Kramer's Dilemma
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Howie's car pulled up at the same time I did. "Hey, man! How's it going?"
"Well," he said, "it was going great until Mister Kramer left a note--"
"Telling you to get over to his house to see him?" I interrupted, showing him the note I'd gotten.
"What the hell?" Howie said. "Can't the asshole leave us alone during the summer, at least?"
"Apparently not," I answered. "Another reason to hate assistant principals."
Howie nodded agreement. "Well, let's get it over with. My note said to go to the back door."
I was a bit ahead of him. "Same here," I said, over my shoulder.
We knocked. We knocked several times, but there was no answer. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I stuck my head in. "Mister Kramer?" Again, nothing. "Do you think we're just supposed to come in?"
"How should I know?" Howie sighed. "But he did say to come see him."
At Howie's urging, I stepped into the kitchen, expecting an ear-splitting alarm, or a rabid guard dog, or something. But nothing happened. "Mister Kramer?" I called, again.
Howie brushed past me into the house. He went to the front hall and called up the stairs, "Mister Kramer? I got your note. It's Howard Berns."
"And Frank Leavis," I added.
Nothing.
"Well, shit!" Howie said, disgusted. "Thanks for wasting an hour of my time, asshole!"
I felt pretty much the same way, but I gave it one last try. "Mister Kramer?" I shouted. "We came like you said. We're leaving now!"
More silence. We headed back to the kitchen. "Wait a sec," Howie said, grabbing my arm. "Maybe he's in the basement." He pointed to the basement door. Sure enough, there was another typed note taped to it. "In the basement. Come down," it said. So we did.
"Mister Kramer?" I called, following Howie down the steps. "Hey! Did you hear that?"
Howie turned to me, nodding. "That kind of grunting sound? Yeah. Came from behind the furnace, I think." He walked to the other side of the furnace and stopped dead. "Holy shit! I think we better leave, Frank." He was backing up, carefully.
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure--I mean I am sure, but I'm...Let's just go, man."
Howie Berns is not a chicken. He's on the varsity football team, and he looks it. He's also gay--my boyfriend, in fact--and nobody gives us any shit about that. If Howie was freaked, I had to see what did it. I walked past him, dodging his grab for my arm. "Lemme see, man!" I said. Then I stopped dead, too. "Holy crap!" I said, staring.
"See?" Howie said, behind me. "I think we better get out of here."
"Maybe somebody held him up, or something. We should at least ask if he's all right." It was pretty dark behind the furnace, so I found the light cord and pulled it. And stared at Mister Kramer. Naked, except... Standing with his arms stretched out toward the ceiling and his legs spread wide. One leg was chained to a pipe near the furnace, and the other was chained to a post about eight feet away. His hands were cuffed to pipes. There was some kind of hook thing in his nose, pulling it up to a pipe, as well. He looked to be stretched pretty far. He was wearing some kind of harness thing made out of that flat chain like for dog collars, and his cock was tied tight. And there was some kind of strap across his mouth.
"Look at this!" Howie whispered. He was standing behind the assistant principal. I hurried over. Kramer's butt was pretty beat up. His back didn't look too good, either. "Those look like whip marks," Howie said. "Shit!"
I nodded agreement. "Somebody whipped Mister Kramer!"
Kramer made another grunting sound. He was obviously trying to say something. "Lemme see if I can get that gag out of his mouth," I said. But there was a little lock in the pointy thing that goes through the holes in your belt. "It's locked!"
"Can you cut it?"
"I don't know. It's pretty tight. And what am I supposed to cut it with, anyhow?"
"Your scout knife."
"Broke."
"Broke?" Howie said. "How? When?"
"Two months ago, maybe. What difference does it make? You got one?"
"No. I gave mine to my little brother." Howie stepped closer to examine the gag. "Besides, that's a pretty heavy strap. And it's right next to his skin."
Howie was right. You'd need some kind of special gear to cut that gag safely. We gave Kramer's bondage a closer look. Everything that counted was metal. Mister Kramer wasn't going anywhere, and we weren't going to be able to help. "Should we call the police, Howie?" I asked.
"In a minute." There was something strange in Howie's voice. "What if this is a trap, or something?"
"Well, it caught Mister Kramer."
"Yeah, but what if he's just bait? What if he didn't send the notes?"
"Or some other kids got them, too?"
"Why did you get one, do you think?" Howie asked.
"Fucked if I know. I wasn't even going to come, after the way he stuck me in after-school detention for a month."
"At least you didn't get suspended. I did. Three fucking days!"
I giggled. "Now it looks like Kramer got suspended!"
"That's pervy, man," Howie replied. But he laughed, too.
"Suspended and can't do a damn thing," I said, thoughtfully. "Why the hell would he let somebody do this to him?"
"What makes you think he volunteered? Maybe somebody broke in, or something. Is that what happened, Mister Kramer?"
Kramer nodded--at least as well as he could, with that hook thing pulling his nose up.
"I didn't see anything that looked like a break-in," Howie challenged. "What if he's one of those bondage freaks? It would fit, wouldn't it, the way he's always picking on gay guys?"
That did make sense. It's always the closet cases that make the worst enemies. Still, "somebody'd be here, wouldn't they? I mean, you don't just tie a guy up and leave, right?"
"Well, maybe they did, and left notes so we'd come and free him."
"Except we can't!"
