Desi Local Randi

There were no sounds from the bedroom. I quietly opened the garage door and went to the boxes that contain all of our belongings. I dug out a respectable dress, some of my old conservative, comfortable underwear and a pair of comfortable shoes. I put everything on but the shoes and went back into the kitchen. I picked up the money and tiptoed to the front door. Jimmie's keys hung on a peg there, right beside my purse.I grabbed my purse and Jimmie's keys and quietly opened the front door. I slipped my shoes on and ran across the yard to our old house. Jimmie's car is still parked in the driveway. It hasn't been started in almost a week. But it has always been reliable and I was sure that it would.I got in and was just about to start the car when I thought of something. Most of our belongings are still in boxes stacked in the back bedroom. It's silly. It doesn't matter now. But the only thing I own that means anything to me now is the box with the six books by R. Wayne Phillips. I know. ”“‘EE huh!” I said.That was “me too,” too.So before you get the idea that they’d were being mean or they’d turned on me somehow, I have to say I asked for it. Literally. I wanted them to tie me up. I got the idea when Lisa and I were fooling around at her house. Remember? I told myself that if sex felt that good she could lock me up in her basement and play with me whenever she wanted. That little stray thought was the start of it. I began to wonder, what would it be like to be a real prisoner? To be tied up so I couldn’t move, and gagged so I couldn’t talk, and I couldn’t stop anybody from doing what they wanted to me?This was something really to be ashamed of, because I was sure no one ever thought of anything like it. I bet not even Dr. Judith I. Weisberg had ever heard of anybody wanting to be tied up. I tried to put it out of my mind — and of course, the more I tried, the worse it got. It was another dirty secret I had to carry around. And it didn’t make any difference that I.
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