgan trekked back with the others.
Regrettably, I never saw any of the Scouts from the other group again, though my friends who were still in the Scouts did meet them from time to time when their respective patrols had get-togethers.
As if that experience wasnâ€™t satisfactory enough in and of itself, Stevie asked me to come over to his house later that week. When I showed up he, Tom, Gordon, Morton, Michael, Freddy and Brian were all there as well â€“ wearing their Boy Scout (or, in Gordonâ€™s and Freddyâ€™s cases, Cub Scout) uniforms.
Josh, Craig and Matt were there as well, though they were not in the Scouts; they came dressed in casual summer-wear. They were having an impromptu camp-out of their own in Stevieâ€™s spacious back yard and wanted me to tell them all about my experiences over the weekend.
I was, quite literally, roped into it. And so I had another pleasant and unforgettable evening with a group of (mostly) Boy Scouts in uniform; the second Scout get-together in one week. Unfortunately, this was the also the last time Iâ€™d be together with so many of my friends wearing their Scout outfits at the same time. But at least my friends were themselves still there.
I was unaware that I was about to lose one of my friends and gain another.
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Last edited by Jason Toddman on Wed Aug 31, 2011 10:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by sarumansauron » Mon Aug 01, 2011 12:43 pm

Great continuation and pic! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Veracity » Mon Aug 15, 2011 8:59 pm

I'm glad you are continuing this series. For some reason I thought you had stopped writing new installments. I 'll be sure to keep checking back for more. Perhaps you aren't getting the response you hoped for because, like me, people were looking for this story in a different section?

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Mon Aug 15, 2011 9:26 pm

> Veracity wrote:I'm glad you are continuing this series. For some reason I thought you had stopped writing new installments. I 'll be sure to keep checking back for more. Perhaps you aren't getting the response you hoped for because, like me, people were looking for this story in a different section?

Perhaps, though this is the same section I started this series in. I took it out of Intimates because from this point on there weren't many intimate episodes that are diferent or interesting enough to be worth telling about. What few there are I'll post as separate stories when I get to them.
I *had* stopped for a long while due to apparent lack of reader interest, but decided to try again anyway because these events are an important part of my life. In some ways, THE most important.
Last edited by Jason Toddman on Tue Aug 16, 2011 7:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by xtc » Tue Aug 16, 2011 2:07 am

Yes, please keep this going unless you are bored with it but, "knowing" you, I doubt that!
As you know I prefer the less intimate stories although I accpet that intimacy can often be an important element.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Thu Sep 15, 2011 12:16 pm

> xtc wrote:Yes, please keep this going unless you are bored with it but, "knowing" you, I doubt that!

