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Gone Fishing Part Two


By Doug R


When I agreed to go fishing with my friend Scott on a warm weekend in the summer of 1978, I had no idea that it would turn out to be a bondage game marathon. After all, we were with his father and uncle aboard their recently bought cabin cruiser. I could honestly say that bondage was the very last thing on my mind when I first stepped foot aboard that boat.

But then something funny happened--namely Scott's idea to tie me up after I had managed to tick off both his father and uncle (see the previous story, "Gone Fishing", for details). The sight of me tied up and gagged (as well as blindfolded) apparently agreed with Scott's father and uncle. Perhaps it agreed with them a little too well, (especially Uncle Jerry) because they started to act as if having me tied up and gagged was a normal affair.

The first example happened later that night, after we had decided to spend the evening on the lake aboard the boat. We boys had been told to change into our sleep clothes earlier that evening, and we did, expecting to turn in right away so we could get an early start the next morning. So imagine our surprise when, after we had changed into our nightclothes, Scott and I were called to have a seat at the cramped galley table, where we spent the next few hours shooting the breeze--actually it was Scott's father and his Uncle Jerry who mainly shot the breeze. Scott and I, who were both thirteen at the time, were stuck with listening to the men's macho hunting stories about how they blew away dozens of defenseless deer in the woods that surrounded the lake. I'm not against hunting, but I know macho swagger when I see it, and both Scott's father and Uncle Jerry were certainly full of it.

I was barefoot, and clad only in my sleep clothes, which consisted of a pair of white cotton undershorts with a blue t-shirt. My sandy brown hair had dried in the swept back pattern I had brushed it in after I got out of the water. Scott was barefoot and shirtless, clad only in a pair of pajama bottoms. We sat together at one end of the table, listening to these drunken weekend warriors brag endlessly on about their hunting and fishing exploits, until Scott's father turned in for the night. He slept with Uncle Jerry in one of two sleeping bags in the boat's control room, while Scott and I would sleep on the V-berths in the forward cabin. But just when as Scott and I both got up to go to bed, we noticed that Uncle Jerry stayed right where he was. In fact, he poured himself another beer and began yet another dopey hunting story where he stalked a deer in the pouring rain (or so he claimed). Scott and I sat back down and politely listened as Uncle Jerry-who was as drunk as any human being can possibly be-gave such sagely advice as how a "true man loves the feel of nature on his face."

I admit it, I was bored out of my skull--plus, I was also getting very tired. I was dressed for bed and I wanted nothing more than to go there, even if it was just one of the v-berths in the forward cabin. This would probably explain my behavior in the next few minutes. Uncle Jerry went above deck for a moment to catch some fresh air; then he quickly came back down and complained that it was raining.

"I thought real men like the feel of nature on their face," I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

I instantly knew I had said the wrong thing when Scott's eyes grew very wide and fearful behind his glasses. He gave me an "are you insane?" look. I got an icy cold feeling in the pit of my stomach when I glanced up at Uncle Jerry-the very drunk Uncle Jerry-and saw him glaring furiously back at me.

I gave him a sheepish smile and said, "Just kidding, of course…."

Uncle Jerry smiled back at me. But it was a smile that made me feel very uneasy. It was the sort of smile you got from somebody when they knew the joke was on you. He walked past us and entered the forward cabin--when he returned, he tossed a pile of rope on the table, along with a handkerchief. "Scott," he said calmly, "I was wondering if you would do the honors."

Uncle Jerry gestured at the rope, then at me.

Scott blinked at him, then blinked at the rope and said, "Oh, uh, sure…"

Before I knew it, Scott was binding my wrists together in front of me with a portion of the rope. I didn't protest, nor did I put up a fight. If this was to be my punishment for my snotty comment, so be it. Right in the middle of binding me, Scott suddenly got an idea. I sat on a cushioned bench behind the galley table. Right above my head was a row of storage cabinets. Much to the approval of his uncle, Scott proceeded to secure my bound wrists to the handles of one of the cabinets. Sitting with my hands pulled above my head caused me some discomfort, which I quickly remedied by pulling my legs up into a cross-legged position underneath me. My feet were left untied.

When Scott was finished, he stepped back, glancing at my bound wrists with approval. "Perfect," he said.

"Not perfect yet," Uncle Jerry replied, pointing at the handkerchief on the table.

