TRAPPED


by Jane Symons
janesymons@hotmail.com


"Just wait til your father gets home ........."
I'm a little kid again and I'm not entirely sure why it's happening but the
old man's going nuts, resorting to his usual method of punishment, dragging
me by my ear down the hallway, shoving me inside the cupboard under the
stairs, locking the door.
It's darker than God's earth in here. So dark I can't tell which way up I
am. Scary. Could be standing on my head for all I know. As usual, I
panic. I start to holler and he slams the palm of his hand flat against the
door, making me scream in fear. I crawl to the back, crouching by the wall
like an animal and wait for him to focus his rage on someone else, though
I'm scared one day he'll forget me and leave me to rot in here. My mother.
I hear him shouting abuse in the kitchen.
Long time ago, coal used to be kept in this cupboard. Black as coal. Dark
as night. Now it's a dump for anything we don't need. Empty bottles.
Picture frames. Sons. I shift position and bump my shin on an old
suitcase.
Hard to control the fear, difficult to keep stamping it down like a fire
that threatens to get out of control. It's like the darkness has taken form
and bulk, I begin to feel it pressing down on me, slowly to begin with, then
it seems to gain momentum, forcing the breath out of my lungs. I scream in
protest. You can't do this to me. Bastard. You bastard.
"Ray?"
Darkness seems to have grown arms and legs. How did that happen? I'm
wrestling with these arms, they're trying to pin me down, trapping me. I'm
trapped. NO!
"Ray!"
Gotta get out of here! Sweet Jesus, help me somebody. I lash out with my
fists and hear a stifled groan. Good. That's good. Very good. Take that,
you bastard.
"Ray, wake up!"
My cheek's slapped, not hard but sufficient to sting. Light's turned on.
I'm in my own bed. My own apartment. Safe. Can't move though. Paralysed.
I look around, a wild look in my eye, Ancient Mariner style. Fraser's
staring down at me, real worried, running his hand over my forehead like I'm
a frightened animal. I wonder if I hurt him and the thought comes from
miles away.
If you trap a fly in a jelly jar and keep the lid on for a while, the
fly'll stay in the jar, even when the lid's finally removed. Psychologists
call it diminishing boundaries or something. Locked up in that cupboard too
long, I was like that fly, as scared to come out as I'd been to go in.
It occurs to me that my face is wet, not with sweat but with tears. I'd
give a lot to be able to wipe them away and almost at the same time as I
have that thought, Fraser dips his head down and starts licking and kissing
them away. The Mountie doesn't need to ask about the nightmare. He knows.
He understands. He's at home with weird stuff like this. Stella, she
couldn't handle it. "Ray," she'd say, "it happened years ago, you should be
over it by now." Can't blame her though. Husband's supposed to be strong,
able to handle stuff like that. With Fraser, it's okay if I can't handle
it. And 'cause it's okay, I recover from the nightmare quicker with him
than anyone else. Life's funny that way.
Mountie's still licking as if he wants to drink up all the hurt for me,
suck it out of my body and spit it out like so much poison in the system.
My face is dry now, he moves down to lick my neck. Jesus, must have been
weeping all over the shop. Mountie's so good at licking. And kissing.
Used to think the licking thing was too weird but since I've been on the
receiving end of it, I'm prepared to look on it much more favourably.
Fraser's the most sensuous lover I've ever had. The man can lick me all the
way to paradise. Licks me all over and I mean all over. Mountie boldly
goes where no man has gone before.
Neck's all cleaned up now and he moves back up the bed, taking me gently
into his arms, folding his limbs around me and the movement and the comfort
pushes the nightmare away even further. He starts singing, softly, slowly,
don't know what the hell about but who cares, that beautiful voice in my ear
brings me out in goosebumps. Then when he figures he's warbled enough, he
checks me out with those baby blues.
"How are we doing?" So gentle, like a whisper. We. The Royal We. Him
and me. We.
"Better. Thanks." I rub the end of his nose with mine and then kiss it.
He shivers. Rubbing ends of noses is highly erotic in Freezerland, so he
tells me.
"Was that the usual?" he asks, with a lift of one eyebrow. Polite. I
won't mention it if you don't want to talk about it kinda thing.
"Yeah. The usual. My fucked up father doin' his trick with the stair
cupboard." Me, I'm not so polite.
Fraser winces slightly at my vocabulary. We fuck like rug rats but try and
get him to say it. Out of bed, he's all thank you kindly and I'm sorry but
this is a no smoking environment but once you get him going with a tactical
touch or a hot kiss, he'll fuck anywhere and anyhow. Says its 'cause he
lived with the Inuits or Minuets or whatever. Made him broad minded.
Myself I think it's 'cause the man is hot with a capital haitch. The
Mountie can't help it.
But the Mountie will never say fuck. According to him, we make love, we
don't fuck. Maybe the Queen never says fuck. Wonder what she says when she
trips over a corgi. "Oh dear," probably. Or, "Hmmmm." The British are
half crazy anyway. I blame it on drinking tea. Look what drinking tea's
done to Turnbull.
"I'm afraid that it's my fault you had the nightmare, Ray. I was lying
half on top of you."