Boredom isn't a problem, but a lack of reader feedback is. It's kind of discouraging not to get the kind of responses here as I used to get, as I put more care and effort into my true stories than I do with my fictional ones. Oh well. Regardless of what others think of how true they actually are, I feel a need to write these anyway. And so, here is another. Well, part 1 of 2, anyway.
TRANSITIONS (Part 1)
The summer of 1972 went more or less as previous summers had, though after the experience with the Boy Scouts, there were fewer TUGs for a while. My friends and I had other interests, of course, besides tying up and tormenting one another. Sometimes weâ€™d go hiking, swimming, or fishing with no TUGs (or even any talk of TUGs) at all. Other times Iâ€™d stay home to watch TV and eat meals with Mom, walk and play with my dog, or spend time alone in my room reading, writing in my diary, or drawing and writing my own comic books.
Other than being tied up and sat on by other boys, drawing comic books was probably my favorite activity as a boy, or since â€“ while reading comic books was a close third. Iâ€™d started drawing by the time I was eight years old. At first I used large sheets of some kind of yellow paper my father brought home for me from the office where he worked before he fell ill. Later I started buying tablets to draw on.
From the start, I drew science fiction comic books. The ones I remember best were a series that was sort of an alternate version of â€œLost in Spaceâ€. It had a similar spaceship and characters that resembled the originals, but I came up with situations of my own, devising them from scratch or borrowing from other shows Iâ€™d watched or books Iâ€™d read.
Often I just pitted my characters against powerful monsters like the Doomsday Machine from â€œStar Trekâ€ or the galaxy-spanning Anabis from â€œVoyage of the Space Beagleâ€ (a space opera that was a bit like â€œStar Trekâ€ but predated it by decades). Theyâ€™d usually survive more through sheer luck than through careful planning on the authorâ€™s part. My enthusiasm for drawing and writing greatly exceeded my skills at the time, but these gradually improved with time and practice.
By the time I turned 12, my artistic endeavors had expanded to include stories about boys being tied up, sat on and tormented by captors (usually other boys, though sometimes girls as well). By this time Iâ€™d been tied up numerous times in real life by my older brother and many of his friends (some not much older or bigger than I was). However, they rarely sat on me or tormented me, apart from an occasional tickling. So I was having fantasies about such things and setting them down on paper long before I began experiencing them to any significant extent in real life.
For years, I thought my comic books were a secret from everybody else, as I was careful to draw them only in my room with the door closed and I kept them hidden when I wasnâ€™t working on them or reading them. But one time I noticed that theyâ€™d been moved; somebody had picked them up, looked them over, and put them back but not very carefully. I had no doubt then â€“ or since â€“ that it was my older brother who had seen them, because the way he acted around me changed after that. Most noticeably, he became much more aloof. Mom and Dad were the same as always; if it had been them, theyâ€™d have said something. I never asked him about it. I didnâ€™t really want to know, I suppose.
Later, after I began having TUGs with my cousins, theyâ€™d admitted that theyâ€™d gotten most of their ideas about things to do with (or to) me from my brotherâ€¦ especially about sitting on me. As Iâ€™d rarely had other kids sit on me up to then and my cousins never met any of them (even my brother didnâ€™t know about those incidents), I figured that my brother must have told them about my drawings at some point.
Walter and Randy never commented on the matter, so perhaps my brother didnâ€™t talk about the comic books in particular and simply told them about my fantasies. In any case, I was never sorry that they found out, because my adolescence would have been much less interesting otherwise.
I realize now that I was lucky. The outcome of such a discovery might have been far different and not nearly as pleasant. I was fortunate that my cousins were not only broad-minded and mischievous but were in fact already doing many of the things I was only fantasizing about.
Eventually, of course, Walter and Randy found out about the comic books. After that, I showed the comics off occasionally, both to my cousins and to other trusted friends. But no one else â€“ least of all my mother â€“ ever found out about the drawings. In retrospect, this is surprising, but it helped that my cousins and friends guarded my secret as carefully as I did myself.
After I started High School, I began drawing stories based on my friends in situations like those Iâ€™d experienced or had heard the others tell me about. These new stories were fairly straight at first; but eventually I added fantasy elements such as elves, superheroes, demons, angels, space aliens, and cartoon characters. I also included explicit elements that technically made me too young to be reading what I was writing and seeing what I was drawing!
At one point in the summer of â€™72 I was doing a lot of this because school was out, there was no homework to do, and most of my friends were away at the time for various reasons. So I had time on my hands instead of ropes or cuffs draped around them, and I was spending much of it alone (except for my dog) with nothing better to do than occasional chores like mowing the lawn or helping to clean the house or going for longer walks than usual with Blackie.
Blackie, at least, was content with that part, and itâ€™s hard *not* to enjoy a leisurely walk in the woods with a young, playful dog for company.
This went on for quite a while before I started to realize that something was missing from the picture. It took me a bit longer before I figured out what was wrong: I wasnâ€™t sending much time with Julia anymore.
Not seeing as much of my other friends was one thing. This was understandable, as they had active lives of their own and many of them lived quite some distance away. But Julia and I were boyfriend and girlfriend, she had a car (even if I didnâ€™t) and she lived just a half-mile down the road from me. Why werenâ€™t we seeing as much of each other as before?
I hadnâ€™t noticed the issue until this point, but now I realized that things were changing between us.
Weâ€™d been going steady for about two years, and especially in my sophomore (and her senior) year of High School we saw a lot of each other both in and out of school. However, since summer vacation had begun this year, this had dropped off dramatically.
Sure, Iâ€™d had to visit my grandmother for a week and sheâ€™d gone to see hers for a couple of weeks right afterward. The loss of those three weeks had been unavoidable. But afterward we never seemed to be able to make our schedules line up again. We went out on only one date that summer; this was to watch a movie named â€œNow You See Him, Now You Donâ€™tâ€ at the drive-in. It was a typical Disney comedy with Kurt Russell as a college student who could turn invisible. For once, we actually watched the movie rather than miss much of it by talking with each other.
Then my16th birthday came and she only sent a Hallmark card in the mail while my cousins, and David and his brothers, threw me a small party at Davidâ€™s house and we went swimming at the pond afterward. No TUGs, darn it; however, like I said, we didnâ€™t *always* have TUGs when we were together.
Anyway, just getting a card from Julia and not even seeing her finally got me concerned about our relationship. So one day, I walked to her house to ask her about it.
I phoned ahead to make sure she was home. George answered the phone and I got him to promise not to tell Julia I was coming so that it would be a surprise. Iâ€™m not sure now why this was important to me, but it was. Perhaps I was secretly afraid that sheâ€™d come up with an excuse to leave suddenly if she knew I was coming ahead of time.
When I got there, though, I discovered that Julia had company; something George had neglected to mention. Another girl her age was also there. Her name was Karen, and she and Julia were going to be roommates at the college that Julia would be attending in the fall.
I was not an especially perceptive person in those days, but even I could tell that Karen was fonder of Julia than an ordinary roommate would beâ€¦ and that Julia liked her back in a similar way.
It was an awkward situation that was salvaged only by the fact that I was able to pretend that I was actually there to visit George rather than Julia, and in fact George and I spent the next two hours together.
We walked Morgan out to the woods, tied him to a tree, gagged him, and then left him there for an hour while we continued walking in the woods alone. I practically interrogated George about Julia and me (and about Julia and Karen), but he was unable (or unwilling) to tell me very much. I finally went home alone feeling blue while George went back to untie Morgan by himself.
Later, Julia came to my house and broke the news to me gently; at least, gently by her standards. Sheâ€™d met Karen some time ago and had been spending a lot of time with her. The two had developed a relationship that had become especially close during the summer. Julia still liked me and wished to remain friends, butâ€¦ she didnâ€™t want to go on dates or go steady with me anymore. Instead, she wanted to have that kind of relationship with Karen.
I didnâ€™t know what a lesbian was up until then, but thatâ€™s what both Karen and Julia were. Julia preferred other girls to boys.
I began to understand a bit better then why Julia had liked dressing me up in (plus-sized to fit me) girlsâ€™ clothing occasionally since that first time nearly two years before.
Other boys might have been outraged, but I think I took it fairly well.
â€œYouâ€™ve done it with other boys,â€ Julia pointed out. Since this included Juliaâ€™s own brothers, I could hardly contradict her about this part. However, it seemed to be beside the point. After I thought about it, I didnâ€™t see anything wrong with Julia liking other young women. But what about *us* ?
â€œIâ€™m going away to school anyway,â€ Julia said. â€œAnd weâ€™ll still be friends. Just not that kind of friend.â€
She said this part in a no-nonsense manner that made it clear there wasnâ€™t much more to talk about.
I wasnâ€™t sure what to say to that, or even how I felt, so I didnâ€™t respond. Iâ€™m not sure to this day how Julia felt either. I think she expected me to react more but I donâ€™t know.
At any rate, we remained friends, even if we were no longer intimate, and continued to speak civilly to each other whenever we happened to meet after she went to college. And we did see other often when she was home because I was still friends with both of her brothers and continued to see them socially as often as before.
For the rest of that first summer after the break-up, though, it was a bit awkward when we crossed paths. Regardless, I believe today that the break-up was part of an inevitable process that we both (perhaps subconsciously) foresaw ahead of time and had grown to accept.
Another factor may have figured into my response (or lack of response) to the break-up. The Julia situation was unexpected and disconcerting, but I was distracted due to unconnected changes going on in my life. For one thing, my mother was developing a new relationship of her own.
His name was Bob. In addition to being our mailman, he was a part-time lumberjack (not what he called himself, but thatâ€™s essentially what he was) and plowed roads during the winter. He was the same age as my mother but still lived with *his* mother because she was a frequently ailing, semi-invalid widow who couldnâ€™t take care of herself; at least, not completely. Heâ€™d never been married and had no children of his own.
Bob was big and broad-shouldered and in good shape. Itâ€™s not surprising that my mother liked him. But I didnâ€™t like him much myself. He was rather conservative in his opinions and reminded me of Archie Bunker, albeit a less-abrasive version; for example, he shared Archieâ€™s viewpoints on race, economics, and Viet Nam. Our discussions made me feel like Archieâ€™s son-in-law Michael Stivic (except Bob wasnâ€™t into name-calling and simply called me by my name rather than give me a nickname like â€œMeatheadâ€).
Although Mom was no Edith Bunker, she started to fall in love with Bob. As time went on, they went out on more dates, and by late summer I was seeing very little of my mother â€“ though still more than when I was living with my cousins, of course.
For a while, I felt like my world had turned upside down. Mom was dating while I stayed at home waiting up for her? What was wrong with this picture?!
After a couple of weeks where I simply stayed at home alone with Blackie most days, drew and wrote my comic books, and grew sullen and lonely, I decided I needed to get out more before summer was completely over.
So, though I still felt uncomfortable around Julia, I rode my bike down to her house for a social visit â€“ but with her brothers rather than with her â€“ for the first time since the break-up. I might have chosen one of my other friends to visit, but they were all unavailable for one reason or another. Additionally, I may have subconsciously felt a need to deal with the breakup in some way, though I didnâ€™t think of it in those terms at the time.
As it turned out, Julia wasnâ€™t home, so that was one potential source of discomfort that I didnâ€™t need to deal with. Morgan and George were home, but they didnâ€™t have much time to socialize even though their parents werenâ€™t home either. They were expecting a visit from their frequently ailing (for company) grandmother for dinner that evening, and they had to get the house cleaned up and in apple-pie order for the occasion.
I donâ€™t mean just a bit of dusting and vacuuming the carpets, either; they had to scrub the walls clean (their father was a heavy smoker and the place smelled a bit) and wash the drapes and do a hundred other things that would take the two of them the entire day.
Naturally, they werenâ€™t very happy about it. So, because I knew theyâ€™d have done the same for me (and because I wanted company badly at that point), I stayed and helped them. We got the place cleaned up to their parentsâ€™ satisfaction by the time they got home, which to George and Morgan had seemed like an impossible goal before I came along.
â€œYou boys got this place spicâ€™nâ€™span!â€ Georgeâ€™s mother said to us happily, and she gave all three of us warm hugs. In gratitude George whispered to me that he and Morgan would give me a TUG to remember if I dropped by again late the following Monday morning, which was the next time theyâ€™d have the house all to themselves.
I hadnâ€™t asked for a reward, but I wasnâ€™t going to turn one down when it was offered! So the following Monday I pedaled to Georgeâ€™s house as soon as I decently could (namely, the moment Mom left to go to work) and as quickly as I could get there. When I arrived, George was outside in the front yard, but he wasnâ€™t with Morgan; instead, he was talking to a dark-complexioned Hispanic boy Iâ€™d never met before.
The new boy was about Morganâ€™s age but shorter, and athletic-looking though perhaps less muscular than George or Morgan. He wore no shirt; just a set of dark-gray jeans cut off at mid-thigh with long tub socks and new Converse sneakers (*the* brand of sneaker to wear back then). He had a handsome face but there was an annoyed expression on it when he first set eyes on me that annoyed me in return.
I didnâ€™t pay much attention to him at the time; I just wondered who he was and hoped heâ€™d leave quickly so that George, Morgan and I could get on with the promised TUG.
I pedaled my bike up to the yard and stopped just a few feet away from both boys. The Hispanic boy looked at me in idle curiosity, while George looked at me in slight discomfort â€“ which I didnâ€™t take as a good sign.
Remembering how pleased his mother had been with our cleaning job the previous week, I greeted George cheerfully, â€œHey, Mister Spicâ€™nâ€™ Span! Whatâ€™s happening?â€
This was as far as I got when the Hispanic boy yelled, â€œHey, who are you calling a SPIC?!â€
I simply stood there, staring at him - goggle-eyed, slack-jawed and vaguely wondering what he was mad about. I was unfamiliar with the racial slur â€œspicâ€ at the time; Iâ€™d never even heard the word before. So when my greeting was so rudely interrupted, I was more amazed and annoyed at this rude kid than anything else.
