Taking Control in the Park Ch. 02

2 - Her Side of the Story

Authors note: this story was written with the idea that it would be read after reading the original story of the same title, and I think you will get more out of this story line if you read both. But this story certainly does stand on its own if you want to read only one. I am grateful for any comments or criticisms you may have. Also, if you are an available editor who can give critical commentary on characters and plot, and likes my stories, please say hello.

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When I started out for my run that day, it was just like every other day. Being the creature of habit that I am, I was following all the usual rituals that mark the pre-run part of my day. I had laid out all my running clothes, my iPod, and headphones carefully on the bed. I made a cup of tea, and nibbled on some fruit.

I spent about fifteen minutes visualizing my run for the day. Running is my time for meditation as much as it is for exercise. I start to get into that space even before I hit the road. People who don't run probably don't fully appreciate this aspect.

I have noticed that my meditations tend to overlap on a day to day basis. Almost like putting a book down and then finding one's place when you return to it. Sometimes it is merely working through things that are bothering me, or other times reliving an event or an exchange I had with someone that had upset me or provoked some strong reaction, and other times just strange free floating thoughts and observations about life and people. The mind is a strange and complex world of theater when you really take the time to consider its whirring and spinning.

On the day that I first saw him, it was such a beautiful day. The sun was beaming, and there was a slight breeze that cooled me in a delicious way. I felt an exhilaration in my running. I had reached the point where I had forgotten my body and I was in an almost trance like state as I floated across the pavement. This is the type of moment that makes me continue daily running as a part of my life.

As I turned onto a side street that I like to take on my route to the local park, I saw a man's face. He was seated in front of a window just above street level in an apartment building. I was still some distance away, but for some reason I could see his face clearly. It must have been something to do with the way the light was shining on the window at that time of day. His face was illuminated in a striking way. As I began to get closer I noticed that he was now looking at me.

My normal reflex is to avoid eye contact with strangers, and I instantly shifted my gaze away and looked towards the end of the street. I took just the briefest of little side glances back to the window as I was just about to pass. I saw that the man had stood up from his chair and moved across his apartment to another window directly facing the street, and was looking straight at me. I smiled a little to myself as I passed.

I have had this experience of men staring at me - as he was - many times. This experience often leaves me with a contradictory reaction. On the one hand, it is affirmation of desirability which I duly note, and on some level require.

But, I am also left with vague feelings of contempt. Most often the person viewing me does not interest me in any way and their behavior is an unwanted intrusion on my consciousness. Even deeper than that, I feel their leering is an ineffectual expression of a longing or desire they cannot fill. In this sense, it is really kind of a pathetic behavior, and there is nothing less sexy than a pathetic man. A real man goes in a straight line after what he needs and gets it. He doesn't stand on the sidelines and imagine ' what if.'

These feelings were at the forefront of my mind as I continued on my run. I still had a very distinct picture in my mind's eye of his face, and my thoughts danced around its image. I was thinking how obnoxious it is for men like him to behave that way but I was also amused by it too.

I started to think about what he would do if I were to come face to face with him. I imagined that he would be tongue tied and not have the slightest idea how to spark my interest. It seemed a bit mean spirited to make these assumptions but I cant deny that I had these notions from the first.

In spite of these impressions, there was also a recognition that he was not unattractive. He was not particularly remarkable in appearance. Very average and forgettable I would say if it not for a glint of intelligence that was mixed in his expression when I first saw him. It was an enduring image.

By the end of my run, I had forgotten all about him and expected to never think of him again. It didn't work out that way. The very next day, I returned to my run on the same route. As I turned up that same street I saw the man again.

It was not quite like the first time. I didn't actually spot him until I was closer but I noticed in my peripheral vision that he was moving across his apartment to occupy the front window just like before. But this time he was further back from the window. I guessed he was trying to be less noticeable than previously, and was attempting to be a secret voyeur. For the rest of my run I amused myself by thinking what effect my running past would have on him. I imagined a little self abuse was in his future and laughed to myself.

And so it began. The running by the window of this man became part of my running ritual, and his unfailing appearance at the window became a ritual of his. Thinking about him and what he must be feeling entered my meditations regularly now.

I tried to avoid letting him catch me looking his way although I did steal glances from time to time to confirm his presence. I noticed that he seemed to be waiting for me in front of his window each day like some horny sentinel.

I must admit that this daily stroking of my ego was fun for me and I enjoyed teasing him. I liked that I had stirred up some desire in this man, and took some guilty pleasure in the mild anguish I presumed he must feel. This went on for a couple weeks or so without fail.

Then something very unexpected happened. I came to the usual place at the usual time and I didn't see him in the window. I felt almost disappointed. After about a mile or so I turned a corner just before I entered the park and I caught sight of that same man running behind me about fifty yards or so. I knew his face well by now.

I actually started chuckling to myself. "Is he going to introduce himself or is he just taking the voyeur thing to a whole new level of pathetic?" I wondered. I presumed I would find out soon enough.

