Diary of Carolyn

DIARY OF CAROLYN

Chapter Ten

Copyright 1997

Skull Duggery

This is a work of fiction

I've been told I have a mechanical mind. I assume they mean that in the context of the ability to understand how mechanical things work, not literally. I hope. They are probably right, as it has always been easy for me to figure ways of making most any device I need from various odds and ends. I guess you could say I was a good improviser with the ability to also fabricate what I improvised. This time, however, I really had my brain smoking before I was able to arrive at a solution. My main problem was the timer. I had estimated that three to four hours would be about as long as I could stand being suspended by my wrists. So I needed a six hour timing device. After considering several options, the one thing that was both practical and also dependable was ice. Ice was strong, easy to obtain, and was sure to melt. Deciding on what to use for a timer was the easy part, how to use wasn't.

I had planned to set everything up in the storage room. This was actually an old work shop attached to the kitchen hallway. There was a stout beam running across the ceiling that at one time must have been used to hoist up machinery or such that was the perfect height for my purpose. I had worked out my method, but it was as yet untested. My plan was to hook two elastic bunji cords to an old stool. I then would attach a length of clothes line to the opposite side of the stool. I would then run the line out and over an old saw horse and attach it to this old wooden bucket with a hole in the bottom. Filling the bucket with ice cubes would pull the stool and then as the ice melted the bunji cords would pull it back. Therefore, if I was to fill the bucket, then pull the stool to where the bucket was hanging by the clothes line, I could then stand on it to hold it in place. I could then attach myself to the beam, lift my legs, the bucket would drop to the floor pulling the stool out from under me. This would leave me hanging by my wrists until enough ice melted to allow the bunji cords to pull the stool back to where I would be able to stand on it again. I would try this out today.

I made sure all the doors were locked before I began setting things up. As per normal, I had that nagging thought of having to explain why I was hanging nude from the ceiling if someone accidentally found me. It was nearly dusk before I was ready to proceed with my first experience in suspension. I double checked all of my apparatus to be sure I wouldn't still be hanging from the beam when my father came home the next night. Satisfied all was in order I positioned the stool and stepped up on it. I had wrapped small towels around my wrists to soften the grip of the rope I had chosen. Also, I didn't want to go around with red chafe marks on my wrists for the next week. I put three turns of rope on each wrist before tying the rope off for some added support. Hoping that I had figured right on everything, I hoisted myself up a little and lifted my feet off the stool. So far so good. The bucket of ice did just as it was supposed to pulling the stool about three feet from where it was. I was now committed.

With the successful operation of my stool apparatus, any apprehension I was feeling disappeared. Everything seemed to be going as planned. My wrists were fairly comfortable with the towels keeping the ropes from digging into my skin. Also, I was reasonably certain by the use of multiple coils around my wrists, I would maintain circulation into my hands. According to the old wall clock I had wound and set earlier, it was nine o'clock. If all went according to my plan I could expect the return of the stool by no later than three in the morning, possibly sooner depending on the melt rate of the ice cubes. So far I was in no discomfort whatsoever, in fact it felt good just hanging there.

By nine thirty my shoulders were starting to ache, but I could relieve the pain by changing my position by pulling myself up by one arm and then the other. I knew however, this method wouldn't work very long as my muscles were already tired. I was still not concerned because judging by my perspiration after only thirty minutes or so, it was warm enough to melt the ice faster than I had originally figured on. Ten o'clock. I felt like I had gained fifty pounds. My body felt like so much dead weight hanging from my arms and I was in a lot more pain than I thought I would be this early on. I could see my reflection in the glass of the one outside window and my body looked really great suspended like I was. The strain gave a good definition to my muscles and with the coating of perspiration made me look like an athlete. I could easily count every rib as my skin stretched taught over my rib cage. I also liked the way my normally flat stomach actually curved in a little making my pubic bush even more prominent than usual. I still couldn't understand why so many of my classmates either trimmed or shaved their pubic hair. Don't get me wrong, I'm not into the natural look or anything. I always keep my underarms and legs neatly shaved. I also shave any straggling hairs that may pop up on my inner thighs, I do like to be neat. Perhaps if my breasts were larger my pubic hair wouldn't be so important to me, but I look at it this way. When I was twelve years old I was a little girl. I couldn't wait to grow into a woman. The two main things that physically separate little girls from women are boobs and pubic hair. So, now that I finally have what I waited so long for, why the hell would I want to make myself look like a little girl again? Although I am still far to modest to show my bush off, I am very proud of it. Hopefully, I will someday get the courage to bare it for all to see.

Ten thirty. I no longer had the strength to change my position so the pain in my arms and shoulders was now constant and steadily increasing as time wore on. Admiring my reflection in the window had, however, kept my mind occupied for a while. Reflection in the window. Reflection in the window. Why did something seem wrong with that. Reflection, my body's reflection in the window. I can see my completely naked body reflecting in the window. SHIT! My fucking heart almost stopped when the problem became apparent. It was dark outside. It was light inside. That means, anyone outside could see every inch of me by just looking through the window. SHIT! How could I be so stupid? How could I have totally ignored something so obvious as this. It also occurred to me that although I was visible to anyone outside, anything outside was invisible to me. SHIT!

