Being Better

"I want you to stop and think about what you're feeling right now," he suggested, "forget how I've acted specifically, and ask yourself what you're afraid of." I thought for a moment, and realised that perhaps he wasn't mad at me at all. Perhaps I was just being my usual paranoid self.

"I'm not sure," I admitted, "because you're all I have left, if you're mad at me then"-

Tom raised his hand to silence me and wandered towards me, "this isn't about me being mad at you Jenny. This is about you being afraid that I'm mad at you." He sat next to me and took my hand in his, "What do you think will happen if I'm mad at you?"

"You will leave me."

"And what happens if I leave you?" Tom asked gently. When I couldn't think of an answer, he offered, "Is it a feeling that something bad might happen to you and you won't be able to protect yourself or a feeling that no one will ever love you?"

"I think it's both," I felt a tightening in my chest as I looked deeply into my own workings. I had never really asked why? Why was it that I felt afraid of Nelson, or anyone else for that matter, being angry with me? I knew that I wasn't very strong; I didn't believe I was very smart either. I knew too that there were many bad people out in the world, and I didn't trust in my ability to face them.

I also thought that if Nelson couldn't love me, then who would? Someone as weak and confused as I was; I was petrified of becoming lost in the world all on my own. There was no safe haven for me to run to if everything around me fell to pieces. I could return home to my family, of course, but the truth was that their problems were far worse than my own. I knew deep down, they wouldn't accept me unless I submitted to their ways. Something I was also afraid of.

"Would you accompany me to my bedroom?" Tom asked politely and I agreed to join him. I was still curious about his room, despite having been caught almost snooping inside. He led me into the room and shut the door behind him. I could see it was a simple room with a bed, a desk and some books. He certainly had a passion for books.

"This," Tom proclaimed, "is how it's going to be," he held his hand out and ordered, "hand over your phone."

"My phone?" I looked at him with wide eyes, "for how long?"

"For the remainder of your stay here." Tom looked at me expectantly.

"But- what about Nelson? What if he replies to my email? Don't you think I should message him again in case he didn't get the first one?" I started to panic.

"Nelson needs time to learn that he will miss you. If you contact him again, he won't discover life without you and you will have no hope of him taking you back any time soon." Tom made a good point, yet I still clung to the phone in my damp nervous palm. I didn't want to let it go; it was my connection, my way of contact.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," I found myself saying, trying to talk my way out of it, "mightn't miss me already?"

"You're afraid of not having your phone on you, aren't you?" He asked, but before I could reply he had taken the phone and shoved it into a desk. Then he locked the drawer and put the key in his back pocket.

"Listen to me," he spoke calmly, "remember that you trust me, that I'm not going to harm you, and that you asked for this." I felt urgently that I needed my phone back, but in the name of getting Nelson back I tried to remain cooperative, "Now don't argue with me, sit on this bed here and look at the desk. I'm going to leave the room for a moment and tidy up. You are going to promise me that you will not, under any circumstances, open this drawer."

Tom reached back into his pocket and placed the key down on the desk. Then he left. I stared at that desk for exactly 8 minutes and 12 seconds, according to his alarm clock, listening to the sounds of dishes and wondering what Tom was planning. Why did I have to sit here and look at a desk with my phone locked inside it? What would this teach me?

Then a vibration.

I raced up to the desk and my hand darted for the key. I was so anxious to get to my phone, which was still vibrating, that I knocked the key off the desk and had to bend down to pick it up. This was a disaster, I thought, Nelson finally tries to contact me and my phone is locked away! I shoved the key inside the desk but it wouldn't turn! I wrestled with it for a minute before I realised it was the wrong key.

"Tom!" I shouted, but there was no response so I kept jamming the key into the desk in a hope that it might turn with my sheer will. "Tom, my phone is ringing!"

The bedroom door opened again and I saw Tom standing with a plate and drying cloth in his hand. He looked completely perplexed as to why I was in such a panic, and even laughed as I told him the key wasn't working and that he must have given me the wrong one.

"Yes well," Tom began once he had finished laughing, "It is the wrong key, but I honestly thought you would come and get me, rather than try to open the drawer without permission."

