Well the peeing seemed to go pretty much according to plan. I even managed to get some paper and reach down far enough to pad myself dry. I can’t shake off the thought of how it will be when I have a stainless steel belt locked over myself though. But my immediate problem now is once again my knickers. Gravity did indeed do its stuff and planted them right down at my ankles when I got off the bed and that’s where they still are. A long way out of reach when you can’t move your hands away from your waist. I must look ridiculous to the voyeurs behind the camera. They must be laughing their heads off at the sight of this pathetic woman standing with her panties round her ankles. I can’t even kick them off completely because of the hobble chain. I try to choke back the feelings of humiliation and despair and think of a solution. Perhaps if I crouch down then I can reach them with my fingertips. I try it and it works. I’ve got hold of my errant knickers. But it’s another matter to actually pull them up my legs. As I try to stand up I can’t get my knickers past my knees. I just can’t reach that far from my waist. It’s maddening and it almost drives me to tears but my mascara is saved by another idea. Gravity got them down there, so gravity can get them back. All I have to do is lie on the bed and wave my legs in the air. Et voila, knickers back at crotch. Of course it still takes a bucket load of wriggling about and pulling with my fingers before I’m once again presentable to polite company. Always assuming that you can actually meet polite company while in chains.

 

And so I suppose all that killed perhaps another twenty minutes or so, and I feel like I’ve maybe scored a little victory and triumphed over those who keep me unnecessarily chained up while I’m locked in a pretty escape-proof looking cell. Or maybe they feel like they’ve scored the victory because they’ve had twenty minutes of hilarious entertainment. Let’s try to be positive, it’s a win win for everyone.

 

It’s pretty quiet in this cell block. All the cells I walked past on the way to this one were occupied but no one seems to be talking, or shouting, or screaming. There’s the occasional bit of yelling, but it seems to get dealt with pretty quickly. Other than that there’s just the sound of steel cell doors being opened and closed now and again, and the sound of footsteps on hard, polished floors. I can hear footsteps now. More than one person I’d say, and at least one pair of stiletto heels. They get closer and louder and a guard appears outside my cell.

 

“You,” she says curtly. “Go to the back of the cell and stand facing the wall.”

 

It’s a simple enough instruction but I don’t seem to comprehend it immediately and I just look at the guard.

 

“Move it!” she suddenly shouts. “Unless you want a prod from my wand.”

 

I’m snapped out of my stupor. I definitely don’t want a prod from her wand. They showed me how the forked tips on those wands sparked with electricity when I arrived here and I absolutely don’t want those electrons passing through me. I’m up off the bed as fast as my chains allow and get myself to the back of the cell pronto where I stare at the wall while keys rattle in the lock of my cell door.

 

“Open thirty seven,” calls the guard to someone and I hear my cell door slide open. Then footsteps again and in amongst them the hard sound of stilettos.

 

“We’re busy again today,” says the guard. “We always seem to be busy these days. And so you two are sharing.”

 

I risk a look over my shoulder and see a woman I know being led into the cell.

 

“Sarah,” I say in surprise.

 

“Jem,” she replies sounding equally surprised.

 

“You two know each other then?” says the guard. “Isn’t that nice. Now face the wall.”

 

I turn my head back to the wall but realise the guard was talking to Sarah. I look back again and see that Sarah is chained up just like I am with handcuffs, a belt and a hobble. The guard is fitting a padlock to the buckle at the back of Sarah’s belt. She sees me watching.

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be getting one too,” she says to me. “Can’t have you two unbuckling each other’s belts can we.”

 

She pulls out another padlock and walks over to me. I feel her fitting it to the belt behind my back.

 

“Why do we have to be chained up anyway?” I ask. “Isn’t the cell door enough?”

 

“You have to be chained up so I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed or punched. That’s the official line. Just between you and me though, the real reason we keep you in chains is simply because we can.”

 

I’m about to make a sarky reply but I think better of it and just say nothing. The guard finishes locking my belt and turns to leave.

 

“Of course, it’s possible we keep you chained up to stop you getting too friendly with your cell mate. Enjoy your stay ladies.”

 

She walks out of the cell and the bars slide shut behind her. She takes out a bunch of keys, locks the door and then reduces herself to just receding footsteps.