This was nothing, however. The next thing I knew, the angry kid walked truculently right up to me, rapidly shouted something in Spanish, and then he decked me!
I was still straddling my bike at the time. I went reeling with the blow, and my bike fell over with me with a crash and a clatter. It tangled up my legs in the process so that I made a rather ungainly crash landing upon my back. More flustered than hurt, I started to disentangle my legs from the bike so I could get up and face my assailant.
Before I could get very far, however, he literally descended upon me, pushed me down on my back, and then knelt down to straddle my chest with my shoulders and upper arms caught and pinned firmly down beneath his knees.
Well, *that* might have been fun â€“ except he then started pummeling my face with his fists. They werenâ€™t exactly love-taps either. This kid was strong, evidently knew how to box, and he was very pissed off as well. He was whaling away at me like he was Mohammed Ali!
I was considerably larger and heavier than my attacker, but Iâ€™d been taken by surprise and my legs were tangled in my bike. Iâ€™d have been in a bad way before I could have done anything to defend myself if George hadnâ€™t been right there â€“ with Morgan racing out of the house at the same moment â€“ and hadnâ€™t immediately pulled him off me. â€œCarlos! Stop hitting Jason!â€ Morgan yelled; thus inadvertently introducing us to each other.
Carlos started swearing and resisting when the others wouldnâ€™t let him take another poke at me. I watched in bewilderment as he yelled about â€œspicsâ€ and bigots, and glared at me with pure loathing. He calmed down slightly once George and Morgan got a few words in edgewise to explain the misunderstanding, but still seemed to be too angry to listen to reason.
I wasnâ€™t too badly hurt, thanks to Morgan and George pulling Carlos off me so quickly. My enthusiasm for the get-together was ruined, however. Carlos was still ranting in Spanish, not paying much attention to George and Mortonâ€™s attempts to soothe him. He was still convinced Iâ€™d called him a â€œspicâ€ and, presumably, that Iâ€™d called George a â€œspanâ€. Seeing that my continued presence was doing nothing to calm him down, I decided to make my excuses, say Iâ€™d come back some other time, and leave George and Morgan to smooth over the troubled waters with Carlos.
With much less enthusiasm than when Iâ€™d started out, I returned home â€“ and was greeted as usual by my dog, whoâ€™d Iâ€™d left tethered to a tree so he wouldnâ€™t follow me.
Blackieâ€™s own exuberance was slightly dampened when he saw my lousy mood, but he immediately went out of his way to cheer me up. It worked, too; Blackie managed to make me feel better with his silent but friendly companionship within minutes. After rough-housing with him, playing keep-away with an old bone of his, and rubbing and tickling him in the belly, I was feeling reasonably mellow again.
Though I was disappointed that the planned TUG had gotten spoiled, I didnâ€™t feel too resentful towards Carlos. It had just been a misunderstanding (something that happened to me a lot for some reason) and hopefully one that my friends had straightened out. As far as I knew, Carlos was just passing through; I knew every kid in the area and knew (or thought I knew, as it turned out) that he didnâ€™t live anywhere around me. So it was unlikely Iâ€™d ever run into him again. If I did see him again, I thought, hopefully itâ€™d be under better circumstances.
After playing with Blackie for a while, I went up to my room and began drawing in one of my comic books. I idly added a scene with a half-naked kid in it who (unintentionally at first) looked as much like Carlos as I could manage at the time; even using a pencil to shade-color his skin to make it darker. The kid was idly sitting on another boy with dark hair and glasses who was staked out on the ground. The boy on top was smiling in a cruel sort of way, gleefully slapping his prisoner in the face and describing how he was going to keep him captive, sit on him, and torment him forever.
In other words, just a typical scene for my comic bookâ€¦ other than the new character Iâ€™d added to it. The fact that the Carlos look-alike was the dominant one rather than my own avatar shows where my head was at the time. Iâ€™d moved from annoyance to wishing that we could be TUG-mates!
When I finished the drawing, I went downstairs to get a drink of juice and something to eat. Before I returned upstairs to make another drawing, George abruptly rode into my driveway on his bike. I was just starting upstairs and wasnâ€™t facing any windows at the time, so I hadnâ€™t seen him arrive. Blackie did see George, however, and started to fuss; he was always eager to let me know that friends were coming.
â€œBark! Bark!â€ Companyâ€™s here! I turned to look, and saw George climbing off his bike. I forgot about what I had been doing as George came to the door and I let him in.
Blackie rushed outside and ran around to the corner of the house, still barking. This puzzled me at the time, but he quickly ceased his noise and George was starting to talk to me. I didnâ€™t pay much attention, though, because I noticed that Blackie didnâ€™t come back into sight of the front door, which was unusual. Normally he loved to be around my friends because they petted him.
â€œI want to apologize for what happened,â€ George said to me as I was still looking outside and vaguely wondering where Blackie had gone and what else heâ€™d been barking at. George seemed to be determined to divert my attention, though I didnâ€™t notice this at the time. â€œWant me to tie you up here and now?â€ he asked me suddenly.
He had my full, undivided attention right then. I forgot all about Blackie. I also forgot about Carlos and drawing a comic-book story about him.
So the two of us went up to my room, where I dug some old rope out of one of my secret stashes while George took off his shirt. I then took off my own shirt, lay down on my bed, and remained there passively while he carefully tied me up with the ease, efficiency, and speed that comes from considerable practice.
Iâ€™d laid on my back and put my arms and legs out in a spread eagle, which was usually his (and my) favorite way of tying me, but this time he wanted me to roll over onto my belly so that he could tie my wrists behind my back. I shrugged my shoulders without comment and rolled over.
â€œSo, who was the angry kid?â€ I asked George while he straddled my upper back and began to tie my crossed wrists together.
â€œHeâ€™s Carlos Mendoza,â€ George replied as he tugged on the rope to tighten a knot. â€œHe and his family are from Puerto Rico. They just moved into town this summer after living in Chicago a couple of years and over in Arecibo before that.â€
I knew about Arecibo because that was (and still is) the site of the largest radio telescope in the world. Being an astronomy nerd, I thought about how Iâ€™d like to talk to Carlos about thatâ€¦ until I remembered he probably hated my guts. Then something else occurred to me.
â€œHowâ€™d you happen to meet him?â€ I asked with a growing sense of unease.
â€œHadnâ€™t you heard? His family moved into the old McClellan farm late last month,â€ George told me with a grin as he wrapped several loops of ropes around me to trap my arms to my sides. â€œHeâ€™s visited several times already, although we werenâ€™t expecting him to come over today. He showed up just a minute or two before you did.â€
Iâ€™d been afraid of that. The McClellan farm was further up the same road, about another half-mile beyond Georgeâ€™s house; a quarter-mile beyond Tomâ€™s house and on the other side of and just past Freddieâ€™s house. It had been vacant since before Mom and I had moved to our new house, but Iâ€™d heard that a new family had moved in there. I somehow hadnâ€™t known that there was a boy near my age living there as well.
Complications such as breaking up with Julia and the evolving situation with Bob had apparently distracted me to the point where I was oblivious to something that should have been obvious. For example, the new familyâ€™s car (and the moving vans theyâ€™d used) would have had to pass my house to get to theirs, as it was a dead-end road. In fact, the old McClellan farm was the very last house on the road; beyond it there was nothing but a deep, rugged ravine that had been carved by a small but turbulent river.
Of course, I didnâ€™t notice every car that went by. It was a quiet road, but it was also at the other end of a 300-foot-long driveway filled with trees. It wasnâ€™t hard for people to come and go along it without my noticing unless I was outdoors. This would, in fact, be demonstrated to me within another few minutes. However, I had a different thought on my mind at the moment.
That hot-tempered kid was going to be a new neighbor!
I certainly hadnâ€™t made a great first impression on him! I hadnâ€™t been struck by his personality, either; but Iâ€™d certainly been struck by his fists!
â€œOh great!â€ I moaned unhappily. â€œAt least tell me he doesnâ€™t still hate me!â€
â€œOh, he doesnâ€™t!â€ George said cheerfully as he finished tying my feet (with an unusual amount of slack between my ankles; I was shortly to find out that this was so I could hobble). He helped me roll over onto my back again and then straddled my chest. He then began to give me some pretend punches to the face with a mischievous grin. â€œHeâ€™s got other things to worry about by this time,â€ he added with a mysterious wink.
Before I could ask him what he meant by this, something suddenly caught his eye. I looked over in the direction he was looking at, and couldnâ€™t help but gasp in dismay. Crap! Iâ€™d been drawing that comic book, and hadnâ€™t bothered to put it away out of sight when I went downstairs because no one else was around. Iâ€™d forgotten all about it when George arrived, and the blasted thing was still in plain sight on top of my deskâ€¦ although in our tie-up activity it had gone unnoticed until this moment.
Having George see one of my comic books wouldnâ€™t have been terribly embarrassing, as George had read some of them before (including a few of the more explicit ones). But theyâ€™d just depicted fictional characters that bore no resemblance to me or any of the others in my social circle. This time, it was perfectly clear who was doing what to whom in the drawing.
George smiled, got up, walked over to my desk, picked up the drawing, seated himself comfortably atop me again, and looked at the drawing of Carlos and me with a sardonic smile I found utterly embarrassing under the circumstances. My only visible reaction, however, was to sigh in mortification as my intensely masochistic inner self was revealed again in a different way than usual. I awaited whatever snide comment George was certain to make once heâ€™d enjoyed the silence long enough.
â€œBet youâ€™d have liked what he was doing to you if he hadnâ€™t been belting you so hard for the wrong reasons, huh?â€ he asked me with an unusually annoying laugh as he set the drawing back down on my desk.
I ignored that (even though we both knew he was perfectly correct) and â€“ wanting to change the subject â€“ instead asked, â€œSo did you straighten out the misunderstanding? Iâ€™d hate to have bad blood between me and anyone else living on this road that Iâ€™m likely to see a lotâ€¦ especially on the school bus.â€
â€œOh sure,â€ George replied almost dismissively as he began squeezing my face tightly between his thighs, hand-gagging me, and pinching my nose shut. â€œI explained that spicâ€™nâ€™span meant something entirely different from what he thought. He told me that where heâ€˜s from, spic-and-span also means a mixed Puerto Rican and black couple. Didnâ€™t know *that*, did you?â€
I couldnâ€™t talk too well while he was hand-gagging and playfully pretending to smother me, but he understood my negative reply well enough.
â€œNeither did I,â€ George admitted with a grin as he eased off his hand gag and let me breathe freely again. â€œSo he not only thought that you were insulting both of us, but I think he thought you were implying that he and I wereâ€¦ ummâ€¦ queer with each other!â€
â€œQueer" was what they called it at the time. The term â€œgayâ€ wasnâ€™t in common use in that part of the country yet.
I was somewhat horrified. Despite things weâ€™d done together, George and I didnâ€™t think of ourselves as â€œqueersâ€. The idea that someone else thought I had accused them of being one was unsettling. No wonder Carlos had gotten so mad that he had started to beat me up despite my greater size!
George correctly read the expression on my face (and probably was as oblivious to the irony of it as I was at the time) and hastened to reassure me. â€œI told him that youâ€™d never have meant something like that,â€ he told me. â€œAnd you treat Morgan and me just like you treat anyone else. Hell, you even dated our sister for two years.â€
I wished he hadnâ€™t brought *that* up; the pain of breaking up was still fresh at the time. But George apparently misread my expression this time as continued concern about how Carlos felt and kept on talking.
â€œHe had a rough time in Chicago, the last city his family lived in. He got into lots of fights with white kids who liked to pick on him. So he learned how to box in self-defense. It also explains hisâ€¦ ummâ€¦ sunny disposition. So I hope you can make allowances and forgive him. He wants to apologize.â€
â€œHe does? Cool,â€ I replied sincerely; I always tried to make friends with people whenever possible, and hated it when someone disliked me â€“ especially over a misunderstanding (a distressingly common occurrence, it seemed to me). I even began wondering if there was some way to get him interested in playing TUGs with me sometimeâ€¦ but then decided that it would be risky to even mention such a thing to someone Iâ€™d probably see a lot in school and elsewhere from then on, seeing as he lived further down a dead-end road from me and would be difficult to avoid.
â€œHeâ€™s waiting outside if youâ€™d like to talk to him,â€ George added after a pause as he put his hands on his hips and smiled down as he continued straddling my chest.
â€œWhat?!?â€ I yelled. â€œWhyâ€™d you leave him out there? Whyâ€™d you tie me up if you knew he was outside waiting?â€
It didnâ€™t occur to me to wonder at the time why I hadnâ€™t seen Carlos coming or waiting outside when I let George into the house.
â€œOh, we just wanted to make sure your second meeting was nicer than your first,â€ George told me mysteriously. â€œAnd Iâ€™d promised you a tie-up youâ€™d never forget, didnâ€™t I? I bet you wonâ€™t forget this one in a hurry.â€
â€œI suppose,â€ I replied as George climbed off of me and began to help me sit up; presumably to untie me in preparation for seeing Carlos. I was more disappointed than anything else; this TUG was apparently going to be a brief one and rather tame. Why did George think it was very special?
But George didnâ€™t untie me. Instead he began making me waddle along toward the stairs with my feet still tied togetherâ€¦ not too tightly but loosely enough so I could scrabble forward a couple of inches at a time. â€œHuh? HEY! Where are we going? I canâ€™t meet Carlos tied up like this!â€ I protested as George supported me and helped me along with a solid grip on my arm.
â€œDonâ€™t worry! Carlos wonâ€™t mind!â€ George said with a small laugh as he pulled me along more insistently. â€œNow come on! Donâ€™t make me get out the towel whip!â€
We reached the head of the stairs and stopped. There was no way I could walk down the stairs with my feet tied together. I was too big and heavy for even a muscular kid like George to safely carry down the stairs, though J.J. could probably have done it if heâ€™d been there.
George made no attempt to do such a thing, but instead helped me to sit down (I needed the help with my hands tied behind my back) at the head of the stairs with my feet dangling out over the stairway. I then wiggled down the stairs one at a time by crabbing forward and landing on my butt upon the next stair down. After some rather bumpy progress I reached the bottom of the stairs and stood up (I needed no assistance from George for that). George then escorted me out the front door and took me into the front yard.
There was no one else out there. Not even Blackie.
But before I could ask George what was going on, he continued leading me along to our right to the corner of the house around which I suddenly remembered Blackie had gone to chase after something. We turned the corner and came to the fence that separated our front yard from the back yard and began to walk along beside it.
