Cleaning Up the Garage

“This sucks!” I grunt, moving things around the shelves, getting dusty and dirty, and realizing just how bad I am at keeping the garage anywhere near the level of organization it needs to be. “I really don’t understand how, with how little we’re out here, things seem to move around, scrounge up all the dirt in the world and pile it on – in places that make no sense. Gah!”

You laugh at me. You know I’m frustrated, but you also know I have a point. Just how DO things get so disheveled when it’s such a low-use area. It really does seem like they have a mind of their own. Screwdrivers, sneaking around. moving paintbrushes and turning cans of oil over. You giggle to yourself again, walking over to me.

Photo by Jordan Hyde on

“Look, here, take this rope, let’s at least get the things together that make sense,” you tell me, heading me the rope, and bungie cords. “Then, who knows, maybe the tools will share their secrets with us…”

After a good bit, it’s actually looking pretty decent. You walk up to me, give me a hug and pull back just a bit – after a kiss, you tell me that it wasn’t TOO bad, “just a pain.” Then you stop, weirdly. You pause. Kiss me again. “Hmmm….”

“What?” I ask – what could possibly have just occurred to you when we’re finally all done with this mess?

You slowly, painstakingly walk me backward, holding our hug, pulling my hands behind my back, until you have me pinned to the shelves. I feel you fumbling behind me, then realize; you’re wrapping rope around one of my wrists. I look at you, doing the whole “Spock” thing of raising my eyebrow at you, asking the question … “what, exactly, do you have in mind?”

You pull my arms to the front, tie them together then fling the rope up into the rafters, where it hangs down to about the height of my wrists. You wrap the rope back through my wrists, my hands now neatly above my head.

“Hmmmm…. Perfect.” You say. “Except for one thing. Well, two.”

You pull my shirt up, but leave it at my neck, pulling the bottom up to my hands and wrapping it in place. Effectively hiding my face. “Better…” you say. “Now this…”

You reach down, unbutton and pull down my shorts. “Much better,” you say.

You run your hands over me, pulling the cage, smacking my ass as you go. I can feel you, just oozing this “I’m playing with you” vibe. It’s strange because I can sense it even though I can’t see you.

“Hmmm…” you say again. “I wonder…”

There’s a very short break as I hear you rummaging around. “I wonder what a putty knife would leave for marks? Or a bungie cord doubled over? Or perhaps this board over here? Then again, there’s this dowel, that looks like fun…”

I can hear you walking around me.

I hear a “Swoosh!” and brace. Nothing. “Hahahahahaha! I hear you say. That makes a glorious noise. You just never know when it will connect, if it will connect, do you?”

I feel your hand on me again, pulling on my cage. It’s lodged tightly in place at this point. Not going anywhere anytime soon.

“Yes, I think we need to try out some of these garage supplies, don’t you?” you ask. “I think they’ll each leave some very interesting marks, and some very interesting sensations. What do you think?”

I stay silent. I’m no fool.


Then again, perhaps I need to talk.

The bungie cord bounces off me, stinging a bit, but more surprising from the swoosh, then snap.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they’ll leave very interesting marks…” I spit out, not wanting to give any more reasons for surprises.

You’re behind me now, and I feel your hands running over my back, almost sizing me up. Then your nails start at my shoulders and slowly rake their way down my back. All I hear is inside my body the scratching noise, and you … “yummmmmmmmmm”

I know it’s going to be a very interesting time in the garage, and thinking that having all of the implements at your fingertips after our cleanup, might be its own reward. or revenge…

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