My mind was racing with possibilities. If anyone was watching me I wouldn't know. SHIT! There could be more than one. There could be ten, a hundred, a thousand, even millions of people watching me hanging naked from this beam. Gawd! I've never felt so naked in my life. Hell, the channel seven news team could be out there and I wouldn't know it. I was sick with embarrassment.

Eleven o'clock. I was trying to look at my predicament with some degree of common sense. I told myself the chance of anyone actually coming by and looking in the window was very unlikely. It really was unlikely but when you are hanging from the ceiling, totally nude and unable to actually see if someone is watching, unlikely doesn't offer much comfort. There was one positive result. Between the pain, embarrassment, and utter futility of my situation, I was becoming considerably aroused.

Eleven thirty. I kept looking at the bucket of ice cubes half hoping a fire would break out and speed up the melting. I was quickly reaching the point of having to admit that I may have miscalculated my stamina. My shoulders felt like they were being torn from the rest of my body and the unrelenting pain burned clear to my butt. One thing in my favor was that it was an exceptionally warm night, and from the puddle under the ice bucket, I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to wait more than another couple of hours at most. I wasn't sure I could stand the pain for another two hours. I also knew I had no other choice. This time, I left myself with no way out. Actually, by the size of the puddle of sweat under me, I began to wonder which was melting faster, me or the ice.

Midnight. Every minute that passed seemed like an hour. I was beginning to wish there really were someone watching through the window that could get me down and stop the pain. The melting ice had let the stool slide toward me about six inches. It still had two and a half feet to go before it would do me any good. My state of arousal had even gone away. I was now in that state of despair that torture victims must get when the pain is more than they can endure and all they have to look forward to is more pain.

Twelve thirty. If there had been anyone watching me they would surely have rescued me by now. That is unless they were totally sadistic, because I was now crying uncontrollably. The only thing I could think about was the pain. I was actually begging for someone to find me. I didn't care about the humiliation. I didn't care if I had to stand nude in the town square and tell everyone what a pain slut I was. I would even tell them how I made love to Kristen. Anything to stop the pain. The terrible pain was so far above what I could endure the only thing I cared about was for it to stop. I would even go to school completely naked and tell everyone how I would walk nude through the woods with lead weights hanging from my nipples and pussy. I would do anything if only it would stop the pain.

One o'clock. I now had a new problem. The up side was the stool only lacked about six inches to go. The downside was two fold. One, it was a three legged stool and if I tried to step on it too soon I risked tipping it over. Two, I was near the point of passing out from the unrelenting pain that by now had me screaming with every breath. Never in my life had I felt such desperation as I was experiencing as I fought to stay conscious knowing if I just gave in the pain would stop. I couldn't even fantasize about anything. I could only scream and suffer the unending pain as I waited the long minutes for the stool to appear under my beckoning feet.

One thirty. Finally the stool was almost directly under me. I now had to pick my legs up enough to step on the stool. I was already hoarse from screaming as the increased pain from lifting my legs drove me to scream even louder. I don't know how I stood it but I did. I could finally feel my screaming pain slowly ebb away as my weight transferred from my arms to my legs. Hot piss splattered on my legs as my bladder emptied uncontrollably. I was so glad I had at least had the foresight to use a half bow knot when I tied myself up or I doubt if I could have untied the rope now. My arms fell uselessly to my sides. As I stepped off the stool I felt another blast of relief. I then realized if I hadn't possessed the stamina to keep from passing out, I would still be hanging from the beam. Without my weight on the stool, the elastic cords pulled the stool another foot past where I had been. Totally exhausted, I left everything as it was, made it to my bedroom and collapsed on my bed, piss covered legs and all.

It was nearly noon when I woke up. I was still in the same position, nude, laying on my stomach with my arms at my sides. I smelled of sweat and piss. Doing anything about it was a different matter. All I could manage was to flop over on my back as it was impossible to move my arms. I lay there for nearly half an hour trying to get my arms to move with only limited results. If I never learned another thing in my life, last night taught me never to put myself in any situation that left me so helpless as I had been hanging from that beam. It was another half hour before I managed to get on my feet. My shoulders and arms ached terribly as I waited for the bath tub to fill.

I must have fallen asleep as soon as I got in the hot bath because the next thing I remember was hearing the phone ring. I was sure the answer machine would pick up so I listened to try to hear who it was. It was hard to hear but it sounded like my dad. I do have a phone in my room but the answer machine was downstairs in the living room. I could tell it was my dad's voice but I couldn't make out what he was saying. It then occurred to me I had left everything as it was in the storage room. I had to force myself from my soothing bath, but I had to clean up the storage room before my dad got home. Drying myself off and getting downstairs was in itself no easy task, but through sheer perseverance, and not to mention no other choice, I removed all evidence of the previous night. That being done, I went to replay the phone message. It was my dad telling me he was on his way home. As I went to put some clothes on I thought about how close I had come to be still hanging in the storage room. Thanks Murf.

