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NNTP-Posting-Date: 27 Jul 2003 18:06:49 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Story Repost - Diary of Carolyn - Part 10
Date: Sun, 27 Jul 2003 23:10:08 -0400
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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.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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