"Frase, I'm perfectly capable of cookin' up that nightmare for myself,
thank you very much." I don't want him blaming himself for this. "You lie
half on top of me every night. Do I have this nightmare every night?"
He sighs, a little relieved by this. "No. But even so - "
I stop that gorgeous mouth of his with a kiss. One of my specials. The
Kowalski Special. Taken years to perfect. Starts off kinda slow, a little
comfortable exploration of lips and gums, then I push forward between the
perfect teeth to indulge in some heavy tongue to tongue combat. Once the
Mountie's breathing is speeding up and he's pulling me in closer against his
hardening rod, I move in for the kill, plundering his mouth like I'm fucking
it, asking to be fucked like that myself, making him groan with the
anticipation of it. By the time I'm finished, his heart's thumping crazily
against me in rhythm with mine, we're both hard as steel and fighting for
breath as if we'd just done a 150 yard swim underwater in a sinking ship.
"Want you, Frase," I'm panting, licking his right bicep with the flat of my
tongue. This always does it for him. He moves so he's lying over me and I
really must have got him going 'cause he's pinning my wrists above my head
and kissing me til I start to see stars. I writhe and burn under him, arch
myself so that our sweating chests collide, rampant nipples clashing. He's
still kissing me, though by now my mouth's aching and my jaw feels like
rigor mortis has set in. Jesus, can the Mountie kiss.
I lift my legs, wrapping them like a $100 whore round his waist. Diverted,
he breaks off kissing me and buries his face in my neck, where he groans,
very loudly. Tells me I'm too sexy for my own good. Not sure quite what he
means by that but it sounds nice. Truth is, we both know that after one of
these nightmares, there's not much call for foreplay or finesse, I need to
get fucked to oblivion, simple as that. Fucked til I can't remember I have
a name, let alone a father.
Fraser angles himself for entry, and there's a stab of pain as he pushes
his cockhead through and I can feel the muscles round my asshole spasming
round the rim. Mountie's well endowed. Worth the pain though, taking every
inch of that thick joystick into me, letting it fill me til it's jamming up
against my prostate, making it start to sing with pleasure. My own tool
feels tight as a drum, like it could burst any second, sandwiched nicely
between our stomachs.
Fraser lies still, letting me adjust to him before he moves. But I'm well
lubricated from earlier in the night and juicy with the spunk he's already
shot into me. And I feel rampant as all hell. And I need the pain to clean
away memories. I start to grind down on him, working inner muscles to clamp
round his dick like a sailor's fist. He groans again. I just love making
the Mountie groan. He's forced to start moving, pleasuring us both, getting
into some serious humping, sending my prostate into ecstasies. I meet him
thrust for thrust and soon Fraser's slamming into me hard and fast and we're
groaning and sweating and slapping wetly against each other's bodies. For
minutes, maybe hours, maybe days, there's nothing but being fucked, hard and
dirty and perfect, and I'm going out of my mind which is just where I want
to be. Fraser's fucking me to Nirvana. I'll be out there with the angels
any moment now. The pleasure's just this side of intolerable and then I'm
suddenly over the edge, my cock surging forward, splattering cum between our
thrusting bodies while I'm screaming myself hoarse.
"Fras-er! Fras-er!" Never could get my head round calling him by his
first name.
The Mountie comes with me then, he doesn't scream but he gives a wonderful
roar like some kind of animal and I feel his tool pulsing load after load of
hot spunk inside me. Bet I'm sizzling away inside.
"Fras-er!" I'm having those violent contractions you get with a really
good fucking and I'm holding onto him so hard my nails are digging into his
skin. In spite of his own orgasm, he's making sure I'm okay, holding my
head between his hands, watching my face. We work out the last of our
passion lost in each other's eyes.
"Ray," he's moaning, "Ray, oh Ray."
Sweetest damn words I ever heard.
God, I love the guy so much it hurts.
Finally, Fraser collapses over onto his back, satiated and grinning. I
think how good it is to have been the one to put a smile like that on his
face. He draws me to him and I lay my head on his chest.
"Wow, Frase, I come so hard with you that sometimes I think I'm gonna
ejaculate the brains right out of my head."
"I wouldn't do that, Ray. For one thing it would be very messy and
uncomfortable. Not to mention utterly impossible."
I sigh contentedly. "I was embellishing again, Frase."
"Oh I see. A kind of poetic licence."
I look up at him. His hair's wet with sweat. He's the most beautiful
sight I've ever seen. "Poetic licence? You mean poets need a licence?"
"No, Ray." He runs his fingers through my hair. "Poetic licence is just a
phrase."
"So it's an embellishment."
"Well, yes, I suppose you could call it that."
See, the Mountie and me sometimes have a little communication problem but
we get there in the end. And sometimes we drive one another nuts. But
that's okay. I think of us like we're a big old tree and it doesn't matter
if the branches get tossed around in the wind and the storm 'cause the roots
go down so deep and they're so entwined that nothing's going to tear them
out of the ground.
We're entwined now, arms, legs and fingers, and we're gradually drifting
off to sleep.
And, you know, I'm almost looking forward to my next nightmare....