At the point where the lawn turned to uncut field, I saw a turned-over wheelbarrow Iâ€™d never seen before lying in our path. â€œI guess Morgan couldnâ€™t take it past this point,â€ George observed aloud. He wouldnâ€™t tell me why the wheelbarrow was there or what Morgan had carried in it, however. We simply continued past it; George walking and me alternately bunny-hopping and crabbing forward (which got tiring after a while!).
The previous owner of the house had (for what reason no one knew) built the fence with no gate between the front yard and the back; leaving the only way to the backyard in through the house or through a gate on the far side. My mother had never gotten a gate installed in the fence so that the backyard would be more easily accessible from the front yard. Yet I could now distinctly hear Morgan in there somewhere, and I could hear Blackie running about in there too.
In fact, as soon as George and I started to walk along the fence toward the gate on the far side, Blackie starting barking and ran out the same gate to meet George and me halfway. Heâ€™d obviously heard or smelled us coming and wanted to escort us.
George casually explained that Morgan and Carlos had gone this way previously (hidden behind some trees that ran along our property between our lawn and an adjacent field) where I (or even Blackie) could not see them when George came the front way. Blackie had apparently heard or smelled the others the moment Iâ€™d let George in, however, which was why heâ€™d gone running off, barking. Of course, he was quiet afterward because he recognized Morgan and realized he wasnâ€™t an intruder to be barked at further.
This was also why George had gone to such pains to give me a diversion, as heâ€™d wanted to prepare me for Carlosâ€™ arrival first. He didnâ€™t offer any further explanation, though; he just said that things would be clear when we reached the backyard through the back gate of the fence (the simple latch of which Morgan had pried open with a small stick poked through the slats).
Blackie started prancing happily around the two of us. He wasnâ€™t perturbed that I was tied up, as this was a sight heâ€™d gotten used to a long time before. He just playfully ran about as George continued to lead me along the fence without a further word of explanation about what we were doing or why. Knowing it was pointless to ask about something Iâ€™d find out in a few moments anyway, I kept my peace as if I was gagged and continued scrabbling (and occasionally bunny-hopping) along as quickly as I could go. Because it was a long fence, it took us about five minutes.
â€œWhy the Hell didnâ€™t you just take me through the house and out the kitchen door?â€ I asked at one point. â€œWeâ€™d have reached the backyard a lot quicker that way.â€
â€œBecause this way is more fun,â€ George replied smoothly, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did. I wasnâ€™t really minding this all that much, I suddenly realized.
Finally we reached the back gate and I looked into the back yard. The first thing I noticed was Morgan â€“ dressed in an old red T-shirt with its arms torn off and a set of gym shorts, tube socks, and Converse sneakers â€“ seated at the picnic table casually petting Blackie (whoâ€™d gone on in several seconds ahead of us).
But this was a mere fraction of a second before I noticed that Carlos was also thereâ€¦ lying perfectly still on top of the picnic table.
He seemed as angry as before but didnâ€™t say a word. This was because the entire lower half of his face was swathed with layers of duct tape. Something rather large (a rubber ball, I soon learned) was stuffed inside his mouth to keep him quiet; making his cheeks puff way out like a chipmunkâ€™s. It looked quite effective and certainly explained why I hadnâ€™t heard his voice the entire time George and I had been rounding the fence surrounding the backyard (whereas I heard Morgan talking to Blackie before my dog ran out to greet us).
Carlos didnâ€™t move from the picnic table top, either. This was because his arms, torso, and much of his legs were covered in more duct tape, almost completely mummifying him. He wasnâ€™t attached to the table itself, but the only way he could get off the table would have been to roll off, and â€“ as he had no means to catch himself while falling â€“ he was understandably not too keen to try that.
Carlos glanced over at me with anger; apparently believing I had somehow set up this entire episode. But then, seeing that I was also tied up (if far less thoroughly than he was), his expression went from wrathful to doubtful. He still didnâ€™t look too friendly, though, when George walked me up to the picnic table and made me lay down on the seat opposite from the one Morgan sat on.
â€œWhat the f**k is going on?â€ I asked somewhat querulously. â€œI thought you said Carlos wanted to apologize.â€
Carlos suddenly made a noise that sounded vaguely like â€œWHAT?!?â€ I got the distinct (and, as it turned out, correct) impression that this intended apology was news to him.
â€œI lied,â€ George replied simply. â€œNow you lieâ€¦ on the bench.â€ George added after a short pause, smiling at his (rather weak, I thought) joke.
With a small sigh of resignation, I sat down on the bench and (with some assistance from George and Morgan) lay down on my back on top of the bench. In the meantime, Carlos made a few more vague noises to get someoneâ€™s attention; but he was ignored by everyone except Blackie, who sat up on the bench vacated by Morgan and looked at him curiously. I quickly forgot about Carlos myself when Morgan and George proceeded to tape me to the bench to keep me from falling off of it. With Carlos still lying on top of the picnic table, we were out of sight of each other anyway.
Once the brothers had finished taping me down (taking about ten minutes and using a generous amount of tape in the process), they grabbed a struggling Carlos by his shoulders and feet, lifted him off the table top, and laid him down on the bench Morgan and the Blackie had been sitting in. I then watched as they taped Carlos down to the other bench as thoroughly as they had taped me to mine.
Carlos was struggling, making frantic but incomprehensible noises, and looking at me, our captors, and all around like he thought the entire world had gone insane. He didnâ€™t quit struggling even when it was obvious that his situation was hopeless, but continued resisting as if he thought his life depended on it. Perhaps, considering some of the bullying heâ€™d faced in Chicago (which I learned about in detail afterward), he thought he was going to be tortured in horrible ways or at least beaten to a pulp.
The actual outcome, though, was milder and one I was fully expecting. Once they finished taping him down, the benches we lay on were arranged neatly parallel to the table â€“ enabling us to see each other perfectly well. Then, as casually as if we werenâ€™t there at all, Morgan seated himself on his bench (and Carlosâ€™s stomach) while George walked over and sat on mine â€“ both of them sitting with their legs to either side of us and their fronts facing our heads.
â€œYouâ€™re probably wondering why weâ€™re having this little meeting,â€ George said, speaking a bit loudly to both Carlos and myself. â€œIâ€™ll explain. What weâ€™ve got here is failure to communicate!â€ George was trying to sound like the prison warden played by Strother Martin when he delivered this line in â€œCool Hand Lukeâ€ and succeeded to some extent.
â€œCarlos has had a rough time since moving from Puerto Rico,â€ George continued in a quieter voice. â€œDumb white kids hassled him a lotâ€¦ called him namesâ€¦ tried picking fightsâ€¦ all that shit. He got called â€˜spicâ€™ and â€˜dagoâ€™ more often than he got called by his real name until he moved here. So naturally heâ€™s a little sensitive about that.â€
George then shifted his attention to Carlos. â€œJason isnâ€™t like those punks. Heâ€™s one of the best friends my brother, sister, and I have ever had. He doesnâ€™t use slurs. He doesnâ€™t call names. He makes mistakes, and sometimes he says the wrong things, but heâ€™s never done so out of spite. Sometimes he doesn't know any betterâ€¦ but he tries. Unlike those punks in Chicago, Jason likes everybody. Heâ€™ll give you the shirt off his back if only you treat him nicely.â€
I was a little irritated about part of this frank appraisal, but was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
â€œWe explained this to Carlos,â€ George continued. â€œBut Carlos didnâ€™t want to listen. He swore in Spanish and continued to rant, and didnâ€™t want to hear our side of it. So Morgan and I decided that a little mediation was called for. So, after calming Carlos down a bitâ€¦ with a little struggle and a lot of duct tapeâ€¦ we decided to bring him over for a little pow-wow. Now Carlos, why donâ€™t you and Jason here just discuss this calmly like two reasonable guys, and weâ€™ll just sit here and let you two talk it out.â€
At this point, Morgan carefully tore off the duct tape that covered Carlosâ€™ face and â€“ with a noise of distaste â€“ pulled the slimy rubber ball out of his mouth. He casually tossed it away â€“ where Blackie, evidently not minding the drool, immediately ran after it to fetch it and bring it back.
Morgan and George didnâ€™t get off of us, though. They simply swung their legs under the table, leaned forward to rest their arms on the top of it, and looked at each other (or glanced down at us) while they continued to sit on us. In fact, Morgan amused himself by playing fetch with my dog while continuing on sit on Carlosâ€™ stomach. George, on the other hand, began to beat (gently) on my chest like it was a drum.
I didnâ€™t mind these developments in the least, and so was in no real hurry for negotiations between Carlos and me to come to a conclusion. Although lying on my back on a hard bench with my wrists tied behind me and someone Georgeâ€™s size *was* a tad uncomfortable, I was enjoying the situation â€“ certainly more so than Carlos was.
Carlos seemed unsure at this point. Although he sometimes looked up at Morgan resentfully because Morgan was still sitting on him, he didnâ€™t protest this treatment; I think it was because he realized that I wasnâ€™t going to do so.
When Carlos looked over at me, it was with less anger than before, more puzzlement, and considerably more thoughtfulness. I simply looked back at him (when I wasnâ€™t looking up in admiration at Georgeâ€™s athletic body atop me instead) and waited for him to speak first. I probably appeared both resigned and blissful; Iâ€™m not sure what Carlos made of that.
When things seemed to stall out, Morgan and George casually began to torture us. George gently bounced on my stomach, while Morgan turned to face Carlos again and began flicking his nose and ears. â€œWeâ€™re just going to keep this up until you two declare a truce,â€ Morgan warned us.
Rather, he warned *Carlos*. He knew quite well that *I* didnâ€™t see this as an inconvenience!
â€œIs it true?â€ Carlos finally asked me hesitantly (and sounding somewhat stressed with Morganâ€™s body weight squishing his belly).
I simply cast a questioning look back until he clarified things. â€œIs it true that you were referring to cleaning when you called us â€˜spic-n-spanâ€™?â€ he asked.
â€œI only meant George,â€ I explained slowly and calmly. I wanted to clear up the misunderstanding without creating a new one. â€œWeâ€™d been cleaning his house earlier. â€˜Spicâ€™nâ€™Spanâ€™ is the name of a detergent. His Mom was happy when we finished, and used those words to describe how satisfied she was. So I thought Iâ€™d be funny and call him â€˜Mister Spicâ€™nâ€™Spanâ€™ when I rode up. I didnâ€™t know the words had any other meaning. Honest. I didnâ€™t mean it as a slur. Iâ€™ve never used a slur in my life!â€
Well, not since I was old enough to understand what a slur *was*; I thought to myself. I also didnâ€™t go into the fact that this wasnâ€™t the brand-name of the cleaner weâ€™d actually used; why confuse things further? I think the actual detergent we used was Mister Clean â€“ an appropriate enough name to call George that Iâ€™d wished Iâ€™d used instead. Hell, by then he was almost as muscular as the bald guy on the bottle!
â€œIâ€™m sorry for the misunderstanding.â€ I concluded sincerely.
Carlos looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments; apparently trying to judge whether I was being truthful or not. Evidently he decided I was... or perhaps he was simply tired of being duct taped while Morgan continued to sit on his belly and flick his nose. In any case, he looked at me with evident contrition and said, â€œIâ€™m sorry I misunderstood and hit you. Iâ€¦â€ Carlos hesitated then, as if the next part was about as pleasant as chewing on broken glass.
â€œI was wrong!â€ he finally managed to say. â€œI hope youâ€™ll forgive me.â€
Tempted as I was to draw this out so that Morgan and George would continue to sit on us, I wanted to clear things up with Carlos without risking making things worse. So I quickly accepted his apology. â€œItâ€™s okay. I can see where you were coming from. Iâ€™d like to be friends.â€ I told him honestly.
â€œIâ€™d shake hands, but Iâ€™m a little tied up at the moment,â€ I couldnâ€™t resist adding.
Everyone else groaned at that, and George â€œpunishedâ€ me with a few extra-hard bounces to my stomach. Then Blackie got into the act by walking over and licking my face. I spluttered and yelled, but was of course unable to fend him off. That made everyone else laugh though, and any remaining tension disappeared immediately.
However, the others enjoyed a few more moments of laughing at my discomfort as Blackie continued to lick my face. Morgan finally took mercy on me and diverted Blackie by tossing the rubber ball again. Blackie quit his face licking and eagerly ran after the ball. George then untied me while Blackie was busily playing fetch with Morgan.
At this point I learned that Carlos had been deceived into coming here pretty much as I had been. When sweet reason failed to impress him, George and Morgan had wrestled him down to the ground, tied him up, and carted him most of the way to my house in the wheelbarrow Iâ€™d seen before. However, heâ€™d had to scrabble and bunny-hop to the back gate about as far as Iâ€™d had to.
Theyâ€™d just rounded the corner of the house when Blackie had alerted me that George was coming, and then had chased after the other two. But since Blackie knew Morgan, he quieted down and let the boy pet him and proceed on his way with Carlos as his prisoner unhindered.
Considering how outraged Carlos had been when heâ€™d merely thought Iâ€™d called him a name, I was surprised that he wasnâ€™t even angrier at Morgan and George for what these two had put him through. But rather than acting upset, he seemed to take the entire thing as a lark â€“ just as the rest of us had done â€“ rather than as an incident of bullying similar to what heâ€™d been subjected to before.
This puzzled me, but for the time being I was too glad that things were turning out O.K. to want to question it. I simply assumed it was because heâ€™d already gotten to know George and Morgan, had made friends with them, and therefore was more willing to go along with whatever they were doing than he might have otherwise been.
There was more to it than that, but I didnâ€™t find this out until later.
Once Carlos and I were both untied and the used duct tape was disposed of so that my mother wouldnâ€™t see it, the four of us (with Blackie coming along this time) went back to George and Morganâ€™s house (George taking the now-empty wheelbarrow back with him).
We played Hoops for a while; Morgan and Carlos versus George and I. George and I won, but that was more because of George than because of me. We also play-boxed a bit; Carlos was very good at boxing and gave me a few pointers (but without any more bruises). By the time I went home again, he and I had become fast friends.
There were no more TUGs that day, but George was right; it was a TUG experience Iâ€™d never forget. However, I was disappointed by the thought that Iâ€™d probably never get to play TUGs with Carlos again â€“ especially with him as a captor rather than a fellow captive.
After all, heâ€™d been figuratively â€“ if not exactly literally â€“ roped into the TUG George and Morgan played with us. I believed heâ€™d probably never want to experience another one.
Once again, I was completely wrong â€“ and rarely was I gladder of it.
TBC in Part 2
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Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by sarumansauron » Thu Sep 15, 2011 4:29 pm

