January 2003
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Harold Lamb was preparing all of his applications to college and university athletic departments. He had a bachelor's degree in sports medicine, an M.Ed. in athletic training from the prestigious University of Virginia, and five years experience as assistant to the head trainer at Wilson College on his resume. Also, he was certified by NATA, the National Athletic Trainers Association, having passed their examinations. The head trainer at Wilson was too young for Harold to wait for promotion there. Already 30 years old himself, Harold was anxious to get his career moving forward.
Harold was now looking for a job as head trainer at a small or medium sized institution. He could picture doing that for five years, and then moving up to head trainer at a large state university system. He had selected twelve advertisements appropriate for him, and had added a thirteenth: Distaff College, an all women's liberal arts college in California, was seeking a new assistant trainer.
Although he was overqualified for the job, he decided to apply. Actually, it was because he was overqualified. They were notorious for rarely hiring men in any capacity; they seemed to be overtly hostile to all men. That was where Karen, his ex-wife, had gone to college. He had neither seen nor spoken to her since 1998, when they were divorced. With little money and no children, the divorce had been relatively painless. But he always felt that Distaff College had warped her attitude towards men.
It was in Karen's alumnae magazine that he had read about a male Professor of Philosophy winning a lawsuit against Distaff. The man had proved that he was better qualified than the successful applicant for a faculty position. Rather than have him on campus, they paid a lump sum settlement of an undisclosed amount. Harold could see collecting a nice sum from them, since they clearly would not want to hire him, and he was going to be better qualified than anybody they did hire. He smiled in anticipation of adding a nice settlement to his meager savings when his plan bore fruit.
April 2003
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Harold was really depressed. He had had three interviews, but in each case he did not get the job. They were always surprised that he was only 5'7" tall and 140 pounds. As if somebody had to have been a football or basketball player himself to seek a career in athletic training! Not that they said anything, but he could see the surprise in their eyes when they first saw him.
With no interviews pending, it seemed he would be unemployed as of September. Too confident of getting a better job, he had already given his notice at Wilson. Now he was desperate to get any job in his field. He would have sent off more applications, but the deadlines for applying had passed.
May 2003
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With the hiring season over, and the academic year almost over, Harold was stunned to get a phone call at home from Alice Hansen, head trainer at Distaff College. She quickly got to the point of her call.
"Let me be honest with you, Mr. Lamb," she said, "we had already hired someone for the position, but she got a higher paying job and has backed out on us. Your resume shows that you're really overqualified. You have excellent educational background and five years experience at a larger school than we are, with the same job title. I'm wondering why you applied."
"I always wanted to live and work in California," said Harold, thinking quickly, "and I thought it would be worth it to take a job with the same title that I now hold. I understand that your campus is right on the Pacific, and the ad said that a free apartment on campus comes with the job."
"Yes, we're just south of Santa Barbara on the mainland, and part of our campus is on one of the Channel Islands off the coast. We have our athletic training facility there. The students who are in the fall sports will report on August 5. We're in something of a bind with Elizabeth backing out of the job, it being so late in the academic year. The job does include free housing for you on campus, and it's already furnished. If you're satisfied with the salary that we advertised, and free to come to work for us on August 1, then you're hired."
"I'm happy to accept, Ms. Hansen."
"We'll mail you the contract today. It's for an initial appointment of two years, as we advertised. Glad to have you with us, Mr. Lamb."
Friday, August 1, 2003
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Harold got off the plane at LAX. He had sold his car back in Pennsylvania, in that it would not have met California's strict pollution laws anyway. He had sold his furniture, too, given the promise of furnished housing on campus. He couldn't get out of paying August rent, so he just left a note saying that his security deposit would cover it. He had already transferred his savings and checking accounts to a bank in Santa Barbara, and instructed Wilson College to send his last paychecks to his account in that bank.
When his luggage came, Harold was pleased to see that a man had arrived in the baggage claim area with a sign bearing his name. He introduced himself, and the driver said his name was Ned. Ned grabbed the suitcases, and led him to the car.
