Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2017 10:29:09 -0500
From: Jeff Moses <chainedcoot@gmail.com>
Subject: Kramer's Dilemma

Kramer's Dilemma

This is a work of fiction.  It includes scenes of ...  No resemblance to
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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."