Great adventure! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Veracity » Fri Sep 16, 2011 9:52 pm

Fun installment.

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by TUfriend » Sun Sep 18, 2011 12:46 pm

Thank you so much for the pictures, they explain the unclear descriptions in your stories.
Heil Toddman, the Wonderful Wizard of Odd
I'm a nerd with a dangerous side.
See my most recent TRUE story, "SPL Initiation", here.
Read my most recent FICTIONAL story, "The Birth of a Whovian", here

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Sep 18, 2011 6:10 pm

> TUfriend wrote:Thank you so much for the pictures, they explain the unclear descriptions in your stories.

UNCLEAR?!?
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by TUfriend » Sun Sep 18, 2011 6:30 pm

> Jason Toddman wrote:Another rope was tied around my wrists and the free end was tossed over a branch over my head I hadnâ€™t noticed before. The rope looped over the branch and the free end fell â€“ to be deftly caught by the Scout who had tossed it. He then pulled on the rope, bringing my wrists and arms up and back and forcing me to kneel erect and then bend over forward to compensate. Within seconds I was bending over forward so much that I was face downward with my nose mere inches above the ground and my stomach crushed against my lap.
> The Boy Scout tugged further, apparently wanting my nose to touch dirt, but I couldnâ€™t bend that far unassisted. So he kindly provided that assistance by kicking off one shoe and planting a sock-covered foot onto the back of my neck. This forced me down a few more inches, and the resulting slack was immediately taken up. This wasnâ€™t enough for my captor, however, as there were still at least a couple of inches of space between my face and the ground. This was demonstrated when my glasses fell off my face with a small clatter as my face was pressed downward even further.
> I grunted in some dismay through my gag, as I feared damage to my glasses more than I feared injury to myself (short, perhaps, of a broken arm). However, another Scout knelt down and pulled my glasses away, assuring me that theyâ€™d be kept safe.
> I didnâ€™t like not being able to see what was around me, but it didnâ€™t seem to matter much under the circumstances. My nose was now practically touching the bedroll I knelt on and I was unable to turn my head more than a few degrees to either side, so I couldnâ€™t see anything but the bedroll, the ground immediately around my head, and a (blurry) set of shoe-covered feet anyway.
> I tried to express disapproval of this turn of events, but I was gagged quite effectively and no one noticed my attempts at communication. They didnâ€™t seem to care much about what I thought in any case.
> With my face pressed against the bedroll, the newly-created slack â€“ slight though it was â€“ was taken up immediately. I could hear the sounds of rope being tied off above my head, while the Scoutâ€™s foot continued to press down relentlessly though not painfully on the back of my neck. Then the foot was taken off as my captor stepped away and invited me to try standing up.
> I obeyed. However, try as I might, I couldnâ€™t budge an inch up, down, or to either side; I was trapped in a kneeling strappado (if thereâ€™s another term for this position, I donâ€™t know what it is) and going nowhere. It didnâ€™t hurt much, but I was sure that my shoulders and arms would start hurting plenty if I was forced to remain in this position for very long.

I was having trouble visualizing how your nose could be to the ground, but in the air with your elbows and wrists tied behind your back. Not your writing is unclear, I didn't understand.
Heil Toddman, the Wonderful Wizard of Odd
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### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sat Apr 07, 2012 8:46 am