 

Sarah and I stand and look at each other. I knew she was in court today as well as me and so I suppose it’s not really so surprising that we’ve ended up together. I know it’s bad that she’s here, but I can’t help feeling happy to see a friendly face and to have some company. Sarah looks good. She’s a little younger than me and she works out a lot. She’s got long, curly brown hair and a cute, freckled face. She normally wears glasses but not today. She’s wearing a smart, knee length burgundy coloured dress with a large but subtle V-shaped design on the front, and she’s the owner of the stiletto heels I could hear when she arrived, black T-bar stilettoes. And I see from a new perspective the contrast between smart, delicate female clothing and industrial, utilitarian restraints. The chain running down the front of her skirt, linking her belt to her hobble seems to look particularly perverse.

 

“So I take it you’re guilty too,” I say with an ironic smile to break the silence.

 

“Were we ever going to be anything else?”

 

“I guess not. Nice dress though.”

 

“Yours too,” she replies. “Solicitor’s advice?”

 

“Yeah. Didn’t seem to cut much with the magistrate though. What did you get?”

 

“A year. Half suspended if I tow the line. You?”

 

“The same. Do you know what anyone else got?”

 

“I think you were lucky going early. I had to sit outside the court and wait my turn hearing rumours about what was being handed out. I think Judith and Sally got sent to MRU. I was terrified I was going to get the same.”

 

I can see Sarah starting to shake and tears welling up in her eyes. She has the look of someone who’s been trying to hold herself together for too long and is starting to come apart. I walk over to give her a hug but of course it’s not possible in my chains. So we just stand together for a while with our heads rested on each other’s shoulders. Eventually the moment passes and we sit down on the bed together.

 

“Do you know what time it is?” I ask her. “Feels like I’ve been here for decades.”

 

“I don’t know. They took my watch away. And my glasses. Why would they take my glasses?”

 

“Hey, you can apparently blow up a plane with a tube of toothpaste and a nail file. God knows what you could do with a pair of glasses.”

 

“I’m scared Jem.”

 

“Me too. But we’ll get through it. It’s only six months, we’ll do it together okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

A guard appears at the cell door. A different guard from the one who brought Sarah. She’s wearing trainers and neither of us heard her coming.

 

“Melstrom and Thomson?” she asks.

 

Sarah and I stand up.

 

“That’s us,” I say nervously and wonder if this is it. Our appointment with our assessor.

 

“I’m afraid we’ve been very busy,” says the guard. “Assessor Black will not be able to see you today. We’ll try to fit you both in tomorrow.” With that, the guard starts to walk off.

 

“Wait, wait.” I call after her while I hobble to the barred front of the cell.

 

“Yes?” asks the guard.

 

“You mean you’re going to keep us both in here all night?” I ask forlornly.

 

“Of course. You can’t be released to the corrective restraint department until you’ve been assessed.”

 

“But… Well can’t you even unchain us?”

 

“Sorry, but I can’t do that until you’ve been assessed,” says the guard with a slight smile. “There’ll be some food sent later for you.”

 

“But…”

 

“But nothing. Now keep it quiet.”

 

The guard turns and walks off leaving me dumbfounded. Locked up in a cell for the night I think I could cope with. Locked up with Sarah I think I’d be okay with too, but locked up all night in these handcuffs and belt, and hobbled? Now I’m not okay, but I think I need to keep it together for Sarah.

 

“I think I’m stir-crazy on the first day,” I say and try to laugh a bit.

 

We sit together on the bed and try to pass the time by talking about nothing much, and avoiding the subject of what’s going to happen to us. Eventually our food arrives. Food is a generous term for the contents of the two plastic bottles that are pushed through a gap in our cell’s barred door. It smells vaguely like oxtail soup and it is similarly vaguely warm. Since we have no table, I put the bottles in the washbasin and we take turns to bend over them and suck up the brown gloop through straws that have been thoughtfully provided for women too chained up to eat normally. I don’t think I’m really hungry enough to appreciate the vaguely soup-like gloop, but the thought of having to eat it when it’s gone completely cold drives me on till my bottle is empty. And besides, this is prison, not a hotel and they might punish those who don’t appreciate their food. I persuade Sarah to finish her bottle. We need strength because it’s going to be a long night and we have a big and scary day tomorrow.

