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catize -> RE: Embrassing Moments (6/1/2006 6:56:23 PM)
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This is a longer story, not really D/s but I put that spin on it......and it is true:
An Accidental Experience in Self Bondage
On a Saturday this past summer I planned to meet a friend for coffee at the local IHOP. I am always prompt and this time I was half an hour early.
I pulled the keys out of the ignition and dropped them. They fell between the console and the driver’s seat and slid out of sight and out of reach. I got out of the car and knelt on the ground. I slid my left arm under the seat, grabbed the keys, and pulled, or tried to pull, my arm out. It was stuck!
My first thought was that if I released the keys my muscles would relax enough to get free. That didn’t work. I looked around and realized I was in quite a fix. I had parked at the end of the parking lot and no one driving in or out could see me. I was between the open door and the interior of the car, so I was also shielded from the view of people driving by on the street.
I told myself not to panic. I did some deep breathing and relaxation, but that didn’t help at all.
I hit the button to move the seat backward; my arm went with it. Moving the seat forward had the same result. I realized that my arm was caught in the track. Thinking I had figured out the problem, I pressed the button that is supposed to raise the seat. Nothing happened. I punched it over and over rather desperately, but it was jammed.
I decided that if I could get better leverage I would be able to find the strength to escape. With a great deal of pain to my arm, I awkwardly shifted off my knees and sat my butt on the pavement. I took a few deep cleansing breaths, braced myself, and yanked from my shoulder. I remained trapped.
At that point I panicked. My fingers were tingling. I was out of ideas except to call 911. I was able to reach my purse to get my cell phone. I considered calling my friend, but I didn’t think she could do anything that I hadn’t already tried. I dialed the emergency number.
I live in a city that merges with another. Unless you are quite familiar with the territory, it is not always easy to tell if you are in City D. or City B.
The call went through. “City B. 911, what is your emergency?”
I said that I was not injured and explained my predicament. The woman’s voice betrayed only a small bit of amusement as she asked my location. I told her where I was, and she said, “That is City D. I will have to transfer your call.”
I felt the panic rising again. “Look!” I said. “I dialed 911, what do you mean this you have to transfer my call?”
“Ma’am,” she said firmly, “I will have to transfer your call to City D.”
My voice sounded faint and I sighed. “Okay.” I could hear the phone ringing and then the operator explaining my problem to the dispatcher in City D. Another voice said, “Ma’am?” and the questions were repeated. I might have been babbling at this point, because she told me several times to keep quiet. I bit my lip and shut up.
The fire station was not far away and the truck pulled in by my car. I was thankful they had not come with blaring sirens.
I looked up from the ground. All I could see was a swarm of uniformed handsome young men. I appreciated that this could be considered a new level of helplessness on my part. I thought if the circumstances had been different, I might have been able to enjoy myself. My long bare legs were stretched out on the ground, and here I was, ‘bound and helpless’ before them all. I am sure I looked quite fetching in my short skirt, tank top and sandals.
They were not convinced that I was really stuck. If my arm went in, they theorized, it should come out. “Just pull it out!” one said. I kept my sarcasm to myself.
They tried everything I had already done. My arm moved back and forth with the seat; the button to raise it remained jammed. They came up with a few new approaches. They oiled my arm and pulled on it. Nope. They unbolted the front of the seat and lifted it up. Yikes! All that did was make the track clamp down harder on my flesh.
An ambulance pulled in to the lot. A fireman bent down and asked me if I thought I would need to go to the hospital once they had gotten me free. I looked at him; “Only if you have to saw my arm off to get me out of here.” I was just a little worried when he said he would have the emergency workers stand by!
It was hot, and the concrete was uncomfortably warm through my skirt. My fingers were numb by now. I leaned my head against the car door and waited to be rescued. I feared that it would not be soon.
Finally someone decided to use a needle nosed pliers to pry off the jammed button. The seat raised and the track released its vise like grip. Freedom!
They had to take my pulse, I had to sign papers. As they turned to their truck, I realized my keys were still under the seat. I called to them, “Guys?” Wordlessly I pointed to the inside of my car.
“We’ll get them!” they chorused. They handed them to me, packed up and drove away.
My friend is chronically late and I was inside drinking coffee by the time she arrived. Compassionate and caring as always, she laughed her ass off at my story.
The indentations were still on my arm when I went to bed that night.
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