For some reason I don't understand the last story I posted here last autumn has disappeared; I don't know when this happened but I'm replacing it here now. Further stories in this series that I plan to write soon will be posted in a new thread.
TRANSITIONS (Part 2)
A couple of weeks after I met Carlos, and a week before school vacation ended for the summer, there was a second TUG event involving him that was even more interesting than the first. As before, this one began with an unexpected visit by George while I was alone in the house and, once again, drawing my TUG comic books.
It was only a little past ten in the morning. I was drawing another picture and absorbed in the details; this one was of a naked boy I named Jose (resembling Carlos, purely coincidentally, as closely as I could manage) kneeling on another boy named Jamison (who wore glasses and just by coincidence looked a bit like me) and preparing to… umm… give “Jamison” a shower of sorts. I was just starting to draw the liquid when Blackie abruptly ran down the stairs and started barking vigorously at the front door.
My hearing was almost as keen as Blackie’s, and I immediately heard the sounds of a bicycle riding into the driveway and was already peering through my open window. Glancing down, I saw George riding in. Putting away the comic book I was drawing, I hurried downstairs to greet him at the door.
I was hoping that George wanted to play a TUG. I hadn’t had one since the incident with Carlos and I was more than ready for another.
This had turned out to be a less interesting summer than the previous one; most importantly, there had been far fewer visitors than I’d become accustomed to. In fact, at this point, some of my friends had either slipped out of my life entirely or were around only occasionally.
Walter and Ichiro remained friendly enough, but they were much too busy to socialize with a younger boy like me these days. They were focused on planning for college and they’d also taken summer jobs working at farms. There was no time for TUGs.
Randy was occupied most days at a summer job in a grocery store and he spent his nights on dates with girlfriends (he had many of them in his high school years, though none seemed to last for long) or staying home with his mother and brother.
I tried inviting Randy, Walter, Ichiro, and others to sleepovers, and I tried to make it clear that I wouldn’t refuse an invitation of this type myself. However, I was told bluntly more than once that “sleepovers are for kids”. Other approaches failed as well.
My cousins and friends didn’t like me less than before, but they were clearly developing new interests that didn’t involve my spending much time with them anymore.
It wasn’t all one thing or another. For example, David and his brothers Michael and Brian were away for most of August with their parents on vacation in Hawaii; there wasn’t much to be done about that.
And Ron and *his* brothers Kevin and Corey were busy helping with the kennel that their parents ran. The business had recently expanded and all three boys needed to contribute time on a regular basis.
Gary had graduated from high school, like Walter, and had enlisted in the Navy in July. I only saw him occasionally after that, when he was home on leave. His younger brother Gordon was around but usually hung out with kids closer to his age; Josh and Craig, in particular. Sometimes the kids’ parents asked me to come over and keep an eye on them; but we rarely got around to playing TUGs on these occasions. Even when TUGs entered the picture, they were brief and not especially memorable.
Al was away at a summer camp somewhere. The only time I saw him all summer was on the expedition with the Boy Scouts.
Sho was spending most of his social time exclusively with J.J. Sho and I were still friends but we no longer played TUGs with each other. His younger brother Jirou was spending time with some boys his age who I didn’t know; I’m not sure if TUGs were included in their activities or not. As I now lived about three miles from Sho and Jirou (instead of one like before), visiting them was more complicated than it used to be anyway.
Even George and Morgan didn’t come by very often. I felt too awkward about my break-up with their older sister Julia to visit them myself much at first. I missed them and considered visiting them several times, but I couldn’t seem to work up the nerve. I thought about visiting Carlos instead to firm up our bonds (so to speak) of friendship, but since I’d have needed to go by Julia’s house, I put it off.
I didn’t visit Tom – or Fred, who spent much of his time with Tom – for the same reason. The only time I saw those two in August was when they happened to be riding by with their parents in a car while I was outside and they gave me a quick wave and a shouted hello as they went past.
I didn’t even have Stevie, who had started to seem closer. Stevie didn’t come by very often and I was too much older than he was to visit him instead. To complicate things, Stevie and Matt were now old enough to be trusted alone in the house when Stevie’s mother was out, so there was no need for me to visit for the purpose of keeping an eye on them. I’d probably have been welcome at their house regardless, but it simply didn’t happen; I didn’t see either of them much during this period.
Julia was probably a bigger factor than I’ve said. I think one reason I didn’t make more of an effort to visit my friends, or to encourage them to visit me, was that the breakup had hit me harder than I realized at the time.
I *wanted* to see people, but I was less sociable for a while. This may be part of the reason no one came to see me. Either way, it was the driest social spell I’d had since I’d moved to the area and was the start of a period where I’d spend less time with my friends than I used to – and much less time playing TUGs too, unfortunately.
So when I saw George outside, I greeted him like I’d been marooned on a desert island by myself for half my life and he’d come with a boat to take me back to civilization. Blackie greeted him even more exuberantly, but then Blackie greeted everyone he knew that way – perhaps in the hopes of getting petted, as he usually was.
“Long time no see,” George told me as I escorted him back into the house and, as it was a hot day already, offered him something cold to drink.
“How come you never come by anymore?” he asked me as I poured him some of an ice tea and lemonade mix Mom had made for me.
I thought the answer was obvious, but I replied simply and honestly. “I’d feel awkward around Julia,” I said, perhaps more mournfully than I intended.
“Yeah, I figured,” George told me as he drank his juice. “But she’s gone to Grandma’s all day today. So how about coming back to the house with me? Morgan’s home, and he and I can tie you up and make you feel better! How about it?”
“Okay!” I said at once. When it came to TUGs, I didn’t need much persuasion. “I’ll go get my bike…”
“Wait,” George said suddenly. “Before we go, can we take some of those comic books you draw with us? Morgan hasn’t seen most of them yet, and if we have those to look at, maybe he’ll try some new stuff.”
I quirked an eyebrow at George. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked him. “You know the reason I haven’t let Morgan see most of my stuff. It’s… X-rated!” I finished lamely. After all, Morgan was older by then than *I* had been when I’d first started to draw the things! “Do you think he’d want to start doing *that* kind of stuff now? You told me that he’s never showed much interest in it before.”
“He is now,” George told me. “Hell, he’s already older than *I* was when I started doing that sort of thing. He’s certainly old enough to know about it, and I think he already knows that *I’ve* been doing it with you. So let’s let him see it – just in your drawings. Then if he wants to talk about it he can.”
I wasn’t sure about George’s logic, but I didn’t argue. The idea of playing the same kind of games with Morgan that I’d played with George was an appealing one. Morgan was 14 now and every bit as athletically fit and good-looking as his brother had been at that age. The idea of having him and his brother playing *those* kinds of games together with me stole away all my good sense, and I dug some of my newer (and better) self-drawn comic books – including the one I’d been drawing a few minutes before – out of their hiding place and packed them in a knapsack to take along.
Despite having cousins like Walter and Randy, I was still amazingly gullible in those days.
George and I rode our bikes back to his house in companionable silence, followed by my dog Blackie. Then, about the time we reached George’s house, it occurred to me to ask him, “So how is Carlos doing these days?”
“Pretty good,” George relied casually as we put out bikes into his family garage. “He’s come by a few times. We’ve played some hoops together. He’s asked about you, too.”
“Really?” I asked, pleased and uncertain at the same time.
“Sure,” replied George. “He’s really sorry about the misunderstanding and wants to get to know you better.”
“Yeah? I hope to get to know him better too,” I replied with a grin.
“I’m sure you will,” George told me in a tone and with a smile that together should have set alarm bells ringing in my head as we went into the house and proceeded to his room. We left Blackie outside, contentedly chewing on a bone we’d brought for him.
Morgan, dressed in nothing more than gym shorts, came out into the hallway from his room to meet us as we approached, carefully shutting the door to his room behind him as he did. I thought I heard a muffled sound coming from his room at the time, but they were both talking to me with evident excitement and they hurried me into George’s room before I could think. Then they had me take off my own shirt, shoes, and socks as George dug a set of handcuffs and leg manacles out of the chest (the one I’d found myself locked inside in earlier days) to place on me.
I thought George might chain me to his bed in a spread-eagle to immobilize me, but instead he cuffed my hands in front of me while Morgan clapped the leg irons on my feet without tethering me to anything. This was unusual but not unheard of; after all, I’d be hard put to move around with the two of them sitting on top of me anyway… although I remember thinking that cuffing my hands in back of me rather than in front would have been much more effective.
But they didn’t lay me down on the bed. Instead, they stuffed my mouth with a small apple, gagged me with duct tape, and blindfolded me with my own shirt. Then they had me stand up and began to walk me *away* from the bed.
“Where are we going?” I asked (or tried to ask) in some surprise. It didn’t come out very clearly, but under the circumstances, it was easy for the others to figure out what I was asking.
“We’ve got a surprise for you!” George said with a mischievous laugh. “Come with us. We’ll hold on to you.”
They led me out of George’s room and back down the hall. For a few seconds I thought they were taking me to Julia’s room. I thought (with a surge of giddiness) that maybe she was secretly at home, hiding in her room, waiting for me. Maybe we were going to do things again.
But then I was stopped in front of Morgan’s room (I could tell because of the distance; Julia’s room was much further away) and I heard the door re-open. Once again I heard muffled sounds from within, and then my two friends/captors led me inside.
What the Hell? Surely they didn’t have Julia tied up in here!?
No, they wouldn’t do that to Julia, and probably couldn’t; it would have been the other way around. But who…?
Had they tied up Tom or one of our other mutual friends without telling me first? If so, I couldn’t tell by the muffled noises who it was. As far as I knew, it could have been anybody.
Abruptly, the muffled sounds stopped. I wondered if I’d really heard them at all.
I made muffled sounds of inquiry of my own, but one of the others hand-gagged me (even though I was already gagged to some extent) and shushed me. I quieted down, which caused George to laugh quietly for reasons I didn’t understand at the time, and the two of them led me over to Morgan’s bed. The muffled noises I’d been hearing didn’t return. I attributed them to imagination and forgot about them.
I felt the side of Morgan’s bed as my shins brushed against it gently. My escort (I wasn’t sure who it was) then turned me around and had me sit down on the edge nearest me. One of the boys then grabbed my feet and swung them up onto the twin-sized bed and I felt the others’ hands pushing against my front to make me lie down.
I lay there with a thrill of anticipation as one of the brothers grasped my wrists, placed it against the head of the bed, and used some rope to tie the connecting chain to the bedframe (Morgan’s bed didn’t have a headboard or a railing to tie a guest’s limbs to). The other brother did the same with my feet. Within a minute I was tied to the bed as securely as if welded to it.
Morgan gave a whoop and climbed onto my belly, while George climbed on top of me a moment later and straddled my chest. I’d hoped they’d take the blindfold off at this point, as it was well-known that I hated not being able to see people when they were sitting on me. But no one did so, even when I started trying to make the request to so through my gag. But all I got for my trouble was a few giggles from Morgan and a few nose flicks from George.
“Are you comfortable, Jason?” George asked me kindly.
I nodded my head in the affirmative, but still tried to talk through the gag. “No talking, Jason!” George said to me sternly as he flicked my nose again. “We’ll do all the talking! Any time we ask you a question, you just nod your head for ‘yes’ and shake your head for ‘no’! Got it?” He kept flicking my nose every couple of seconds as he was saying all this.
I nodded my head without making any further attempt to speak verbally.
“Did you miss us, Jason?” Morgan asked.
I nodded my head vigorously.
“You miss getting tied up?” he asked with a giggle.
I nodded again.
“And sat on?” he asked me immediately.
I nodded even more vigorously; what kind of dopey question was *that*?
“And tortured?” Morgan continued.
Once again I nodded; not in the least bit suspicious of being asked such ridiculous questions. I simply assumed it was a prelude to our usual kind of fun.
“Want me to bounce on your gut again?” he asked me.
I nodded so eagerly I almost gave myself whiplash. Morgan giggled again, and immediately started to bounce on me. Not very hard as, with the three of us on his bed, the bedframe was already starting to make stressed-sounding creaking noises. But hard enough to be enjoyable.
“Want me to squeeze your head?” George asked me then.
I nodded even harder, as if was trying to shake my head off my shoulders. George then obligingly knelt down, clasped my face between his muscular thighs, and began to put on the pressure! Blindfolded or not, I was in a state of pure bliss! I moaned loudly in obvious pleasure, which elicited some quiet laughter from both of the others.
“Want me to tickle you?” Morgan asked me as he stopped bouncing on me and climbed off.
This time I tried to shake my head in the negative; I did *not* want to be tickled! But George’s thighs clamped down on my head so hard I couldn’t turn it! I tried to say ‘no’ verbally through my gag instead. But that made no difference, as I found out when I felt fingertips brush against the undersides of my unprotected and helplessly bound feet.
“Eeeeee! EEEEEEE!” I screamed into my gag while I convulsed like I was having an epileptic seizure. Morgan continued relentlessly anyway as I laughed hysterically into my gag and thrashed around like a madman. George had no trouble staying seated on my chest however, and clamped my head between his thighs even more tightly than ever as if it helped him to hold on. “EEEEEE! EEEEEE! HEHEHEHEHEHE! EEEEEE! EEEEE!” I continued shrieking.
After several minutes of this Morgan finally relented. He got up and I heard him walk to the far side of his room and do something inside his closet; I could even hear the distinctive sound of coat hangers hanging on the bar being brushed casually aside. I then heard what sounded like a sigh of relief and then an odd shushing sound… but George was squeezing my face hard between his thighs again and this made me cease to care about anything else for the time being.
“How was that?” George asked me as he removed my gag at long last, but leaving my blindfold in place. “Want me to do that again? Or would you rather have Morgan tickle you some more?”
“Oh God, please don’t!” I pleaded quickly as I happily sucked in some air through my mouth, but my tone of voice was obviously far from outraged. “You know how ticklish I am!”
“I should, after all this time,” George replied casually. “Wow! How many times have Morgan and I tied you up now, anyway?”
“Christ, I don’t know!” I answered semi-breathlessly; still tired from laughing and from being gagged for so long. “Over fifty times by now, easy! Maybe even a hundred.” I replied after a short pause while, at the same time, I heard Morgan return from whatever errand he was doing and sit back down on my belly.
“Ever get tired of being tied up… or being sat on?” George asked me in a tone I should have found to be suspicious. Perhaps I would have if he wasn’t squeezing my head between his thighs again like he’d offered; rubbing them together and up and down with exaggerated motions. At that point it wasn’t my head that I was thinking with!
“Of course not!” I replied with a tone of satisfaction as I felt a hard-on pitching a tent in the front of my shorts.
“Think you’d enjoy it if Carlos was doing this to you?” George asked blandly.
“Sure!” I replied without hesitation.
“Jesus Christ! He’s getting a boner!” I heard Carlos’ voice exclaim from the far side of the room… followed by gently teasing laughter!
“Jesus!” I unconsciously echoed Carlos with a much louder and much less relaxed tone of voice. WTF?! What was he doing in the room with us?! How long had he been there? Oh God… how much of that conversation had he heard?!!
“All of it, of course!” a voice told me inside my head. “You never learn, do you? This is another setup!”
With a snort of laughter, George quite squeezing my face and spread his thighs apart so he could take the blindfold off of me. I looked over in panic toward where I had heard Carlos’ voice.
He was standing inside of Morgan’s closet. Like the rest of us, he was wearing only a set of shorts. There was a loosened gag tied around his neck; he’d evidently been gagged until very recently. He was also wearing a set of handcuffs on his wrists, which kept them trapped suspended over his head against a makeshift hook that hung from the closet’s ceiling. He wasn’t dangling or even standing on tip-toe, but it was obvious he couldn’t move more than a few inches in any direction. Despite this, he seemed more fascinated by what he’d been witnessing than upset about his own captivity.
On the other hand I was getting *very* upset; Morgan and George had apparently set me up to make me admit my true feelings about being tied up… about being sat on… about Carlos... right in front of Carlos! I felt so mortified at that moment that I wanted to die. A moment later I felt like it was George and Morgan whom I wanted to die!
“How could you do this?” I whispered to them with an accusing stare.
George just winked at me and whispered “Trust me!”
Before I could pursue the matter, he got off of me, grabbed a set of keys he’d placed on a dresser, and walked over to where Carlos stood. He unlocked the handcuffs from Carlos’ wrists – leaving the cuffs themselves dangling from the hook they were connected to – and escorted him out. Then, flashing a smile at me, George walked Carlos (who glanced at me with an unreadable expression) out of the room and closed the door behind them, leaving me alone with Morgan.
Before I could say anything, Morgan climbed back onto the bed, straddled my chest, and began squeezing my head between his thighs the same way George had been doing. “Bet you’re wondering what’s going on, aren’t you?” he asked me with unexpected mildness.
I nodded my head without saying anything but I felt more than ready to comment. Or to do more than comment. What Morgan was doing was an obvious ploy to get me calmed down so I’d listen to him without squawking. Did he think it would be that easy?
He did and, of course, he was right. It worked like a charm.