"Permission?! That's my phone! And Nelson"-

"Nelson didn't ring you," Tom said bluntly.

"How do you know?" I put my hands on my hips, flustered, still edging for the key.

"I know because I was dialling your number," he put the plate and towel together in one of his hands and used the other to lead me towards his bed. Once I had sat back down in my previous position he added, "But it's going to be in this drawer, day and night. You won't be able to hear it from the spare room. In fact, I might call it again later and you won't know if it's me or Nelson."

My feelings bubbled at the surface, anxiety and fear and rage. Seeing this, Tom said, "Now you won't speak of this again. This is how you are going to work on not speaking when you feel irrationally anxious. Because the longer you protest this, the longer we will need to work on your problems, and that means the longer it will take for you to get your phone back."

Tom left the room.

I couldn't believe what a predicament I had found myself in! Furthermore I couldn't stand the thought of not having my phone at my reach. It was an instant reassurance to check my phone, but without it... I felt my entire body tense up. I stared longer at the desk, as if staring at it would make it open. However, it remained perfectly silent, just as I was trying to be.

Later Tom returned from the kitchen and smiled at me as he re-entered his room. He sat next to me and placed his hand upon my back. Nothing more was said about the phone; nevertheless he comforted me in other ways. He told me I could lie down upon his bed that night if it helped. I wondered if this would help me overcome my fears or if it would just be torment until everything was lost. I felt as though I missed Nelson more than ever.

"There is more to be done than this," Tom spoke earnestly, "and I'm afraid you will not like what comes next."

"You say that as though what you are doing already isn't torturous enough!" I huffed. Tom stared at me, placing his palm against my cheek and shaking his head sympathetically. I drew my eyebrows together in disquiet.

"The way this works is that I need to expose you to the things that trigger your emotions in a negative way," he began, "and then I need to relate your behavioural responses to be either deterred altogether or turned around into something positive." He removed his hand.

"Well turned positive sounds good to me!" I looked at him hopefully, "I mean that would make me more pleasant to be around, right?"

"Actually, positive is rather hard to do without..." he stopped himself and continued, "There isn't a lot of option for me in the short term to reinforce your behavioural patterns to positive responses."

"Oh," I was slightly disappointed by this, "That's okay, as long as I'm made better I don't mind."

"Don't get me wrong here, I'd love more than anything to do this the positive way," he cleared his throat and then stood to walk across to the other side of the room, "we just don't have the right circumstances under which to do so."

"Okay," I spoke thoughtfully, "well what are our current circumstances going to entail?"

Tom walked over to the bed and pulled a wooden storage chest from out of under his bed. In this chest there were a number of odd objects, I believed it was just a place he threw bits and pieces he didn't have specific places for. I noticed string, paint brushes, hair brushes, tape, lollies, and-

"What's that?" I spoke just as he shut the lid down tightly.

"Nothing that concerns you," he pushed the chest back under the bed and threw a few of the odd items onto the bed.

"You have a pen and some old string?" I questioned his choices, "What are you going to do with that exactly?" Tom looked down at me a grinned.

"Jenny, I've had a while to think about the best way to go about this, the least painful method possible," Tom knelt down and reached for my slippers, I pushed my feet into his carpet and prevented him from lifting my feet off the ground, "you're going to have to cooperate with me here."

"Can you tell me what you are doing first?" I demanded.

Tom's dark brown eyes observed my green ones for a second, perhaps considering my words, but then- "No, that's not going to work. All you need to know is that I am helping you overcome what you consider to be the weaknesses that have driven Nelson away."

With those words I loosened my grip on the floor and he carefully slid the slippers from my feet. Picking up the string he started to tie loops around my big toes and joined them together by first looping one, then the other, then both together. The knot was tight, but that did not stop him from furthermore tying my ankles together. Then my feet were inseparable, movement completely restricted.

"Tom I'm cooperating, can you please tell me, is this going to hurt?" I felt genuinely scared. It was like going to the dentist, where they put weird things in your mouth and you didn't know which ones were going to hurt or which ones would just feel strange.