I had some music playing for my run but when I realized this man was following me I quickly muted it. As I ran through the park, I was wondering if he was still following me but I didn't want to turn around to see. Instead I just waited for what would unfold. Would he have the nerve to actually stop me and talk to me?

So, for a few minutes I ran forward but with all my senses aimed behind me. I tried to figure out what was happening back there. I then started to hear some foot steps. I realized he was definitely closer now - maybe twenty yards.

It seemed comical to me at first but then doubts about the situation began to creep in. I was wondering what the hell I would say to this man if he actually stopped me. Would I feign complete ignorance of him or would I ask him how long he intended to keep stalking me during my runs? Did I even really understand his intentions. That thought unnerved me a little.

All of a sudden it dawned on me that I was not prepared for this encounter at all. It would be too strange and unpredictable under the circumstances.

I started to speed up a little. I figured I could outpace him if I had to. But after about 20 seconds I could hear his footsteps getting closer. Maybe ten yards.

"Damn it," I thought. He really is going to try to catch up to me. And I sped up a little more. But the distance continued to close and I started to get very nervous and even a little scared. I don't know why I was scared. I had never thought this man was someone to worry about. He looked like a nice man, a shy man even.

Then I realized he was directly behind me and could practically reach out and touch me at any moment. My heart was beating way too fast now and I was finding it a little hard to breath. I was flooded with anxiety and really getting worried. I wanted to get the hell out of there.

I began to glance around for other people. Could I find help if I needed it? I was bracing myself for what was next when all of sudden he backed. The sound of his footfalls slow and seemed to stop altogether. I was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. I didn't slow down. I kept running hard to make sure I could put some distance between us. As I got to a bend in the path a minute later, I glanced behind me and I could not see him at all any more. Thank god.

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The next few weeks were by far the strangest in my life. After the little encounter in the park, I took a couple days off running while I puzzled over the event. It was definitely an experience that had scared me. This stranger had gone from a run of the mill peeper to a full blown stalker - had he not? Who could say what he had in his mind. But, on the other hand nothing had really happened.

This thought was unsatisfying. I could not be sure if I simply outran him and he became too tired to pursue further, or if something else happened. Maybe he wanted to talk and chickened out at the last second - or was there another reason?

Once the initial fear had begun to subside, an intense curiosity began to fill void. I wanted to really understand what this man was doing following me. What was his motivation? I could not let it alone.

So, for several days I went out for my run on my usual route but I was in full blown reconnaissance mode. Each day I discovered that the man was there following me but he was well back in the distance. I doubt I would have seen him if I hadn't been deliberately searching. He never got close but did seem to observe me for most of my route through the park.

This behavior was distressing. He was not doing this to get a look or to try to intercept me for an introduction. His purpose was definitely elsewhere.

I began to go back to my feeling of fear in the park when he was running behind me, turning it over in mind like a coin between my fingers. What if the origin of my fear was my instinct kicking in telling me of danger, I wondered. What if he was making plans that were a threat to me. I became convinced there could be no other explanation. I had to act accordingly.

For a time it seemed there was only one thing to do - stay home. I considered a change of route but felt there was no guarantee that I could be safe under the circumstances. After a couple weeks of sitting home, I started to feel like a caged animal. The interruption of my routine was most unwelcome and I found my mood and energy start to diminish. I wondered how long I could stand it.

Combined with this, I also found my mind kept returning to this man over and over. I considered how badly I must have misjudged him if he was really capable of acting on the darker impulses I imagined. There was a word for what he had in mind for me which I tried very hard to not think of. It was as if pulling the concept out into the light of day for proper scrutiny made the possibility more real. Put simply, denial felt safer.

In the series of strange events, the next was a real signpost. The sign indicated that the place which had but one road before could now have two. But the sign when I first saw it was almost completely unintelligible to me. I would have to puzzle out its meaning and it would be no simple task as it turned out.

I had a dream. An astonishing, disturbing, lurid, and horribly vivid dream. In my dream, I had awoken in my bed and got up to exit the bedroom. When I began to open the door I heard laughing and loud voices as if a party were in progress within.

When the door was fully opened, I looked across the threshold and saw a scene of destruction. I could scarcely recognize my apartment. The furniture was upended and tables broken. The pictures had all been torn off the walls. The blinds were hanging in tatters as if someone had used them to swing around on. They was an unbelievable amount of broken glass and debris on the floor - so much so that the surface of the floor could scarcely be seen. Holes had been smashed in all the walls. It was as though an apocalypse had occurred with the confines of my personal living space.

I was filled with shock, and disbelief as I stumbled in. There were two men who looked at me as I entered the room. But my presence did not concern them in the least and they scarcely altered their demeanor or animated conversation. I asked the men - feeling completely stunned - what had happened. One of them turned and began to talk to me in a dismissive and contemptuous tone.

"The boys came around for a little party last night. They had a great time. You should sit down and let loose a little. It would do you some good. You look pretty fucking uptight."