Monday came along much too soon to suit me. I still felt as if I had been in a football game. In case you saw it, I was the ball. Kristen, fortunately, was the only one at school that noticed my less than graceful movement as I tried to hide the fact I was sore in places until now didn't know I had. Of course, she was full of questions and just had to know what happened. For someone whom I had, for all practical purposes known less than a week, she acted like we'd been best friends for life. In a way it made me a little uncomfortable. Looking back on it, although Kristen had always kept to herself, I think she was also very lonely. On the other hand I was , and still am, more of a loner. It wasn't that I considered myself better than anyone, just that I valued my privacy, and didn't always care to spill my guts to whoever was interested. Don't get me wrong, I liked Kristen a lot. After all, I had almost licked her crotch three days before, and would many times in the weeks to come, still, I found it hard to tell her about Friday night. I think also I was a bit embarrassed at not taking better precautions before doing what I did. However, she was persistent, and before the day was over I had given her the blow by blow description.

After hearing my recount of what I considered a painful lesson, no pun intended, Kristen was nothing less than wildly excited by what I had told her. I tried to tell her just how bad it was not being able to end it when the pain became more than I could take. She wasn't impressed. In fact, all she said was the fact I was telling her about it meant the pain wasn't really more than I could stand, otherwise I would be dead. As I was trying to understand her logic, I heard my name come over the PA system.

I was wanted at the office and I never get called to the office. I told Kristen I'd see her later and started the long walk to the office. The school office was near the main entrance to the school. As I came out of the last hall into entrance area, I saw my father standing by the door. My dad never comes to the school. I tried to imagine what he was doing here and as I got closer to him I could see he didn't look so good. I asked him what was wrong but all he did was give me a big hug and then walked me out to his car.

What I was about to hear should have been probably the most devastating words of my life. After we were in the car he said nothing for the first few minutes. My imagination was running wild wondering what was going on. Gawd, I thought, had the channel seven news really been outside the window? Shit! Had he seen me on TV. No, that couldn't be. They couldn't show that on TV. "Sweetheart, I've got some real bad news." he said and then paused. "Honey, your mother is dead."

You may think me cold, but after what I had been thinking, I was actually relieved. In fact I almost blurted out something super intelligent like, gee dad, did it take you all these years to figure that out? I know I should have been in tears, but, it was almost like being told some unknown relative died. Maybe it needed time to sink in. I kept saying the words over and over in my head. Don't misunderstand, I was by no definition happy at this, I just wasn't that sad either. I wanted to ask him what she died from, but I had never seen my father this broken up over anything before so I kept quiet as we drove home. I was sure he'd tell me soon enough.

We sat down at the kitchen table and my dad proceeded to tell my all about what had happened. I was more hurt from seeing how devastated he was than anything else. What he said next nearly shocked me out of my shoes. I think I wrote earlier that my mother had been away taking care of my grandmother. What I didn't say was that it was my father's mother she was taking care of. My grandmother on my mother's side as well as my grandfather on my father's side died before I was born.

"What I didn't tell you at school, Carolyn," he never called me Carolyn, "was that your grandmother is also dead." He was so choked up he could hardly get the words out. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What do you mean grandmother is dead too? How could they both be dead?" My dad did his best to explain how they hadn't suffered at all. I still couldn't believe they were both dead. I had just seen both of them when my father and I went to my grandmother's house last weekend. He went on to tell me something in the furnace fucked up and filled the house with carbon monoxide while they were sleeping. He said they just never woke up. I can't remember the last time I sat on my dad's lap, but I spent the next hour doing just that with my arms around his neck.

I didn't go to school the rest of that week. Actually I had my hands full helping my dad get through it. It's not bad enough that one person looses a mother and the other both a mother and wife, you still have to suffer with all the family vultures and the "You remember me, I met you when you were only this high." mealy mouthed well wishers. My dad had a lot of friends but if my mother had more than two she must have kept them tied up somewhere and only brought them out when no one else was around, because I've never seen them. Yet, the funeral parlor was full. I had seen most of my father's buddies at one time or another but there were at least twice that amount of unknown mourners milling about. Why would you go to a funeral for someone you didn't know? It must be for the food or the party afterwards. Who knows? Maybe they just like to look at dead bodies. That must be it. I'll bet they all pissed their little pants when they heard there were two at this funeral.

I really believe that the only people who have the right attitude towards death are the Indians. Those people have the sense to cut through all the bullshit that we seem to thrive on. You never saw them pay three thousand dollars for a box made with twenty dollars worth of wood just to stick in the ground. Whew! And we call them savages? Not.

Finally, my dad and I were the only ones left. We sat where we had started at the kitchen table surveying our war ravaged house. We had survived the various preachers who came to drum up business, the "At least they didn't suffer" crowd, the "I'm sorrys", and even the "What were their names" group. In fact, the only ones that didn't show up were the "I'll stick around and help clean up" people. No matter. Maybe they'll come to the next one.