 

After our “meal” I take a small drink of water from the washbasin tap. I need something to wash away the taste of my soup and not having drunk anything all day, I’m thirsty. I know I should have more water than I take, but I’m mindful that drinking means needing to pee at some point and that’s something I wish to put off for as long as possible. It was humiliating enough the last time, and I was on my own then, except for the voyeurs of course. But now I’ve got Sarah with me and the thought of doing the panty dance again in front of her is just too much. We’re just friends, we’re not that close. But I can’t help feeling more than a little relieved when Sarah announces that she is going to have to break the taboo first.

 

“I need to pee,” she says quietly not long after our ‘dinners’ have gone down.

 

“I went before. It’s not easy in these, but it’s possible,” I reply, tugging at my handcuffs. “I’ll go and stare at the corridor if you want some privacy.”

 

We sit silently on the bed for a while longer. I can see Sarah gently pulling at her handcuffs and belt, and I know she’s trying to work out how to go to the toilet.

 

“How did you do the panties?” she asks eventually.

 

“I lay on the bed and rubbed my arse up and down till they came over my bum. Then I used my fingers to push them down at the front. I don’t think it was very elegant though.”

 

“I see,” she says quietly and I can see her testing her reach and thinking about it.

 

“Are those tights or stockings?” I ask, realising that what worked for me might not be any good to her.

 

“Tights,” she replies. “What about yours?”

 

“Stockings. I’m guessing my solution might not work for you.”

 

“No I don’t think it will. You’re very racy wearing stockings to court.”

 

“Racy? I often wear stockings.”

 

“Are you wearing, err, suspenders too?”

 

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

 

“Oh, no. No problem at all.”

 

I watch Sarah thinking and testing her restraints again. Something’s changed though. The shyness and embarrassment have gone and she seems to be finding her problem almost amusing.

 

“I think I’m going to need help,” she announces eventually.

 

“Help?” I ask cautiously.

 

“I don’t think I can pull my tights and panties down on my own in these cuffs.”

 

“I see.” Is she asking me to help or was it just a statement of fact. Does she want a guard to help?

 

“Will you help Jem?”

 

Can this get any weirder? I’m sitting in a cell with my friend. We’re chained up and she’s asking me to help her pee. I doubt if Debrett’s has a chapter on the correct etiquette for this.

 

“Of course I’ll help,” I say. I can’t very well not help and leave her to pee in her knickers. “What do you need?”

 

“If you could pull my tights and panties down, I think I can manage the rest.”

 

“I think I can cope with that. You wanna go now?”

 

“Yeah, I’m kinda bursting.”

 

She stands up and starts working her skirt up to her hips with her fingers. She reveals the top of her tights and I’m reminded why I don’t like them. They’re so unsightly and unsexy. But I move in close enough to reach her with my restrained hands, and start to work her underwear downwards. It’s difficult because her tights go right up under her restraint belt and are held there firmly, but eventually I prevail and get them free. Under her tights she’s wearing a sexy pair of pink knickers with a pointlessly cute little bow on the front that’s squashed flat by the tights. But there’s something else I notice about her knickers. They are distinctly moist, wet even. At first I think she must be really bursting for the loo and has seeped a little, but as I work the knickers down her legs, crouching down as I do so, my face comes level with her crotch and I realise her underwear is wet for a different reason. I can see her labia glistening with her juices and I can smell her arousal. She flushes with embarrassment and looks away from me in shame.

 

“There you go,” I say, trying to defuse the situation. “Can you manage now? I’ll stand here and look the other way.”

 

I make sure I’m standing between Sarah and the camera outside. I don’t think she’s noticed it and I’m not going to tell her and make this any worse for her. I’ll just block their view and score another little victory.

 

“Can you get me some paper please?” Sarah asks quietly after the sound of her peeing has stopped. “I can’t reach.”

 

I turn round and tear off some paper and offer it to her. There’s no way I’m going to pad her fanny for her, and besides, she can reach it more easily than I can. When she’s done I help her get her underwear back into place and we sit down on the bed again. I feel awkward and uncomfortable but I can’t say anything to her about it.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually in a small voice. “I can’t help it.”

