Tie me up! Tie me down!
Inexplicably, in final year juniors I had an embryonic crush on Michael Hodgkinson. In a pattern that has repeated itself over the years, my affections were not reciprocated. I would do anything to attempt to ingratiate myself into his social circle, follow him round at breaktime, volunteer to be in his group when we were doing class projects and try to sit next to him at assembly.

On one such occasion, I’d managed to cleverly end up standing behind him in the queue to go into the hall and, sure enough, I found myself spending the next 30 minutes (a veritable lifetime in the mind of a 10 year old when in the presence of a boy she likes) sat next to him, crossed legged on the floor of the gym. Being one of the bad boys of the class, he wasn’t really paying attention to the homily being spouted by the teacher, and was entertaining himself, as boys do, playing with his sock. He’d managed to unwind a bit of wool from it and was fabricating a kind of cat’s cradle to distract himself. He turned to me, probably out of sheer boredom, and offered me one end of the wool. Like a kitten with, well, a bit of wool, I pounced. We spent a happy 10 or so minutes fighting over this piece of sock and had I but known it, my fledgling hormones were beating a tattoo; “you’re in there, you’re in there, he likes you…”

It was never going to end well (please, what did you expect…). Somehow, in our rough and tumble, I’d managed to get the wool wrapped round his wrists, tying them together in a sort of “my first bondage kit” manner. Alerted to the commotion occurring at the back, the teacher stopped, zeroed in on us and seeing that the two possible culprits were a) the boy who may as well have had a blue plaque on his chair at detention, so much time did he spend there or b) proto-geek with National Health glasses and permanent neck ache from being such a kiss arse, he naturally, and wrongly, assumed that the trouble maker was solely Michael.
Ordering him to stand up in front of the rest of the school, he was about to launch into a tirade about paying attention when he noticed that Michael looked uncomfortable and had his arms folded tightly across his chest. “Put your hands by your sides” he bellowed, a task that had been rendered impossible by the fact that Michael’s wrists were still tied firmly together by a piece of wool.

After a few moments of stand off, Michael finally held out his wrists in a gesture of supplication, explaining wordlessly the reason for his defiance.

Michael was sent to the Head’s carpet (not a euphemism) and never spoke to me again. My role in the whole incident was never discovered, despite him gesturing wildly at me as he was lead from the hall, protesting, “But Sir, she…It was her… She…”

I now try not to tie boys up in public, unless they ask really nicely.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 19:31, 1 reply)

Ummm
Please?

Or would you prefer nicer?
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 21:30, closed)