Hello "tie up story" fans,
It's been quite a while since I've posted anything here, largely for lack of material. Here is another story from a close friend of mine, which she has agreed to let me post for her as long as I leave off her real name and a few details which she felt were too personal and specific to her family. It does have a long lead-in, but be patient; it is a good story!
Hi, I'd rather not share all my secrets with the whole world, so I'll call myself "Julia". I've had a fascination with tied up people for as long as I can remember. Before I even started school, I would watch Rocky and Bullwinkle on our old TV, and I got very interested every time Nell Fenwick got tied up by Snidely Whiplash. I thought to myself, "What would it feel like to be tied up? Would I be able to get out by myself without help? What if I was stuck? How would I feel?" But I never talked about this with anybody.
Now I should introduce my main partner in these games. This was my brother "Michael". Michael is only eleven months older than me. We're both first generation Americans; my parents came over from Europe about three years before Michael was born. I'd rather not say exactly where they came from, but let's just say it wasn't a particularly privileged place. The four of us were a very close, warm, loving family. This was a good thing, since we lived in a tiny little one bedroom apartment above my mom's workshop. There was a small kitchen, a small bathroom, a medium sized living/dining area, and a small bedroom. My parents had a double bed in the bedroom. We didn't get a lot of privacy since the only rooms with doors were my parents' bedroom and the bathroom.
My dad had strung a rope across one corner of the living area with just enough room for a twin bed and a clothes chest. My mother hung big cloth sheets from the rope to make a curtain. The place behind the curtain was the "bedroom" for us kids. When we were preschoolers Michael and I slept together in a twin bed. It was a little crowded, but we both really liked to cuddle up to sleep, and we were (and still are, many years later) each other's best friends in the whole world. When the twin bed got way too small for us, my parents replaced it with a bunk bed. Michael got the top and I got the bottom. That was roomier, but I felt lonely for a while. When I got too lonely I'd climb up the ladder and cuddle up with Michael. He was pretty good about putting up with me (he's kind of a cuddly guy too).
Speaking of rope, I saw a lot of it as a kid. Dad had joined in business with his cousin who had come to the USA earlier. Dad was an expert at safely rigging heavy loads onto trucks and cranes and large equipment. When I'd see where he worked, there were always ropes of all sizes and steel cables and strong wide straps. Mom brought in extra income doing what I'd call "industrial strength sewing". She could sew just about anything, but the income came from repairing and customizing heavy fabric things like big tents and safety harnesses, along with the rigging straps that my father used. So I got to see lots and lots of ropes and straps, and I often wondered silently to myself what it would feel like to be tied up with some particular piece of rope.
Mom's workshop was below our apartment. So that Mom could work and still keep an eye on us as preschoolers, Mom and Dad sectioned it off. It was really just a big open work area with a concrete floor, but Dad made a reasonable play area of part of it. He got some old judo mats for almost nothing from a nearby gym and cleaned them up and put them on the floor so us kids wouldn't be right on the cold, hard concrete floor. They arranged some low storage shelves to fence the play area off well away from the big, noisy, dangerous sewing machines. Dad cut the really beat up mats into pieces and padded all the hard corners. So it wasn't pretty or elegant, but it was a safe enough play space, and Mom could see what we were doing. One of the shelves was turned around so we could get at the contents, and that was stocked with picture books and toys and coloring books and fun stuff for us. There was also an old black and white portable TV, which we probably spent too much time watching.
Mom also stored some of her softer, safer stuff where we could get at it. The needles and pins and heavy duty tools were all barricaded off by the sewing machines, but we could get at the shelves with lots of colorful thread and strings and cords and all different kinds of cloth, but mostly heavy canvas. There was also every imaginable kind of webbing and rope; lots and lots of rope. Mom didn't mind us playing with the ropes as long as we didn't make too much of a mess. As preschoolers, we played around with tying knots and jumping rope and such, but we never actually tied each other up. (Sorry to disappoint you, but just be patient; we'll get there!)