Scott picked up the handkerchief and used it to gag me with. The balled-up section that was placed in my mouth had a tight, dried up feel to it, and I realized with disgust that I had been re-gagged with the same cruddy handkerchief from this afternoon.

"Now that's perfect," Uncle Jerry said, giving me a smug smile. "Let's hear you mouth off again, Doug. Where are the smart-aleck remarks now? Huh, boy?"

I merely stared back wide-eyed at him. What else could I do? I was trussed up like a side of beef in a slaughter house, and my gag prevented me from making any response--not that I would have had anything to say in any case.

What happened next surprised me even further: Uncle Jerry opened another can of beer for himself, and opened another can of soda for Scott, and then he sat back down and went back to shooting the breeze, as if sitting at a table with a tied up and gagged thirteen year old boy was the most normal thing in the world. Perhaps inspired by my present situation, Uncle Jerry started telling stories about the best practical jokes he played on family and friends during their previous hunting and fishing trips. I don't recall anything specific, but after hearing a few of the nasty pranks he had done to people, I remember thinking that being bound and gagged like this probably wasn't so bad after all.

Scott listened and laughed while he sipped his soda. Every now and then, he would glance over at me with a guilty look, as if silently apologizing for my predicament. But I really didn't mind; as bondage games went, this certainly was an interesting one. I let my arms go limp, sparing my muscles any strain by allowing the ropes to support their weight. I also fantasized that I was a young kidnap victim who had been abducted on the high seas. Although it was somewhat hard to take Uncle Jerry seriously as a vicious kidnapper, since he was so obviously drunk that he kept falling asleep right where he sat.

After a while, Uncle Jerry slumped back in his seat and was sound asleep-or he was passed out, I really wasn't sure. Scott got up from his chair and, never taking his eyes off his slumbering uncle, crept over to me. In order to get to me, Scott had to step up onto the cushioned bench upon which I sat. The heel of his foot accidentally banged into the table, and Uncle Jerry sprung to life like somebody pressed a button on his back. He angrily ordered his nephew to bed.

Scott stared at him as if he were crazy--which wasn't too far from the truth, in my opinion. It appeared as if Uncle Jerry really wanted Scott to go right to bed, leaving me tied up.

Uncle Jerry angrily barked at Scott to get to bed once last time. With a last, reluctant glance at me over his bare shoulder, Scott went to bed.

I was left alone, with my wrists bound above my head and my mouth gagged, in the presence of a very drunk man who did not like me very much. To say that I was a bit nervous was putting it very mildly. What had started out a a pleasant little tie up game had quickly turned into a very awkward and unpleasant situation for me.

Ironically, the fact that Uncle Jerry was so smashed out of his mind may have actually helped me. Because, right in the middle of his drunken babbling, he fell asleep again...or he may have passed out; once again, I couldn't be sure--and, quite frankly, I didn't care. The instant I saw him fade away to dreamland, I grabbed that chance to make my escape.

Thankfully, my feet were not bound, so I was able to get up into a kneeling position. This enabled me to reach the knot that secured my bound wrists to the cabinet handles. I picked at this damned knot--which Scott had tied REALLY well--all while keeping an eye on the slumbering Uncle Jerry. He was so close he could have reached out and grabbed me. When he stirred at one point, I froze, ceasing my escape attempt. I stared at Uncle Jerry and mentally urged him to stay asleep...stay asleep...STAY ASLEEP!!!

When he drifted back to sleep, I let out a thankful exhale of breath through my nose and resumed picking at the stubborn knot. It soon came loose, and I gratefully pulled my arms down. My wrists were still bound together, but I didn't want to press my luck by trying to free them here and now.

I slowly and carefully slid out of the booth that surrounded the table, all the while keeping my eyes on Uncle Jerry. Once I stood up, I hurried towards the forward cabin, my barefeet silent on the polished wood floors.

Scott met me at the door and led me over to one of the v-berths, where we both sat down side by side. He pulled down my gag and untied my wrists for me. "I'm sorry, man," he whispered, ashamed.

I shook my head and smiled. "Don't worry about it. You didn't have much choice in the matter. It's already forgotten."

And I was just as happy to forget all about it, too.I went to sleep with my gag still hanging around my neck. I figured I would remove it once and for all tomorrow.

Little did I know what was to come….

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