Midwinter Modesty
Room 1
I have no idea,
no idea at all why the events happened, why they happened to us, what the
reasoning of those men may have been – all I know is that they happened, and in
a way I give thanks that it was not worse than it may have been if they had
been less considerate…
It was a cold
December night, and the sun had already set as I walked up to the front door of
the house I love in. I had spent the day
at the call centre I work in, and just wanted to have
a quiet night at home. Under my long
padded coat, I was wearing a white sweat short with “New York” written in big
letters diagonally across the front, dark blue jeans and white trainers. As always, my head was covered to show my
modesty – on this particular day, with a white hijab that was wrapped around my
head and neck, meaning I felt the cool air on my face.
Anyway, I got
home, and then hung my coat up on the stand we all use it – my two housemates
and the house mother. From there, I made
my way to my room and walked in – and that was when it started.
I was grabbed
from behind, around my waist, and a gloved hand was pressed firmly over my
mouth. As I struggled, a young male
voice told me to remain calm, not to struggle, and to do as he said. If I did so, I would not be hurt. The implication of that was clear, so I
stopped struggling and waited, wondering what was going to happen.
He asked if I
was going to do anything If he took his hand away, and I shook my head from
side to side to indicate I would not. He
then took his hand away and let go of me, but he also told me not to look
round, but to put my hands behind my back.
He was talking calmly, quietly, but when he said he had to make sure I
stayed in the room and did not call for help, I was a little afraid.
As I move my
hands behind me, I felt him putting the palms of them together, and then I
heard a soft ripping sound. I realised
what it was when I felt something stick to my wrists, and then my wrists forced
together – some sort of tape. It made a
funny noise as it was wound tightly round my wrists, and then I felt it on my
fingers as my hands were taped together.
I heard another
rip, and then the pressure as it was smoothed down, before it started again –
this time I could see the roll of white, thick, strong tape as it was wound
around my body below my chest, pinning my arms to my sides as it was pulled
tight. Again it was torn free and
smoothed down, and again another band was wrapped around me, this time above my
chest, leaving me with my arms almost fused to my sides, and my sweatshirt
stretched.
I was then
turned and told to sit on the floor, and I got my first look at him – about the
same age as me, tall, thin, and wearing what looked like a stocking pulled down
over his head. I watched as he taped my
ankles together, and then my legs below and above my knees, all the time
talking to me, keeping me calm, telling me if I stayed where I was and kept
calm everything would be all right.
My big fear was
that he would use the tape on my mouth – I’m an asthmatic, and that would be
dangerous. So when he instead rolled up
a large white headscarf, and told me to open my mouth, I was actually
relieved. I let him pull the silk band
into my mouth, my lips closing over it as he took the ends around my head and
secured them tightly together at the base of my neck, over my hijab.
With that, he
looked at me, and smiled before he went out of the room, closing the door
behind himself – but before he did, he turned my radio on, the music helping to
keep me calm as well. It was a very
strange feeling – the band of cloth kept my tongue down, but it was not
uncomfortable, and all in all, as I said, it could have been worse.
What I did not know
was what was happening to my other housemates…
Room 2
“Take your boots
off.”
That was the
first thing the masked man said to me when I entered my room – take your boots
off.” Now, given he was the one who
should not have been in my room, I asked why I should do that. Then he replied “because I am going to tie
you up on your bed, and you will be much more comfortable if you take your
boots off.”
Believe me, I
had no reason not to believe him – he was the one with the stocking over his
head, and a selection of my jewellery in his bag. How he had got in, I did not know – but I
knew I had no choice, so I sat down and pulled off my short black leather
boots. I was still wearing the rest of
my outfit – a brown long sleeved jumper, faded blue jeans, peach socks, and a
black hijab preserving my modesty.
He smiled, and
then told me to sit on my bed, turned with my back to him. As I did so, I glanced over and saw him
removing from a bag several lengths of white rope. Well, he had said he was going to tie me up…
I stared
straight ahead as he took my hands behind my back, crossed my wrists, and then
started to bind my wrists tightly together.
As if the fact he was wearing a stocking mask had not been enough of a
giveaway, it was soon obvious to me he knew what he was doing – it was not
uncomfortable, but as he pulled It tighter I knew I was not going to be able to
bring them round for a while.
So when he
passed a doubled over length of rope around my arms and body, pulling tight
under my chest, I knew I really was not going to be able to go anywhere. He kept winding the rope around, above and
below, each pass forcing my arms more into my sides, and – well, it felt
nice. Strange, but nice.
I could see the
way my chest was forced out as well – and as he tied the rope behind, then took
the ends under one arm, up and around the back of my neck, and then under the
other arm before he tied it off, I wondered what he was going to do next.