Even though I guess we didn't have all that much money, I never felt poor and I certainly felt loved. We always had enough good food. My parents scrounged up lots of used children's books and both Mom and Dad read to Michael and me every night. Their English wasn't perfect, but it was good enough. My parents were both physically affectionate to each other and to us kids. I got lots and lots of hugs and kisses and I loved every bit of it.
Our birthdays fell just right so that Michael and I started into kindergarten the same year, despite our eleven month age difference. I think he was the oldest kid in our class and I was the youngest. We both loved school. We were fast learners, and by the end of first grade we were both very good readers. Mom would take us to the library and we could check out books. Once she was satisfied that we knew how to behave in a library, she would let us go around the children's section on our own and make our own choices. Michael found some creepy book of ghost stories that gave him nightmares for a while.
My first library surprise was a book on Harry Houdini. It told about his escape acts, and it had some old pictures of him. He was handcuffed, he was chained up, he was in a straitjacket, and he was locked into huge metal can. Best of all, I found pictures of him tied up with ropes. I read the whole book the same day I got it from the library. That night lying in bed I thought about what it would be like to be an escape artist and get tied up again and again. Just before dinner the next day, on some TV show they were asking kids what they wanted to be when they grew up. At the dinner table, Mom asked Michael and I the same question. Michael said he wanted to be a policeman (this was a frequent answer for him at that age). Mom asked him why and he thought it would be cool to wear a uniform and have a badge and a gun and handcuffs and be able to arrest people. I was mostly interested in the part about the handcuffs. Then Mom asked me, and I said I wanted to be an escape artist just like Houdini. She asked me why, and I said it would be fun to be tied up and escape and do it all as part of a big show with lots of people watching (in addition to the "tie up" part, I guess I had a bit of an exhibitionist streak in me too).
So my first chance to act on this came on a Saturday around the end of my first grade year. Michael and I were good kids, but he was only seven and I was six, so Mom wouldn't leave us in the apartment alone for more than about ten minutes or so. She had a big job to finish up in her workshop, so we brought our library books downstairs to read in the play area of her workshop while she sewed. I read my Houdini book again (probably for about the fourth time by now). Michael quit with the ghost stories and he was reading a kid level explanation of how television worked.
I was getting bored with just reading and not doing. I asked Michael if he thought I could be an escape artist. He kind of shrugged. He had other interests. Mom had her noisy machine turned off, and she was doing some hand work. So I asked her too. "Mom, do you think I could be an escape artist like Houdini?" Mom was a believer in encouragement. "I think you could be anything you wanted to if you worked hard in school and learned a lot and put you mind into whatever you wanted to do. Remember that everything big takes lots of practice and commitment."
I don't think she really expected this to go anyplace, but I said that I wanted to start practicing to be an escape artist right now. I said I wanted Michael to tie me up right now and I'd try to escape. Mom was pretty unflappable, and her response was underwhelming. She just kind of shrugged and said OK. So I went over and got a basket on the storage shelves that was full of pieces of old, rough, dirty nasty rope. Mom saw that and came over. She took the basket from me and put it back. She said that rope was greasy and dirty, and also it was so rough it might cut my skin. I was very disappointed.
My disappointment did not last. Mom went to a high shelf and took down a bag. She pulled out a neatly coiled white rope. It was the most beautiful piece of rope I had seen. She said it was nylon. She said it was more expensive that the other rope but it was clean and soft and smooth so it wouldn't cut me up. She said as long as we didn't cut it we could play with it. She also laid down a few safety rules. No ropes around the neck ever. Nothing tight enough to cut off circulation. No tying up anyone who didn't want to play. No leaving a tied up person alone. She said we would be allowed to play "escape artist" with her nylon rope as long as we followed her rules and only did it when she was around and in sight of us.
That deal was good enough for me. I beamed with excitement. I started to uncoil the nylon rope. "Come on Michael, I'm an escape artist and you are my show helper. Get me all tied up so I can escape!" Michael wasn't sure about this. "You want to be a policeman, right? Let's pretend that I'm a dangerous criminal and you already used your handcuffs on somebody else so you have to tie me up with rope instead." Michael was evasive, "But you don't look like a dangerous criminal". I practically begged him, "Please Michael, I really want to try it." Michael looked at Mom, "Is it OK?" Mom said that as long as I wanted to be tied up and as long as we followed her safety rules, it was OK.
