RED AMBER GREEN
Trevor took a deep breath, as deep as he could with the ball gag in his mouth. He estimated that he’d been breathing the same air for over two hours now, as it felt warm and heavy in his lungs. His arms and legs ached, and an itch kept visiting his lower back. He also needed the toilet, but he liked the feeling of having a full bladder. He would have to relieve himself soon, but this didn’t bother him. Despite his aches and his need to piss, his mind was clear. The word ‘serene’ floated around his head and he decided that this was exactly the right word for his situation. He played with the word in his mind, said it over and over till it lost its meaning. Trevor mentally arranged all his problems and found a solution for each and every one of them. He created his ‘to do’ list and prioritised tasks. He felt invincible; he would conquer all his worries with renewed vigour once he got out. He could tackle anything after today’s session. The time was right to release his piss. He revelled in the warmth as it worked its way down his legs and pooled around his knees.
Meditation couldn’t beat this, he thought. He didn’t buy into all that new age shit; crystals, homeopathy, Chi, Zen, Feng Shui, all of it bollocks. The image of the Dalai Lama bound and gagged popped into his head. Unwanted thoughts happened sometimes, and the more he tried to shake them, the more they persisted. He pushed His Holiness to the back of his mind and pulled his tax-free allowances to the front; he was sure there was more he could get away with. He wondered if he could claim for his new toys on his expenses. He was just tallying up the cost of his new leisure activity when the cramp set in. It was a dull ache at first, then pins and needles. He tried to contract and release his muscles but it was no good, he was too tightly bound. The cramp was now in that excruciating tenderness stage that always followed pins and needles. He froze, tried to take his mind away somewhere nice whilst it passed. The Dalia Lama popped into his head again; this time he had red stilettos on.
Trevor’s legs were now completely numb, and the once warm piss was cold on his thighs. The smell was still warm though. He knew by now you had to take the rough with the smooth. He had come to learn of late that the rough was the smooth. No pain, no gain he thought – sometimes you have to go rock bottom to appreciate the finer things in life. He couldn’t think of any more clichés, which surprised him as they were always banding that shit around at work. If only they could see him now. This thought actually invigorated him and he could feel a twitching in his groin. The ball in his mouth was beginning to feel bigger and he desperately wanted to swallow but couldn’t. The dry spittle around his chin was dry and itchy. He made a slurping noise as he sucked in the warm pissy air and dribble. He reckoned it was past three hours now. Not long to go. He must savour these last moments. He delved deep into the darkness, and after fighting off the image of the Dalai Lama dancing in red shoes and stockings he found the place he wanted to be.
Trevor liked to relive the first time he was caught. It was at this low point (although he now thought it otherwise) that it had all turned around for him. He had been sat at his desk working his way through his papers, filling in his tax return, which was already late. Marie had been nagging him about it for weeks and eventually she had ground him down. He rummaged around her desk for an envelope and stamp. God she was organised. There was a tidy pile of envelopes and a booklet of stamps. For no reason in particular he pulled out the other drawers, all were just as organised. The bottom one was full of women’s magazines and at the side of the magazine was a long box, he opened it up. Inside was what he thought was a long torch, but then it dawned on him. It was a huge vibrator. He laughed at first, but then he felt angry. How come she hadn’t told him about this? They hadn’t had sex for over six months, not for his want of trying, but she always had a headache, or was tired. He flicked the vibrator on. He wondered how he would tackle this issue with her, maybe he wouldn’t; perhaps he wouldn’t say anything at all. He wasn’t quite sure of his train of thought, but just two minutes later he had rammed the vibrator up his ass and was wanking furiously over a magazine article about Fern Britton. The dirty-big-blonde-bitch loved it when his hot stickiness flopped onto her face.
The moment when Marie walked in and when Fern got what she deserved was absolute bliss for Trevor. He considered afterwards that he knew he was going to be caught. This was the moment he thought of every time he masturbated. Each time he would imagine Marie’s face more distraught than the last. Sometimes he imagined that whilst he was still frantically pumping over Fern, Marie would come over and slap him hard in the face and call him every obscenity under the sun. She would beat him so hard he would piss himself, and then she would laugh and laugh and laugh at how pathetic he was. He liked this one; this was his default wank fantasy scenario. In reality, Marie had run off crying and had been unable to speak to him for a week. They had communicated via post it notes and phone messages. Eventually and reluctantly she agreed to chat about it. Trevor pleaded with her, said he couldn’t bear to lose her and that he’d do anything to make it work. Marie was angry, but unwittingly she slipped into the role that Trevor had only ever fantasised about. Within a month they had ordered a huge luggage trunk and he was having his alone time, bound and gagged, whilst Marie was off with her friends shopping and having an afternoon tipple.
Trevor woke pushing against his restraints. He didn’t normally sleep. This was wrong, very wrong. Marie should have been back by now. He tried to shout the safe word. His jaw had locked around the ball. He pushed and writhed to the point of exhaustion. He struggled till he no longer recognised his boundaries. He drifted away. He felt numb. He was cold. Disorientated. Only occasionally did he reach that place where his limbs felt out of proportion. He had surpassed that and now he was floating in space, he was as vast as a milky way. There was no up or down, and he was slowly spinning away from himself. This was his natural state of being and everything else led up to this moment. He was back in the womb. How crude his life had been until this point. His mind lay like a thin blanket across the cosmos. His body was weak, but his mind had never been as sharp. He could hear the low hum of existence, a sound that had always been there but he had never noticed before. The sound filled him up. He became the sound.
Photo by Tomek Dzido