"This shouldn't hurt," he took both my ankles in his hands and stood raising them into the air as he did so. I flopped backwards onto the bed, which was a surprise because I wasn't expecting to be man-handled, "Slide your bottom towards the middle of the bed," he instructed. I looked at him with uncertain eyes and moved because he then added, "or else I'll come closer and do it for you."

Positioned so that my feet were hanging off the end of the bed, he guided my legs so that I was motioned to lie on my stomach. I groaned a little not knowing what was to come, and turned to see behind myself just as he sat down on top of my ankles, with my feet poking out between his legs.

That was when something clicked.

"Wait, wait, wait," I panicked making him laugh a little and turn back to look at me, "can you at least not touch my feet too much? Whatever you're going to do, like, can it be done with minimal"-

His nails ran down the soles of both my feet making me squeal a little, "minimal tickling?" he suggested as an ending to my sentence. My heart was racing and I had tried to turn over and gain some leverage into pulling my legs out, however it was rather difficult to do with both my feet tied together.

"Yes, please don't," I insisted.

"So which is it?" He caressed my soles again, this time back and forth in a continual motion, "Yes you want minimal tickling? Or please don't have minimal tickling?" I stretched back to stop him but could not reach, so instead I reached for the nearest pillow and threw it at him mid giggle. In response Tom actually thanked me; he placed it underneath himself to cushion his seating position.

At this point his fingers were wriggling between my toes and scraping across my soles and caressing my ankles over and over again. I couldn't speak from the giggling. He did this until I was completely out of breath and could barely speak.

"Tell me Jenny," he paused at last, "do you want me to give you your phone now?"

I wondered if this was a trick question. The end goal was for me to stop feeling anxious about Nelson, right? So surely if I said no, he would stop and then I would be free to go.

"No?" I asked tentatively.

"See," Tom began, "that took too long and sounded more like a question. Am I right?" Perhaps I was silent for too long, but it felt like seconds before Tom had reach around and planted his palm harshly across my backside. I yelped and clung to the sheets for mercy.

"What was that for?" I squealed.

"For lying," he began to run his fingers along my ankles again, making me feel warm and tingly around my feet, while the sting across my bottom cheeks tingled in its own way. "You probably will learn that you can't get away with lying to me very much little one, I've had a lot of practice with this kind of behavioural conditioning."

The process was repeated; however this time he used a pen to torment the soles and sides of my feet. He was courteous enough to inform me that the pen had in fact run out of ink, but however, was now a very good tickling weapon. I felt the tip of that pen glide up and down every inch of my two feet, while he held them into firm place; I was paralysed by the sensation and laughing until my stomach hurt.

"Are you still worried about Nelson?" He sprung on me after what seemed forever. I admitted yes, because I was concerned he would spank me again for lying, and so he continued on and on. Hours later, it seemed, and I had lost my mind! I was certain I had even cussed at him at one point, although that only made him stop for a second in order to laugh at my struggles.

By the end, he had only spanked me once more, for lying about needing to pee. I was humiliated, and completely broken in with the physical exhaustion of it all- to the point that I could not even think about how I felt. He asked me a final time if I still wanted my phone, and to my surprise, I honestly had to say no.

I fell asleep in Tom's bed that night.

~

I woke up in a daze. Had all of that really happened? Was that his big plan? I looked over at the drawers and still wanted my phone so badly that it hurt. I turned and noticed that Tom was no longer in the bed with me; I thought perhaps he had left for work already, so I stood up and stretched. I walked over to his drawer desk and pulled the handle feebly knowing it would still be locked.

Giving up quickly I walked towards the bathroom and thought I could use a long hot shower. The sweat I had worked up during his behavioural training had left me feeling sticky and unattractive. All I wanted was to feel hot steam and soapy water running over my bare skin.

Opening the door- I gasped. Tom turned around, mid towelling himself dry, and he grinned as I spun around with my eyes clamped shut. What had I done? Did I seriously just do the cliché walking-into-a-guy's-bathroom-without-knocking-only-to-find-him-naked-and-hot-standing-before-me? I blushed profusely.