Michael really didn't have the slightest idea of how to tie somebody up (and neither did I). He had me stand still with my arms pressed to my sides, and he just kind up made big spirals of rope around my body from my ankles up to my shoulders and back down again. He went enough times to use up all the rope, which wasn't that easy since it was a long rope and things kept tangling up. He spent as much time untangling rope as he did putting it around me. When he had used up all the rope, he rearranged it a little to bring the ends to where he could tie them together.
Time for my escape. The ropes held me tightly for at least ten seconds. Then I found that just by wriggling and squirming, I could easily get some slack. Once I had some slack I was able to work the ropes around my middle to down past my wrists and hands, which gave me more slack. Pretty soon I had all the rope pulled down below my waist. The I just pushed the rest of the rope down to my ankles and I stepped out. I held up the pile of rope and bowed proudly. Mom looked over from her work table and gave a little smile.
I asked Michael to tie me up again, but tighter this time. "Remember, I'm a dangerous criminal. To be a good policeman you have to tie me up tight so I can't get loose." I think Michael was starting to enjoy my new game. He didn't hesitate this time. He had me stand the same way with my arms against my sides. But this time he didn't just wind the rope. He first wrapped a couple of turns around my ankles and then he knotted it. Then he started up my legs and knotted again at my knees. Another knot on the coil at my upper thighs, and one at my waist. Finally, a couple of coils around my chest, one last knot, and the rope was all used up.
This was more of a challenge. I was able to get a little bit of slack, but not as easily as my first time. But then I got an idea. I worked as much of the slack as I could toward the rope around my waist, the one that kept my wrists pinned to my sides. With just a little more slack, I was able to slip one of my wrists out. That made so much slack the other one came out easily. Now I had enough use of my hands to start working the ropes down from my chest I had to get each loop over my wrists, but by now there was so much slack it wasn't difficult. At this point, I could reach everything and I just loosened things enough to pull the ropes down and step out again.
Again I held up the pile of ropes and took a bow for Michael and Mom. "Score: criminal two, policeman zero," I announced. I hoped we could play again, but Mom said she was at a good stopping point and we had to go upstairs for lunch. I asked if we could bring the rope upstairs, but Mom said no. She said it would be good to have something to keep us occupied when Michael and I had to spend time in her workshop.
From that day on I just loved the time Michael and I had to be with Mom in her workshop. It was a big win for everybody. With our rope and our escape artist game, we weren't bored so we didn't distract Mom or get into trouble. I guess this went on for a month or so, and Michael got better at tying me up. It was taking me longer, but I always got out. Like I said, neither of us really had any idea of how to tie someone up securely. Also, Michael's knot work wasn't the best.
Michael let me try tying him up a couple of times. I didn't push that too hard. I remembered Mom's rule about no tying up somebody who doesn't want to play, although Michael was (mostly) a willing enough victim. And I didn't do all that much better than Michael with the tying up part. I think I made better knots, but Michael had a different escape style. He'd just drop to the mats on the floor and kick and thrash and struggle like he was having a tantrum. The first time he did it Mom looked over worried like he was hurt or panicking, but she watched and when he laughed she knew he was OK. Michael's thrashing and struggling always made a huge amount of slack in lots of places, and once he did that he never had much trouble getting the ropes off.
But I was the one who really wanted to be tied up, and Michael was fine with playing our game that way. He asked me to try his way of escape where I just kicked and thrashed and struggled. I tried it, and it worked; I easily got out again.
Our tie up games that year never progressed past this point. We'd start with lots of rope, poorly placed and tied. The victim would then either just thrash and struggle or else carefully manipulate the ropes to gain slack. The inevitable end to each round was the successful escape of the prisoner.
I hope you liked my first story! If you did, I have lots more I can tell about. You've suffered through the story of my early life now, so if I do a second one I can skip all that and jump right into the next tie up games we played. We were a little older, and our games were a lot stricter and more secure than this first round.
Hugs (really tight hugs, so you can't get out until your partner feels like letting you out!)