"Unless there's keys, somewhere! Maybe we're supposed find the keys, or something." Howie looked around. "They could be anywhere. Keys are pretty small. But, you know what, if I was the asshole that did this, I'd leave the keys where Kramer could see them, just to piss him off."
"Wow! You are twisted, man," I replied. But it did sort of make sense, in its twisted way. So we started looking everywhere Mister Kramer would be able to see. Of course, if you've ever lost keys, you know how fucking hard they are to find.
"Hey! What if they're actually on his body, somewhere?" Howie said, after we'd checked all the obvious places.
Like I said, twisted. But not impossible. "Sorry, Mister Kramer. We gotta check you out for the keys."
That's how we found out Mister Kramer was ticklish. On his sides, of course. But also in that little spot on your upper back that you can't reach, and behind his knees, and his ears. At first, we were really trying to find the keys, of course, but it was so...funny, I guess, watching the assistant principal squirm and try to laugh. After a while, snot started coming out of his nose, even, maybe because he was laughing with that gag in his mouth. The worst part--for him, I mean--was that he just couldn't do anything to stop us, or get away, or anything. He was just there, immobilized.
We stopped after a while, of course. The keys weren't on Kramer, and they didn't seem to be anywhere obvious in the basement. "We should try the kitchen. And the basement stairs," Howie said. I think he felt a little embarrassed about all that tickling, so he ordered me to check the stairs while he started on the kitchen. I went over the stairs very diligently, listening to the sounds of Howie rummaging through the cabinets. When I got all the way up the stairs, the kitchen cupboards were all opened, and he'd just started on the refrigerator. I joined him, and he handed me a can of beer. Why not? I mean, both of us could pass for eighteen, right? It was pretty good beer, too--not that dishwater you usually get just because it's cheap.
We checked the front hall, which was the only other place we could think of that somebody might be expected to find the keys, then headed back downstairs.
"Sorry, Mister Kramer," I said. "Can't find any keys anywhere."
Even though he couldn't really move, you could tell Mister Kramer was pissed, and trying to get free.
"Ain't gonna happen, Mister K," Howie said, sitting on a stool. "You're trapped. Whoever did this did a hell of a good job." He chuckled. "Hell of a good job," he repeated.
"I guess we should call somebody, huh?" I said.
Howie was quiet for a while, just staring at Kramer. "You ever think about shit like this?" he said, softly.
"Like what?"
"Like getting tied up, or chained up, or--"
I blushed. "A little. When I was a kid, this guy I knew had handcuffs, and--"
"Handcuffs?" Howie's eyes were wide.
"Those cheap metal toy ones. Not real ones. But he used to cuff my hands behind a tree..." I shuddered. "He gave me wet Willies--like with his finger in my ear?"
"Gross," Howie laughed.
"He tried to use rope, once, but I got out of it right away. Good thing he wasn't a boy scout."
Howie smiled. "We used to partner up to practice knot-tying. Got kind of weird, once in a while. But fun. Weird but fun." He looked at Kramer again. "What about that? Something like that?"
I started to say no, then stopped and looked at Howie. "Do you want to do that?" I whispered. "To me? Or maybe do you want me to--" I stopped. Howie was blushing, bright red. And Howie didn't blush. Okay, the first time I asked him if he wanted to...mess around, but other than that, no. Until now. "Uh, Howie? Earth to Howie."
"Maybe--" His voice was suddenly scratchy. He cleared his throat. "Maybe later we can see if we still know how to tie knots," he smiled. "But now, I think we should call the cops."
It almost looked like Mister Kramer didn't want us to do that, which was weird. But we did it. Howie was nervous as hell, but we hadn't done anything wrong--I mean, we got those notes, we looked for the keys, everywhere. We kept the guy company. Okay, maybe the tickling got a little weird, but it would be his word against the two of us...anyway, a few minutes later, there was a knock on the front door, and I opened it. There was a chest in front of me. I looked up. The cop was one of those big African-American guys you don't ever want to argue with.
"You the person who called about the guy tied up in the basement?"
"Yes, Officer," I said in my most respectful voice. It usually works: I talked my way out of two traffic tickets last fall. "This way, Sir."
Howie leapt to his feet as we came around the furnace. "Afternoon, Officer."
The policeman nodded and went to work studying Kramer's bonds. "Damn good job," he said. "You two might as well run along. Mister Kramer and I are going to be here for a while. Make sure the doors are locked when you leave, boys."
Howie and I looked at each other, obviously relieved. Just go? We weren't going to be questioned, or anything? "Yes, Sir," Howie said, and we hurried up the stairs.
We could still hear Mister Kramer's grunting in the kitchen. We locked the back door and headed out the front door toward our cars. Just as I pulled the door shut, Howie gasped and turned to me. "Shit! Did you see who that was?"
"Who?"
"The cop! That was Lester Otowi!"
"Who's Lester Otowi?"
"Oh, man. You don't know shit, do you?"
"Don't be an asshole, Howie. Okay, so he was some jock and I'm not and you are. That's no reason--"
"You're right. Sorry, babe."
When Howie calls me babe, I sort of melt. "So tell me, already," I smiled. "Who is Lester Otowi?"
"Only the best basketball player the school ever had. Would have gotten a full scholarship to State, if..."
"If what?"
"If Mister Kramer hadn't sent some bullshit letter to the Director of Athletics. Totally ruined the guy's career."
I started back up the front steps.
"Leave it, Frank. The door's locked."