 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I reply, grateful that she wants to talk about it so we can clear the air. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Two women chained up together? I’ll bet there are entire websites dedicated to this sort of thing.” It occurs to me that perhaps that camera outside is talking to some dodgy website right now, but I push the thought away. “I can understand if it turns you on. Hell, I can see a sexy side of it too.” I add the last part just to try and make her feel a little easier about it, but as I say the words I realise it’s true. I’m chained up in a cell with my friend. It is kinda sexy in very strange sort of way. Another thought that needs to be pushed aside.

 

“Well, err, there is that,” she replies unsteadily. “And I have to confess there’s a part of me that’s excited about the next six months. I know it’s going to be hell, but the thought of it makes me horny.”

 

“We don’t get to choose what makes us horny. Don’t be ashamed. Use it if you can, if it helps you get through it all. I would.”

 

“Yes, I’ve been doing that a lot recently, when I’ve been worrying. It’s helped.”

 

“Well there you go. I think I might try and join you. Just to get through it you understand.”

 

“The thing is though Jem, all the stuff with the chains, it does get me going, but there’s something else here that really does it for me.”

 

“Oh yes, and what’s that?”

 

“It’s err… You.”

 

“Me?”

 

“I can’t help it Jem, I’ve got the hots for you.”

 

“You what?

 

“Ever since we met. You just do it for me. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sorry? What? You mean you’re… But what about Jack? Don’t you love him?”

 

“Oh yes, I love Jack to bits. It’s just that, I’m a little bit bi. I’m not in love with you Jem, but you do it for me.”

 

“Fucking hell Sarah, you sure can pick your time to come out to me. I mean, I’m flattered but…”

 

“I’m so sorry Jem. I can’t help how I feel.”

 

“You didn’t have to tell me right now though. As if we haven’t got enough to deal with at the moment.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop saying sorry. And for fuck’s sake keep your voice down and don’t go mentioning that you might be bi in here. They’ll ship you off to MRU before you know it, probably taking me with you.”

 

“Oh god, I never thought of that.”

 

“If there’s one thing they seem to hate more than feminists, it’s women who fancy women. I guess they think for every lesbian couple there are two men going without.”

 

“I’m not lesbian Jem, and I don’t want to be a couple with you. It’s just, you stir me up inside.”

 

“Sarah, we need to shut the fuck up about this." I lower my voice to a whisper. "You see that thing out there on the wall? It’s a camera, and you can bet it’s got a microphone too. Put a lid on it and we’ll talk about things when we get out of here.”

 

“You mean we’re being bugged?”

 

“This ain’t a hotel Sarah. It’s a prison, and we’re prisoners.”

 

“Oh god.”

 

“Oh god indeed. Now just let it lie till we get out of here.”

 

The most uncomfortable silence I’ve ever known settles over us and I ponder this new development that has made my situation even more bizarre. My friend has the hots for me. I don’t know whether to be angry with her or feel sorry for her. But as time passes I realise that it’s my ego that is the overriding nag for attention. It seems to have taken something of a boost from Sarah’s confession. I like to think of myself as a sexy and desirable woman. I know I look good and I’m not ashamed to flaunt my looks and revel in the attention they get me. I like to flirt and be sexy, and to see the desire I create in men. But until now the only emotion I ever sought to arouse in other women was envy. It’s never occurred to me that perhaps I might arouse something rather different in some of my fellow sex and I can’t help feeling intrigued and a little proud that Sarah fancies me.

 

But all this self-congratulation is tempered by the effect that it all has on our immediate situation. I’m about to have to spend the night in chains and locked up in a small cell with Sarah. There is no privacy whatsoever, even for the toilet and the only bed does not look generously wide. An intimate situation for any two friends to share, but now that one of those friends has confessed her desires, it all takes on a whole new level of complication. Do we squeeze up together on the bed, or do I take the wholly unfriendly path of insisting that one of us sleeps on the cold, hard floor. And of course there’s the toilet thing that’s going to have to happen at some point. Do I insist on struggling through my panty dance again on my own, or do I accept Sarah’s assistance in getting my knickers down, which will undoubtedly result in her getting an up-close and personal view of my fanny, just as I got of hers? And would there be any danger of her finding that my knickers were just a little bit damp? And how would I feel if they were, and she knew? And would she take the opportunity to dive in and kiss me down there? And how would I feel if she did, other than terrified of that camera of course? I really don’t know how I‘m going to get through this.

 


Continued in The Accidental Feminist, Part Three