Vol 4 No. 47, Apr 22 - Apr 28 2004

...continued Despite all the preparation and advance knowledge, I was still looking over my shoulder everywhere I went, eyeing every car that passed. Knowing it was coming gave me time to chew on the possibilities. I was intentionally putting myself in a life-threatening situation. Every time I stepped out in public I was thinking about dying, or worse. Being in that state--preoccupied with the value of your life--is not a bad exercise, and one of the best phases of the experiment. ABDUCTED AT LAST When the moment finally came, it wasn't what I expected. I had predicted I would be snatched walking home at night, with a screeching van and brief struggle, just like a Nancy Drew book. Instead, my editor and The Kidnapper had conspired to trick me while I was working late one evening. As I plunked away on my computer, I heard footsteps I assumed were my editor's coming up behind me. Then hands gripped my shoulders and The Kidnapper's voice said, "Why hello, Miss Skinner... " It was kind of awkward, considering the last time I'd seen him we were high-fiving over martinis. I just wasn't scared, especially on my own turf, in my own frigging cubicle. "Uh, do you mind if I get my stuff?" I asked. He waited patiently as I shut down all my computer programs and buttoned my jacket. When we got outside, where his SUV was parked next to the back exit, he opened the car door for me. (Later, my editor, who was watching from the window, said, "When I saw him holding your purse I figured you would be all right.") Before starting the car, The Kidnapper paused, probably thinking the same thing I was: This is lame. What kind of jalopy, no-budg version of a scintillating NYC trend was this? It was worse than falling asleep listening to an ex-Portlander brag about parties in Williamsburg. "Alright, this sucks. Get in the back," ordered The Kidnapper. In the back of the SUV, I let him tie my ankles and wrists with zip strips, duct tape my mouth, and blindfold me. Then we went for a long drive. Periodically, The Kidnapper stopped the car to intensify my bindings. He ran rope through my wrists and ankles, and attached it to the floor of the vehicle. I was very aware of my vulnerability at this point. Friendly or not, The Kidnapper had my life in his hands, and I could not have escaped. Plus, I realized if he got in an accident, with me tied across the floor, my spine would probably snap in half. I had read about the submissive experience, which often appeals to high-level executives and others whose day-to-day life is fraught with responsibilities and control. Many people find immense release in being physically restrained, and forced into a docility where they have no real control over the situation. Lying with my face planted on the floor, I did feel somewhat peaceful, the blindfold forcing me into a slight doze. If I thought too much about the situation, chewing on all the maybes and what-ifs, I would start to panic--but accepting an uncontrollable fate had a remarkably soothing, Zen-like effect. After what seemed like at least an hour of driving, The Kidnapper pulled over and mummified me in the sleeping bag, adding a larger, more suffocating gag to boot. I was perturbed to realize it was being zipped all the way over my face, and even more so when I heard him tying the strings in knots. I tried to stay calm, but was breathing heavily, wondering how much air was in the bag. How responsible was this kidnapper... really? Surely he calculated how much air I would have with how much time he would need for whatever came next... right? As we continued to drive ("Where the hell are we going?"), I got sweatier and more nervous. I tried to calm myself while at the same time freaking out over how difficult it was getting to breathe. I was getting mad--but not as mad as when he stopped at a restaurant's drive through window. When I heard him order a Chinese chicken salad from the teenage girl, I started to thrash. I was not going to suffocate back here while he ate his damn Chinese chicken salad dinner! Still, I waited until he had pulled away from the window before kicking the back of his seat, making angry grunting noises, realizing he couldn't hear me snapping through all the insulation. Obligingly he pulled over and unzipped the sleeping bag. "Whoops," he said. INSIDE THE KIDNAPPER'S CONDO After crossing the river several times, driving in circles, and making mysterious pit stops in parking lots and storage sheds, we arrived at The Kidnapper's condo. To avoid attention, he untied and un-gagged me, guiding me blindfolded into his unit. Once inside, I took the opportunity to ask if I could go to the bathroom before getting tied up again. Leading me into the bathroom, he put my hands on the toilet, then the sink, and left me alone. I came out from the bathroom beaming; impressed with my success at peeing blind, even finding soap and washing my hands. "Dude, I'm just like Helen Keller!" I announced. And then... well, there just wasn't much to do. We amused ourselves for a while as I groped around the apartment, trying to glean clues as to where I was ("It sounds like the ocean... or maybe the freeway?"). Then he duct-taped my mouth shut again, and tied me into a sort of upright fetal position, with my wrists connected to my ankles. Apparently he decided it was more interesting when I could talk, so he removed the tape and we started to chat. I suggested we take some photos. We spent the next hour and a half arranging me in positions of restraint--which was actually pretty fun. At one point, as he arranged my bound limbs across his bed, he said, "This is like the most fun date I've ever had! ...and it's not even a date!" After about 50 digital photos, I coaxed him into taking off my blindfold to see them. As I flipped through them and came to the end, some of the pictures included... puppies? So much for fearing for my life. "continued...