“Well, it’s like this,” Morgan began with what was, I realized later, a well-rehearsed speech. “You know of course that George and I sometimes tie up and tease each other, right? Well, one time about a month ago – right after that Boy Scout trip - we’d gone out to the field behind the barn with some rope for a little fun. We tried calling you to invite you over, but you weren’t home. As usual when it was just the two of us, we tossed a coin to see who’d tie up who. I won, so I tied George up lying down between two fence posts, sat on his chest, and began playing with him like usual.”
From my point of view, Morgan had *lost* the coin-toss, but I kept my silence.
“We didn’t know that Carlos’ family had just moved into the old McClellan place. But they had, and Carlos picked that day to go exploring. There’s an old logging trail that runs past our farm and goes down to his. He was walking on it to see where it went while we were playing, and he saw us when he came close; but he’d come quietly and was hidden behind some trees. He watched me tie up George and torment him for a while before we knew he was there.”
“He told us later that he was puzzled at first. If George had been on top of me or somebody like Tom, Carlos might have figured George was a bully and maybe done something about it. But seeing that it was the older kid who was tied up, and that he wasn’t making a fuss either, Carlos didn’t know what to make of it! So he just watched us.”
“Finally though, George noticed he was there and called him over friendly-like. So did I, once I got over being surprised. Carlos seemed cautious, but I guess his curiosity got the better of him and he came right up to us. I remember Tom caught Kevin and Corey tying up their older brother Ron out in the woods near their house, and realized this was the same. So we told him it was just for fun and that we did it sometimes. Then, once he knew I wasn’t going to try doing it to *him*, we invited Carlos to help me torment George!”
“Carlos wasn’t sure at first, even though George was the one on the bottom and asked him to join in. But he said yes after a while. At first he just sat on George and watched as I teased George and slapped his face. George laughed and asked Carlos if he could slap him harder than I did. We made it a friendly contest, and that made Carlos relaxed enough that he went ahead and slapped George too. He didn’t do it hard at first but after a while he did it as hard as I did. Then he knew he could do whatever he wanted to and he got more interested and started doing other things.”
“A few days later he came by and asked us about what we’d been doing. We could tell he wanted to play a tie-up again, so… even though we had planned to go visit you that day (sorry), we decided to give him a chance. It was George who got tied up again. We’d decided seeing me get tormented by George might have bothered Carlos, since George is so much bigger than either of us. But that only made having George be the one who got tied up and tortured even more fun. And this time, we invited Carlos to come over whenever he wanted.”
“So he came again a day or two later, and this time he tied up George himself after I showed him how to do it. Then, to make things interesting, I invited him to tie *me* up too! He was really surprised by that, but he was happy. He kept us tied up out in the barn for three hours and even had us practically begging for mercy before he was done.”
“Up to then, I think he was worried that we’d want him to take a turn being tied up too. But when we didn’t even hint about it even after we let him tie the both of us up, he got curious. So a few days later when he came by, he actually *asked* us to tie him up – once we told him we wouldn’t torment him any further than he could take! So we tied him up good and tight, but we didn’t torment him like he’d done to us or we’d done to each other. Just a few nose flicks and leaving him tied up alone in the barn for a while; just to let him know he could trust us not to do more than he asked us to.”
“Next day he was back and asked us to do more. So we did. And then a few days later he came by again. That was when you showed up like we’d arranged. He’d just finished talking about maybe doing it when you showed up… which was why he was annoyed about seeing you and I guess you were annoyed too. It was funny; you were both mad for the same reason and neither of you knew it! And before we could try introducing you two and seeing if we could do it with all four of us, the fight broke out!”
“After you left and we couldn’t calm him down, well… we simply did what he asked before and tied him up again! After that, we came up with the idea of having you two meet more peacefully. It worked too, didn’t it?” he added with a grin.
“I thought George said Carlos had put up a fight,” I replied with a note of accusation.
“Well, that was just to make Carlos feel better, you know?” Morgan replied casually as he sat back onto my belly and started giving me what we called “tit twisters”. “After all, he was already embarrassed enough.”
Suddenly I remembered about what George had hinted about Morgan maybe being interested in new things, and tried to find a way to ask about it. I probably wasn‘t clear but Morgan got the idea.
“Is *that* what George said to get you here?” Morgan asked me with evident chagrin. “Aw man. I’m gonna have to have a talk with him! That really wasn’t fair to either of us!”
“It’s not true then?” I asked with obvious disappointment.
“Sorry Jason, but… no,” Morgan told me kindly. “Oh, I know you and Julia did it, and that even George and you did it, but… well, I don’t think I want to do that. The other stuff, sure. But not that. Sorry!”
He shrugged.
“It’s okay,” I replied with more grace in my voice than I felt in my heart. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you’d be uncomfortable with. But then why did George ask me to bring the comic books I drew?”
“I dunno.” Morgan told me. “I didn’t even know about them until now. The new ones, anyway. I knew about those science-fiction ones you drew when you were a kid. I think I might like to look at the new ones, though. Just to see what you draw.”
I shrugged myself (or at least as well as I could with my arms chained up above me). Who could say? Maybe it would lead somewhere.
“So what’s the deal with Carlos now?” I asked with some annoyance when I realized Morgan had almost succeeded in making me forget my original grievance.
“Well, we figured if Carlos could see how at ease *you* are about being tied up, he’d get to like you better and might be interested in playing TUGs with you himself,” Morgan replied with a grin.
“George was pretty sure you liked Carlos even after he hit you, so he set this whole thing up. We tied Carlos in the closet and gagged him, but didn’t tell him you were coming. But he managed to keep mostly quiet while he listened to us talk. We didn’t want to tell you he was there so you wouldn’t be nervous. So now he’ll be more relaxed about having you around.”
George came back into the room around this point, but Carlos was nowhere in sight. “He didn’t get put off by this, did he?” I asked with some chagrin.
“Naw, he just had to go home and… umm… catch up on some things for a while,” George told me casually. “He’ll be back after lunch. Meanwhile, it’s just you and us!”
I then endured an hour or so of pure tickle-torture. Afterward George and Morgan fed me lunch in bed in the usual style; with me still handcuffed to the bed and the two of them straddling me while they fed me sandwiches and chips and gave me some diet soda to drink. Then I faced a second hour of almost unrelenting tickle torture. By the end of it I was nearly exhausted from laughing myself hoarse! They finally stopped when I swore I was on the verge of wetting myself.
Their answer to this was to free me from the bed, re-cuff my hands in front of me, leave me hobbled, walk me to the bathroom, and give me two minutes to take care of vital business. Once I’d used up my “ammo”, I was led back to the bed where I was assured that even more relentless tickling would ensue now that the possibility of my wetting Morgan's bed had been eliminated.
Before they got well started on a third hour of tickle torturing me, though, the phone rang. George answered it, talked briefly, hung up, and announced that company was coming soon. It’d be impractical to continue our games at George’s and Morgan’s house, but they both offered to continue if we went to my house. There was no hurry, so we’d use the trail that ran through the woods past their house and mine, and no one would see us from the road or from the few houses located on the way. This meant they’d be able to keep me tied up the entire time they escorted me back home.
I’d been walked through the woods this way more than once before, and it had worked out fine, so I readily agreed.
I was let up from the bed again, re-hobbled, and re-cuffed. But this time my hands were cuffed behind me instead of in front, a collar and leash were placed on me, and I was gagged the same way as before (I think with the same apple used as stuffing). Then, once we were out of their house, I was blind-folded as well. I tried to protest the last part, but my muffled noises were simply ignored. They assured me, though, that they wouldn’t let me trip or stumble. Then they led me along as fast I could go under the circumstances. Blackie ambled along behind us, not at all bothered by the sight of me being led along on a leash like another dog.
We’d just gotten out of sight of their house and reached the trail that connected our houses (and the same one that ran to Carlos’ house) when Blackie began barking at something ahead of us and ran off. A moment later, George called out, “Here he is. He’s all yours!” I couldn’t see whoever he was talking to, but I heard someone approaching us from the direction Blackie had gone. I could also hear Blackie playfully yipping and running all around, probably trying to get whoever it was to pet him. I mmphed in alarm; what was going on?
“Don’t worry, Jason… I promise to be gentle,” Carlos told me with an evil-sounding laugh. “Say, that hobble is too good for him. Here, use this.”
“This” was a length of rope, which was used to tie my ankles firmly together once the hobbles were removed. Now I couldn’t walk at all; I could only waddle… or hop along like a bunny.
I protested even more vigorously through my gag; making me hop along this rugged trail while I was blindfolded?! Are you people *insane*?!
I couldn’t make my words very clear. However, either they listened to me (despite pretending otherwise) and got the gist of my complaint or they decided on their own that such a thing was too likely to get me hurt. In any case, Carlos removed my blindfold himself. My wrists were also re-cuffed in front of me so that I’d have better balance and could catch myself if I fell over. Carlos carried my knapsack for me. I hadn’t brought it from George and Morgan’s house, but apparently one of them had brought it.
I found out later that Carlos was the one who’d phoned before; he and George had set up this rendezvous and his phone call had been to announce he was leaving home to meet us along the trail. What sneaky bastards, I thought to myself. Just like my cousins!
George and Morgan handed the other end of my leash to Carlos, waved a cheery farewell to us both, and walked back home, leaving me to the tender mercies of Carlos.
Well, Blackie was with me, but he wasn’t much help. He simply went to and fro sniffing at everything that aroused his interest and paid little attention to us other than to stay in our general vicinity. I couldn’t have told Blackie to “sic him” or anything like that while I was gagged, and he didn’t seem to feel that Carlos was any kind of threat. From his point of view, this was simply a fun walk.
Well, I’d not so secretly wanted this. Now I had it!
“Let’s go, boy,” Carlos said, talking to me like I was a dog while tugging on my leash. “It’s time to take you home.”
Seeing no real option but to go along, I began hopping along after him.
That half-mile trip home was one of the longest half-miles I’ve ever experienced! Being forced to hop the entire way was as tiring as anything I’d done in the past. Fortunately, Carlos allowed me frequent breaks; the trip took us more than an hour, much of which was spent resting. But I was as exhausted by the end of it as if I’d run the Boston Marathon!
It was about three in the afternoon by the time we arrived, and there were about two hours to go before my mother would normally return home. However, there was more time today. She was going on a date with Bob and wouldn’t be home until well past 10:00 pm. She’d fixed some sandwiches for me to have for lunch (still uneaten as I hadn’t been home), and there were some TV dinners I could choose among for my supper; so I wasn’t going to go hungry and now, apparently, I wasn’t going to be bored either.
Carlos made me hop all the way to my front door (which thankfully was not clearly visible from the road that time of year because of intervening maple trees) before loosening the ropes binding my ankles so that I could take small steps. He then released my hands to allow me to get the house-keys out of my front pocket. But as soon as I did so, he took my keys, re-cuffed my wrists behind my back, and unlocked the door himself.
We entered the house, Blackie rushing in past us, and Carlos closed the door. Then he marched me like a prisoner up the stairs into my room, led me up to my bed, and gently pushed me down to make me lie on it. He set my keys on my nightstand and, with my knapsack still on his back, climbed onto my bed and straddled me, hands on his hips and grinning down at me. Blackie watched this, and then settled down onto his own little bed to take a nap. He was familiar enough with this routine by now to know that he wouldn’t get petted much under these circumstances.
“So, *this* is what you like, eh amigo?” he asked me with a mischievous grin. By *this* he meant my being sat on; something he hadn’t been doing to George and Morgan – or they to him – since that first time he met them.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that, but since he apparently already knew the answer and still seemed friendly, I nodded my head and made affirmative sounding noises through my gag.
“Boy, I sure had some interesting reading today,” he told me with a huge grin as he pulled my knapsack off, placed it on my chest, opened it up, and calmly took out all the self-drawn comic books I’d placed inside it. Prominently displayed on the very top of the resulting pile was the newest comic book that was devoted to “Jose” and his helpless prisoner.
My eyes bulged with alarm, I moaned miserably, and I flushed crimson with embarrassment. I suddenly realized that when Carlos had left to go home, he’d taken my knapsack full of self-made comic books with him and had spent over two hours reading them. Now he knew everything. I was mortified, and I wondered if he was going to use the knowledge he’d gained to blackmail me or make a laughing stock of me throughout the entire area.
I began to make plans to assassinate George and Morgan for betraying me like this.
Carlos leaned forward and pulled my gag off me, and helped me to spit out the apple by pulling it out of my mouth. He carefully placed the drool-covered mass onto my dresser with a patient grimace of distaste. Then he swerved his body around to sit on me sideways and began taking off his shoes and socks.
“You have some very interesting ideas,” he suddenly told me with a mischievous grin.
“I do?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yep!” he said as he dropped his discarded footwear onto the floor. Then he grasped my legs and had me fold them up (as if I was kneeling) with my feet flat on the mattress and tucked up just below my buttocks. “Keep ‘em like that!” he told me. “Don’t make me tie them in place, now. And don’t a muscle anywhere else either. Most especially don’t you dare turn your head, or I’ll wrap you in duct tape like a mummy!!”
I thought that might be fun but did as I was told and kept my legs as he’d placed them and remained as unmoving as possible. Carlos casually leaned over, plucked my glasses off my face, and set them carefully down on my nightstand. Then, with a cat-ate-the-canary smile, he grabbed one of my comic books as if planning to read it, turned until he was leaning upon my propped-up legs like they were the back of his personal couch, and lay back. He then lifted up his own legs so that his entire body weight rested on my belly for a moment, moved his bare feet until they were hovering right over my head, and then carefully planted the soles of his feet right upon my upturned face.
“Don’t turn your head now,” he reminded me as he slowly rubbed his face up and down along both sides of my face. “See? I have some ideas of my own! But now I’m gonna relax and read more of your stuff! I didn’t have time to finish some of them before! You just lay there and be quiet!”
And with that he began reading; using me as his literal La-Z-Boy. For the first time since she met Bob, I was glad that my Mom wouldn’t be coming home until late that night. And I forgot all about seeking revenge on George and Morgan – who were, after all, my best friends in the whole wide world!
Carlos leisurely read one of my comic books while gently rubbing his sweaty feet in my face. Sometimes he’d pause in his reading and move his foot so that my nose was jammed between his big toe and the one next to it – and he’d try pinching my nostrils shut with them. Otherwise he’d simply massage my face with his soles while he read, and I’d be forced to smell them. His feet didn’t smell bad despite having walked for over a mile on a humid day, however.
“What time does your Mom get home?” Carlos suddenly asked me.
“Normally around five, but tonight not until past ten,” I told him truthfully. By this point I no longer wanted to get out of this situation.
“That late?!” Carlos exclaimed. “Shoot! I think I’ll ask my Mom if I can stay over for dinner!” And with that he got off me and rushed downstairs to use the phone - without bothering to ask me if it was okay with me that he stay over a few hours longer than he’d apparently planned.
But I didn’t mind one bit!
Fortunately he was allowed to stay until ten, even though he normally had to be home before it got dark out. He kept me handcuffed in bed the entire time, feeding me one TV dinner while he had another for himself and the rest of the time resting on top of me and either reading, watching a program on my portable TV, or talking with me. I finally got to ask him about that radio telescope in Arecibo, and we spent a lot of time discussing radio astronomy (which he knew even more about than I did).
At one point he went downstairs, where I heard him using the bathroom sink. When he returned, he made me (well, sort of made me) lick his feet, which fortunately he’d just washed. This was something my other friends had rarely had me do; they usually stopped at just rubbing their feet in my face when they used their feet at all.
I feigned more reluctance than I felt, but he realized this and playfully “forced” me to do what he wanted. I finally did so, of course. Afterward, “foot worship” would become a regular part of my TUGs play when I was with Carlos; I think I spent more time doing that with Carlos alone than I did with everyone else combined; he was definitely a foot fetishist.
However, if he liked any of the more intimate ideas I portrayed in my comic books, he showed no interest in acting out any of them. He said he found them interesting, though, and wanted to see more.
Carlos released me from my bonds before he had to leave (George had given him the keys when he turned me over to him) and Blackie and I walked him home. When I walked back home on that dark, quiet road, I was happier than I’d been in a long time. I even passed Julia’s house (it was dark and quiet; everyone at home must have already been asleep) on the way back, picked up my bike where I’d left it that morning, and rode it half of the rest of the way home before it occurred to me to think of her and our breakup.
I realized even then that Carlos had helped me to heal and to move on with my life. You can’t ask more from a friend than that!
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Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by xtc » Sat Apr 07, 2012 1:11 pm