I began to feel hot tears stream down my face as I realized that these people with their astounding callousness had destroyed all my things as if they had no value at all. I began to yell at him.

"What the fuck happened in here?"

"What do you mean what happened here?" he sneered. "Did something happen? You tell me what happened."

His words were baffling. They were spoken with anger, but also a sneering challenge seemed to be implied. As the words reverberated in my skull, I suddenly had a sense of dread as a memory - or was it dream - started to pop in little disconnected images and flashes. Even stranger, I was now feeling shame. I felt as though I could not answer the challenge in his words.

The images continued to piece themselves together and all at once I had a scene. I was being closed in on by five men. I am trying to escape but I am blocked as I try to run. One man is asking another man if he thinks she will like what is about to happen, and he says "Yeah, I think she will."

I am being held down tight and struggling with glimpses of their faces and cocks. They were all pretty unattractive men, one was overweight, and the others just seemed like older, kind of scary rednecks or possibly street people. I didn't remember details of what I did or what they did to me. It was very vague but disturbing to me.

While these 'memories' were returning, the two men announced they were leaving and seemed very angry. I was left standing there in the rubble, with these disturbing half formed images going through my mind. Then, suddenly the front door slammed open and a man I had remembered from my 'dream' strolled in saying "I came back!" quite cheerily. Behind him was a woman who was swinging a pair of handcuffs in one hand. The sight of the woman was new and for some reason particularly frightening.

My stomach just lurched and I dropped to my knees and my heart started racing. I thought to run but then I saw that the rest of the men were following through the door as well. I realized there was no escaping and just turned towards them and started taking off my clothes. At this point I was aware that even though my heart was pounding with fear, I was resigned to the event and was actually anticipating what would happen.

The woman with the handcuffs pushed me onto my back on the floor which was littered with debris and broken glass. She grabbed my wrists and handcuffed me to the table. Two men started to strip. One man got in behind me and grabbed my arms and said the more that I struggled the harder he was going to push me down into the the glass-covered floor. One of the men came and knelt above my face and started jerking off and occasionally smacking his cock against my face. He did not seem to expect me to do anything so I just lay very still and tried not to move.

I was approached from the side by another man. I think he had several types of whips and seemed to be explaining as he went along about technique and how it should feel as he whipped me on my breasts, belly and thighs. It hurt, but not a lot, and I kept trying to be very still. I could see another large man in the background playing with his cock and watching.

Then the woman approached me from the side. She had an intense expression that was very intimidating to me. She was squatting down directly in front of the man playing with his cock over my face. She watched him for awhile, then cast her attention to me. With a little smile, she produced a small blade from her pocket. I immediately started to struggle and scream. I was terrified of being cut. She looked directly into my eyes for a few moments as if searching for something. She suddenly thrust the blade for my face. I screamed "No, no, no, please!" and clenched my eyes shut. I would not open them again.

She did not cut my face. As I lay trembling, I felt the blade come down and slice my upper arm. As I was screaming with the pain, I felt the man above me produce a hot spray across my face and onto my open mouth. It was horrible. I was choking and turning my head away and sobbing.

Then the whipping started up again, and in contrast to what I had just experienced, it was a relief. I found myself laughing with every fall of the whip. Then, even that stopped. With my eyes still closed, afraid to look, I felt a cock rubbing ever so gently against my inner thigh and it felt amazingly good.

We went through a cycle of cut, whip abuse, again and again, With each cycle I was getting a release of pleasure more intense than the last. Just when I thought I couldn't bear it any longer there was one wave of blindingly intense pleasure. A fearful sound broke in and cut the cord of this dream. My alarm went off.

To say I was disturbed by this dream is to have a gift for understatement. I had never dreamed anything even remotely like this before. On the rare occasions where I have had vivid and emotionally charged dreams, I have tried hard to break them down and separate a little gold nugget of meaning through the sluice box of my waking consciousness.

I had no experience and almost no language to cope with a dream of this sort. If there were primitive impulses or archetypes at work, I could scarcely imagine what significance they held. The question I kept asking myself is why would I have a dream like this, and why now.

I decided I needed to dig a little deeper into this question. It was an itch that needed a mighty dose of scratching. I began to do a little research. I cast around in cyberspace for information.

What I thought I might try to find was some discussions about human psychology and dreams. Perhaps I could find some palatable explanation for the deviance of my sleeping self which would neutralize my sense of distress. What I found instead was BDSM.

Although I was aware there was such a thing, I had no true understanding of its principles, and certainly no appreciation for the scope of its literature - never mind its practitioners. But I came to understand. In this world, a complex array of psychological and physical stimuli produced physical responses that were not widely understood or appreciated.

The practices of power exchange, humiliation, fear, and pain infliction cast my dream into a context where it could have an understandable form. If some human beings were powerfully drawn to such things, perhaps my dream was an echo from the depths of my more basic and perhaps primitive self. With millions of years of human evolution; who is to say what lies programmed into the DNA as dormant potential. This was my speculation.