I should not
have asked. As I tried to move, he took
a fresh length of rope, doubled it and then passed it around the rope at the
back of my neck, making me yelp a little as he did so. The then fed it down under the other ropes,
passed it around my wrists and forced my arms up so that my hands were parallel
to each other. He then fed the rope back
up, before spiralling it down the length that ran up my back, and finally tying
the whole thing off. I knew now it would
be best not to move my upper body, except for when he helped me to lie face
down on the bed, my chin resting on some folded towels.
He then took
another length of rope, and started to bind my legs together at my ankles. I asked where my housemates were, but he said
nothing, he just kept wrapping the rope around from my ankles and slightly up
my legs, before he tied it off. He then
pulled them back, and used another length of rope to link them to my wrists.
Well, now I knew
I was not going anywhere – which was when he told me to open my mouth. I did do that – to ask why – but before I got
the chance he pushed something into it.
It took me a minute to realise he had pushed some sort of sponge ball
in, and it was expanding inside, pressing my tongue down, stopping any
noise. The noise I did hear was a
strange peeling and ripping sound – before he pressed a long, wide strip of
tape firmly over my mouth, sealing it and covering my lips as it was formed to
the contours of my chin.
All I could do
was raise my head and look at him, as he walked off, my radio playing – and it
was not the only one. I could hear two others
– and I knew now my housemates were in the same position as me…
Room 3
“You’re hurting
me!” I felt the rope forcing my wrists together,
as the masked woman – WOMAN – said “if you stop struggling, it won’t hurt. I need to make sure you stay in your room, so
let me do this.”
I had walked in
to find her waiting, smiling as she stood up.
She wore a black jumper and jeans, with a clack stocking pulled down
over her head – and a hank of rope in her hands. Before I had a chance to say anything, she
had walked behind me, crossed my wrists, and started to tie them together with
washing line.
I had come home
when it was dark, and taken my leather jacket and boots off in the hallway,
slipping my feet into the tartan slippers I kept by the door before coming up
to my room. I had been on a course all
day, and was casually dressed – an old lumberjack shirt with a blue check over
a grey long sleeved t-shirt, old jeans, and as always my dark grey hijab over
my head and shoulders.
And now here I
was – my wrists forced together behind my back, as she pulled the cords between
my arms and secured the ends. She then
doubled over a long length of rope, passed it around my body under my chest,
and then pulled tight, my arms forced into my sides, my chest forced out, my
shirt forced to the sides…
Despite all
that, it felt strangely comfortable, as the rope went above and below my chest,
and I could not figure out why. I wasn’t
scared as such – given it was a woman, I felt the worst that was going to
happen would be that I was tied up, and probably gagged, but not much more than
that.
I felt her
tugging at the ropes behind me, and then she made me sit on the floor, kneeling
beside my legs as she doubled another length of rope over, and bound my ankles
tightly, wrapping the rope around them and forcing them together before she
passed the ends between my legs, making it even tighter. She kept the rope over the cuffs of my jeans
but it was still effective.
Another band
went round my legs below my knees, again with the ends taken between them to
make it tighter, and then finally around my thighs. As I looked at them, I knew I was going
precisely nowhere.
She then pulled
out a roll of brown tape, and held a folded cloth in front of my mouth. I asked if my hijab would remain, and she
assured me it would. So I let her put
the cloth in my mouth, and then she wrapped the tape around my head, keeping
the cloth in and redesign anything I wanted to say to a low whimper.
I could hear
music coming from the rooms of my housemates now, and she turned my radio on as
well, as I sat there, still not sure why what was happening was happening – or
how they had managed to get past our housemother.
The Housemother
“Did you have to
make sure my three residents were tied and gagged as well?”
“There is no
other way,” my husband said as he wound the rope around my crossed wrists, securing
them firmly together at the base of my back, before he used the ends to tie my
thumbs together. I was wearing a knee
length pink dress with a white crazy paving style pattern on it, and a pink
hijab. My steel rimmed glasses were
still on as I sat on the edge of the bed.
As to what was
going on – my husband was wanting to do something, and he told me the only way
it would work is if it looked like a gang had broken in and robbed our
house. Which, given we have three Muslim
female students rooming on our upper floor, is a bit of a problem. So he had got three friends to make sure they
stayed in their rooms as well.
He knelt in
front of me, and tied my ankles tightly together with more rope, before helping
me to lie across our bed and securing those bound ankles to my wrists with more
rope.
“You’ll all be
all right for the time it will take me to do this,” he said, “now, open your
mouth.” Well, he is my husband – he had
tied a knot in a long brightly coloured scarf, and that was what he pulled
between my teeth before tying the scarf around my head, the end hanging down as
I looked at him.
He and I were
going to have words when he got back – which would probably be in a few
years. After all, the police were
waiting for him. And his three friends
were my friends as well.
Thinking I would
let him do this to me… He was a
fool. With him gone, I would weep – and
then make sure my house guests were well taken care of… Once I had apologised to them.
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