Traffic was ghastly, the freeways living up to their reputation. Ned made only one remark to him, and then turned on the radio.
"I've picked up many new employees for Distaff College here at the airport, but you're the first one who's not a woman," was what he said.
Harold just nodded, and then listened to Ned's favorite station as they worked their way northward.
At last they reached the campus. Ned and his Lincoln Towncar seemed to be known to the security guard at the gatehouse; she just waved him through. Ned proceeded to the western edge of campus, to the dock. There were three boats there. On one boat, a young woman waved to them.
"You're going to the island part of campus," said Ned, "that's what they told me, to let you off at their dock."
When Ned unloaded his bags, Harold tried to tip him.
"No, no, the College already paid me, including tip," he said.
As he drove off, the young woman from the boat came over and took his bags. She introduced herself as Becky, and said that she was a senior, or would be in September when classes started.
She added that she was a member of the basketball team. Harold could believe that; she was 6'4" tall, very athletic, with a beautiful face, and a fine figure as well. Her black hair glowed in the sunlight. Working at a women's college could be very pleasant, he thought, as they boarded.
They seemed to be the only passengers, although there were ten chairs on the deck, and room for at least ten standees as well. They sat in neighboring chairs.
"So," said Becky as they were underway, "you must be the new assistant to Ms. Hansen. We all love her, she's so good at keeping us athletes from getting injured. Will you be working with the basketball team?"
"I'm not sure yet which teams will be among my assignments here," said Harold, "I have to talk about that with Ms. Hansen."
"Well," said Becky, "I'm very prone to sprained ankles. Dr. Chang doesn't trust the student trainers to tape me properly. So if you do work with the basketball team, you'll be taping my ankles yourself, every day."
She got up, stood on one leg, and slowly rotated the other ankle in front of him. She was wearing shorts, and he could not help but notice her fabulous legs. It would be a pleasure to tape her ankles every day, he thought. But he better not say that.
"Who's Dr. Chang?" was all he said.
"The physician in residence," said Becky. "She's an internist, and runs the College's infirmary, but she also is interested in sports medicine. She was a soccer player at UCLA before she went to medical school."
As she explained this, she walked around behind his chair. She spoke to him again from behind him.
"Just one thing. When you tape my ankles, you must never tickle my feet. I hate it."
"Of course not," said Harold, "that would be unprofessional."
Just as he got out the last syllable of 'unprofessional', she dug into his rib cage on both sides with her fingers. He shrieked, and jumped out of the chair.
Becky ran over to him, hooked his legs with her own, and tripped him. Soon he was flat on his back, and she was sitting on his stomach, with her knees pinning down his upper arms. She was in perfect position to tickle his rib cage and his armpits, and she proceeded to do so with relish. He howled with laughter, and wriggled desperately, but there was no way in the world that he could get the 180 pound beauty off of him. Her fingers poked and prodded, and kept coming back to the spots that gave the most reaction. As he laughed and laughed, unable to speak a word of protest, she taunted him.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle. You really are so cute for a little man! Tickle, tickle, tickle. I can't resist the urge to tickle you, a lot. Tickle, tickle, tickle. And there's no need to resist, either. Tickle, tickle, tickle. There's not a thing you can do about it. Not a thing. Tickle, tickle, tickle. No escape for you, none. I'm going to tickle you until we dock. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Oh, this is so much fun!"
Harold was unable to breathe, red in the face, and quivering in ticklish agony. He didn't notice that the boat had docked at the island. Becky was having so much fun torturing him that she didn't notice either, as she continued to taunt him.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle. Your face is all red, how amusing. Tickle, tickle, tickle. I've found the perfect spot in your armpits, just perfect. Tickle, tickle, tickle. And I know just how hard to poke there, Tickle, tickle, tickle. Such a cute ticklish little fellow you are. Tickle, tickle, tickle."
"Becky, I'm ashamed of you," said a voice from behind her, and she looked around, and finally stopped tickling Harold.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Hansen," said Becky.
There were two women now on board. The one she knew was Alice Hansen, head trainer at Distaff. She was just as tall as Becky, and about the same weight and build, but with blonde hair. And, of course, at 31 she was ten years older.