"Hey there little one," He walked past me with the towel wrapped around his hips, "don't worry, I'm not shy." He winked and left the bathroom shouting, "enjoy the shower!"

I couldn't believe it. He had been there right in front of me, all naked and different looking. I mean, he didn't look like Nelson at all. Nelson was shorter, and narrower, and pale and... had I really just seem Tom naked? I slipped off my clothes and stepped into the shower in shock.

When I left the shower I felt refreshed, which was weird because hadn't I just spent the previous night being basically tortured until I passed out? Tom explained to me over breakfast that soon I would associate the torture with being present only as the result of thinking of Nelson's ignoring me. He told me that actual pain would be more sufficient, but that he couldn't justify inflicting such upon me.

I felt concerned about going through that again. Another night, completely helpless to his touch, manipulated by his every stroke... it made me nervous in ways I couldn't express in words. However, it made sense that overcoming my anxiety of not having Nelson's attention would mean I would become less needy when he invited me back to be with him.

Weeks passed by where Tom strapped me to his bed and touched every inch of me. Well, everywhere except my most private and intimate parts. Tom was very careful to keep them covered, to keep me decent even when I ended up thrashing about. He discovered places around my neck, and the back of my ribs, which would make me squeal the instant he neared to them. Tom even learnt secrets about me that I had never confessed to anyone.

Some nights I cried at the end, because even in my most weakened state, I still wanted to hear Nelson and to be with him. On those nights, Tom would stop and cradle me, and whisper things in my ear until I fell into dreams. Sometimes he would gently pat my bottom; I often rested my face into his chest with tears streaming down my cheeks... whimpering that Nelson never truly loved me.

Eventually a week passed by without a single tear. Willingly I knelt down by Tom's bed and placed my palms out for him to bind by the wrists with ease. He tightened the ropes just right and moved the stray strands of my hair from my face to be tucked behind my ears. Tom often called me 'Little One' during these conditioning sessions. Often he would start by asking me how I felt in general, and if I wanted to choose where he should start from.

Of course, I never dared ask for anything from him. It was too embarrassing to request a place of torture. His dark brown eyes seemed to know all the right places on their own anyway; I certainly didn't want to clue him in on which one's were the worst.

Tom had my arms stretched above my head, as he knelt over me with each of his knees firmly against my hips. He started by caressing my ribs, stroking them in an up and down motion. Slowly making my skin tingle with anticipation... or was it dread? I couldn't remember anymore. I began to breathe heavily, feeling a familiar light flush enter my cheeks, which I knew only to occur when an attractive boy flirted with me.

"I want you to tell me how many times you thought of Nelson today," Tom began, then jabbed me in the sides a few times, making me jump from side to side, in an attempt to lessen the blows.

"I can't remember," I closed my eyes tight, a humiliating grin stamped across my face, "please don't hurt me!" I begged playfully. Tom chuckled and wriggled his fingers under my chin, making me squeal in delightful torment.

"Tell me... how many times you thought about retrieving your phone today," he leaned over and blew a raspberry over my stomach, which made me trembling with giggles. I felt the cool air he blew across the dampened patch on my stomach and tremble all over again. Tom knew too much about me now.

"I don't remember!" I giggled while his fingers grabbed and darted all over my sides. Something, which I hadn't noticed previously, was the warm sensation creeping between my thighs and over my breasts. His teasing, torturous treatment of me had begun to arouse my body in a different manner. My eyes met with his and I was staggered to see the complete joy with which he watched me squirm over and over again every single night.

"If you don't remember," he insisted, pausing and looking at me sternly, "and you are being completely honest with me?" he prodded, "then tell me this one last thing, do you actually want me to stop, or are you enjoying this a lot more than you're letting on?"

My breath caught in my throat and I looked at him with wide eyes. Tom had seen right through my most recent pleas and voiced the one thing I didn't want to confess. That indeed I had enjoyed his treatment of me; the attention, the precision and how he understood parts of my body that Nelson had never even touched. I felt overcome with arousal when confronted by my desires, like having it announced during my most weakened state was somehow another way of pressing the heat deeper under my skin.