St Pancras Station  

lucy_36C 10/23/2008 8:19 am

So today I got handcuffed to some railings. I was having a mild disagreement with Andy the Gay Policeman, who has a black eye and two stitches in the palm of his hand and was, with hindsight, in no mood for this sort of thing. He’s a resourceful man and never without those plastic handcuffs the police use these days in his pocket when off duty (principally for the purposes of kinky gay sex, it has to be admitted, but you never know when they’ll come in handy for something like handcuffing your fag hag girlfriend to St Pancras Station). In that odd way that accidents seem to happen slowly enough for you to think “Oh, now I’m falling over”, I had enough time to stand and watch him cuff my right wrist to the wrought iron gates at the bottom of the steps up the side of the Midland Hotel and then stalk away before I’d really registered what had happened. You feel so silly just standing there attached to a railway station. People walked past and ignored me. Others walked past and stared. I smiled weakly at them. Andy wasn’t coming back. I began to wonder what I’d say if someone asked me “What are you doing?” or “Are you alright?” but I couldn’t think of anything. I decided to phone – well, I wasn’t sure who, but someone. My bag had slipped off my shoulder and was getting in the way as I tried to scrabble for my right pocket with my left hand. In the end I lost patience and said, “Excuse me” to a woman walking past. She ignored me. I tried again, a bit louder. “Excuse me!” A smartly-dressed elderly man stopped and looked at me, surprised. “I’m so sorry but I wonder if you’d help me get my phone out of my pocket?” I’m a girl handcuffed to a railway station. He chooses to ignore that. “Certainly my dear, there you are.” He hands me my phone, tips his hat and then walks off. I scroll through the names in my phone with a sinking heart – none of these people are going to be any help at all. And even if they were, they’d all want to know why I’m handcuffed to a railway station and I’m not sure I can answer that. In the end I phone J, Lynda’s boyfriend, as he’s a policeman too. He’s on duty but promises to send someone to rescue me. I stand in the freezing cold, trying to look nonchalant. Eventually a squad car pulls up and two smirking policemen climb out slowly, buttoning their tunics and putting on their hats. They do the slow, policeman walk towards me. “Now then Miss, what exactly seems to be the problem?” Damn them, they’re enjoying this far more than I want them to. They make a big show of examining the handcuff, with sharp intakes of breath and much head shaking. “Could be tricky, this one.” “Not sure we’ve got the tools in the car.” I resist the temptation to kick their shins. Eventually they cut me free. “Now don’t you be a silly girl and go getting yourself handcuffed to any other railway stations.” On his way home, J came to see me. “How, in the name of all that’s holy, do you get yourself handcuffed to St Pancras Station?” I still can’t really explain it so I show him my wrist, which is still red. He holds my hand, rubbing his thumb across my red stripe and says, “You’re a drain on police resources, Lucy. Next time you get handcuffed to a building I’m only sending a squad car if you’re completely naked, do you understand?” I nod, solemnly. “And even then I shall instruct the officers not to release you unless you’ve been horribly and repeatedly molested.” I’ve texted Andy. “You will be pleased to hear I am no longer handcuffed to St Pancras Station”. He has replied, “Aren’t you? Never mind.”

Maximumrich Explicit Photo 7175 posts  10/23/2008 9:46 am

Sorry but I am sitting here laughing at your earlier predicament.... I wonder what you did to deserve that.... R xx Would you... ? So would I... We should talk!