TRAPPED   
 
 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....