Thanks for re-posting this. Is this a new drawing? I don't remember seeing it before.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sat Apr 07, 2012 1:27 pm

> xtc wrote:Thanks for re-posting this. Is this a new drawing? I don't remember seeing it before.

No, I posted this picture and the story together last October both here and at DA. I don't know why it disappeared or when, though possibly it was soon after I posted it if it's not familiar to you.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by sarumansauron » Mon Apr 09, 2012 5:42 pm

Great story! Thanks!
I love TUGS and TICKLING Torture!!!!!

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by TUfriend » Mon Apr 09, 2012 5:45 pm

Just curious Jason, are all of your true, childhood stories sucked up and used? Your teenage stories are my favorite on the site.
Heil Toddman, the Wonderful Wizard of Odd
I'm a nerd with a dangerous side.
See my most recent TRUE story, "SPL Initiation", here.
Read my most recent FICTIONAL story, "The Birth of a Whovian", here

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Mon Apr 09, 2012 9:15 pm

> TUfriend wrote:Just curious Jason, are all of your true, childhood stories sucked up and used? Your teenage stories are my favorite on the site.

If by this you are asking if I have run out of more true stories to tell, then the answer is no. Far from it, in fact.
I still have quite a few I have not posted yet; I just haven't had the time or energy I feel they deserve to devote to them until recently. But as it happens I am working on a new chapter (and drawing) now, and hope to post a number of others over the next few months as well.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Fri Apr 13, 2012 7:47 am

I have decided to continue my True TUGs stories in a new thread rathr than continue posting them in Archives.
The next story can be found Here:
http://www.tieupgames.net/viewtopic.php?f=52&t=14017
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by sarwrductan » Sat Apr 14, 2012 2:18 pm

I don't remember being set up or turned over to another more distant or unfamiliar in our group, but this story brings back the memory of the pleasurable times I've had. Thanks for sharing.
Those who walk forward always looking back, don't see that which makes them stumble

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sat Apr 14, 2012 2:49 pm

> sarwrductan wrote:I don't remember being set up or turned over to another more distant or unfamiliar in our group, but this story brings back the memory of the pleasurable times I've had. Thanks for sharing.

Hehe... this kind of trading is actually how I got introduced to most of my TUGs friends when I was a teenager! Right from the first day they'd tied me up my cousins left me in the care of two younger boys (Michael and Brian) living down the road while they and those boys' older brother David went somewhere to play soccer, and those boys in turn set me up to meet two other boys they knew close to my own age (Al and Ron)!
The incident with Carlos was simply the latest of a grand tradition with them. It was far from being the scariest one either. The scariest one was when I was essentially being kidnapped by three boys I'd never met and taken into their barn to be locked up; that's how I met Sho and his two brothers. I might have wet myself in my fright if I hadn't been (perhaps naively) convinced boys my own age wouldn't really hurt me or keep me a prisoner for too long! This was true even though they were a different race; a bigger deal back then than it is now. Sho and the others were Japanese, so luckily for my peace of mind I had no racial prejudices even then.
Of course,this was before you started hearing news stores of teenagers going postal on their own classmates! I'd probably have been more scared were I a kid today and the same thing happened to me now!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by TUfriend » Sat Apr 14, 2012 8:09 pm

I was going to ask what race of Asians they were, Sho sounds more Vietnamese, but Jiro and Ichiro sound Japanese. Meh, I only have 1 Japanese friend though, the rest are all from china, Taiwan or Mongolia.
Heil Toddman, the Wonderful Wizard of Odd
I'm a nerd with a dangerous side.
See my most recent TRUE story, "SPL Initiation", here.
Read my most recent FICTIONAL story, "The Birth of a Whovian", here

### Re: Teenaged Cousins IV - HS Years II (PG-13)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Apr 15, 2012 5:04 am

> TUfriend wrote:I was going to ask what race of Asians they were, Sho sounds more Vietnamese, but Jiro and Ichiro sound Japanese.

Well, all ARE Japanese names. However, none of these were their REAL names. Right from the start, I've changed all character names in my story, including my own. I simply took the Japanese names that meant 'first son', 'second son', and 'third son'... though I got two of these mixed up and thus out of sequence.

> TUfriend wrote: Meh, I only have 1 Japanese friend though, the rest are all from china, Taiwan or Mongolia.

Well, what's wrong with Chinese, Taiwanese, or Mongolian friends? I used to know a Korean quite well, and currently know a VietNamese (and used to know others as well), and they were all fine people!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...