The other woman she did not know. She seemed to be in her late twenties, and was a little shorter than Ms. Hansen, perhaps 6'2". Her lustrous long hair was red.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Becky," said Ms. Hansen, "and you certainly should be sorry."
Harold had his breath back now, and waited for Ms. Hansen to order Becky to get off of him. And he hoped that Becky would be suitably punished for embarrassing him so badly in front of his new boss. But when she spoke to Becky, her words put him in a state of shock.
"That's no way to tickle a man. Didn't anybody ever teach you that tickling is best done on bare skin? You've left him fully dressed. That's the first thing that you should be ashamed of. Your first step should have been to strip him. Go on, don't goggle at me, strip him as naked as the day he was born, go ahead, do it now."
With a grin on her face, still sitting on him, but releasing his upper arms, Becky tore off his shirt and undershirt. She then moved to sit on his legs, and take off his shoes and socks. She reached over and unfastened his belt, and then yanked his pants off.
To do this she had had to get off of him, and he managed to stand up. She tripped him again adroitly, and yanked off his boxer shorts. She pinned him down again, this time lying on his stomach, as she sat on the small of his back.
"This is an outrage! Let me up!" screamed Harold, squirming futilely under Becky.
Alice came over and twisted his ear until he screamed. Then she let it go.
"You shut up, Harry. Speak only when you're spoken to. Or it will go very badly for you."
Harold decided that they were likely all insane, and that would go to the police as soon as possible, but it was best not to provoke them just now, with Becky sitting on him. So he shut up.
"What else should I be ashamed of, Ms. Hansen?" asked Becky, still grinning.
"That you didn't bring along something to tie him up with. If you really want to give somebody a thorough tickling, then bondage is essential. Fortunately, I believe that Cathy can remedy that."
The other woman, the redhead, opened the bag that she was carrying, and tossed a thick roll of athletic tape to Becky. The tape was 4" wide. Becky wasted no time in taping Harold's legs together at the ankles, below the knees, and above the knees. She grabbed his arms, and taped his wrists together. He wasn't flexible enough for her to tape his elbows together also, but she did tape them towards each other. Then she taped his ankles to his wrists behind his back, finishing a stringent hogtie.
"Well done, Becky," said Alice, "he's quite helpless. You and Cathy can carry him to the car. Oh, pardon my manners. This is Cathy Cooper, my new assistant trainer."
"What?" said Harold, hogtied on the deck, but still listening.
"I warned you, Harry, not to speak. You'll be punished for that. Yes, Cathy has the job that you thought you had. We have other plans for you. Now shut up, and stay shut up, if you know what's good for you."
Cathy and Becky picked him up by his knees and shoulders, and carried him off the boat. Alice carried his luggage, into which she had put the clothes that Becky tore off of him.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself tickling him, Becky," said Alice.
"Yes, Ms. Hansen, very much. I miss the chance to tickle my little brother since I went away to college."
"Well, then, I have the perfect part-time job for you. You haven't selected a job from the financial aid office for the fall semester yet, have you?"
"No, Ms. Hansen."
"Fine. You can be one of Karen's assistants. You'll meet her tomorrow. It's 20 hours a week, and I'm sure that you'll love the work. In fact, you can start work tomorrow, and earn some extra money for yourself."
They had reached the car, which was actually an SUV. They put Harold in the cargo area, along with his luggage, and the three women sat up front. In ten minutes, they arrived at a medium sized house, isolated from the rest of the buildings on the island. There was a beautiful sunset over the ocean.
"This will be your new home, Harry," said Alice. "Fully furnished, but not as you expected. We have lots of plans for you."
Alice took a blindfold out of her purse, and strapped it securely around his head.
As they carried him inside, he felt a sense of dread. When they put him down on his belly, it felt like on a bed, he heard a new voice.
"I'm Doctor Chang. This will just sting a bit, don't worry."
He felt an injection in a vein in his foot, and then he felt very woozy, and went to sleep.
19.09.11
story continues in The Trainer 2
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