Enlarge photo
John Strickland in a triple thickness
canvas jacket specially commissions
from Jim Stewart,

from a new story by


This author knows a lot about strait-jackets
from inside and out.
The struggling and sweating; the drama of feeling straps being tightened one by one and then being tightened further; the time spent straining to gain slack or just waiting until somebody decides to let you out.

A story based on experience is always more potent, even when the story is fiction.

Enlarge photo
John Strickland in a seriously
well used jacket
made by Jim Stewart,

From the author of the MOTORCYCLE MESSENGER stories

is a new and very long story (157,000 words) - too long for this site
so here are excerpts mainly describing strait-jackets in action (11,000 words)

Life-long buddies Zac and Stefan are American college students from the same neighbourhood. Now at the age of 19/20 respectively, they attend different colleges. This summer they plan to spend vacation time alone together at Stefan's parents' remote cabin in the Oregon woodlands.

Stefan needs to work part of the holidays in a local lumber yard, usually in the rain because this is the Pacific North West. He admits to being turned-on by PVC gear:

... all us outside guys were given company raingear, the sort which kept us dry at all times.
It consisted of really heavy black PVC over-pants and a hooded jacket you pulled over your head. The suit was glossy and shiny, and the jacket had the company logo on the back. It fitted really well and quite tightly, and in fact the jacket was a hell of a struggle to get on. I'd pull on the shiny pants at home and lace up my leather, steel-capped workman's boots, throw the jacket into the back of the truck and set off. Mom said I looked sexy dressed like that. Mom's always embarrassing! Dad said I looked kinky. Never expected anything different from him.

Sometimes it never rained, but I didn't care, a couple of the other guys came dressed like that, too. We'd just work in a T-shirt and those vinyl pants, but although they looked great gleaming with the sun on them, they sure got hot, and a couple of times I regretted not being able to take them off because I hadn't bothered to put anything on under them.

Zac wasn't working full time. His family had loads of money. He was earning a bit of pocket money as an amateur escape artist, doing parties, fairs or events or wherever they would book him. He had always been interested in escaping from things, but it had only been since he was at university that he had done anything about it. The first time I saw Zac wrapped in chains and struggling around, I really got a hard-on, and seeing him writhing around strapped up in his strait-jacket nearly caused me to come in my pants.
Zac must be the youngest, sexiest escapologist on the planet. He performs bare-footed and shirtless, just wearing snug-fitting black leather pants. With his irresistible smile, he simply challenges the audience to tie him up. It is often guys from our high school who volunteer to restrain him, or sometimes some jock from a local timber company is convinced he can do a good job. They don't realise that when they wind 50 yards of chain around Zac's slim, athletic torso, all he has to do is relax his muscles and the chains practically fall off him. Although Zac's strait-jacket is not gaffed or tricked like some escape artists use, he can get out of it easily, as most people have never seen a strait-jacket before and have no idea how to strap it on properly. Of course, he puts on a great show of fighting and struggling, and those guys go away convinced they have given him a hard time. Up until now in his short career, Zac has always got out.

For the trip to the woods Stefan borrows a couple of the rain suits from work.
When they arrive at the cabin in Zac's truck they're wearing shorts and tee-shirts, but the rain is already hammering down. So, after a dash for the cabin with the first bags, Stefan introduces Zac to the PVC work-gear.
Because the suits produce so much heat, he advises stripping off first.
Since childhood these buddies have had no inhibitions about being naked together.

... "Just get changed" I said, and pulled a heavy black folded bundle out of the bag. The PVC pants fell open. I pulled them on quickly, hopping around on one foot as I pushed my foot down into the second leg. They felt cold on my naked skin. The inside of the pants was as smooth and shiny as the outside because they were double layer. Mr Henley had sure had the best made to keep his workers dry!
Zac was pulling the anorak-style jacket out of the bag. He held it out towards me, backwards and upside down. I took the heavy gear and sorted it out and then wriggled my way into it. I should've kept my T-shirt on, as the smooth PVC was clinging to my skin making it really difficult to wrestle on. But, I'd worn it without a shirt like that many times before, and knew how to get into it. Soon my head appeared in the hood, which I then pulled down.
Zac was looking at me, breathing hard. His eyes were bright and he was grinning his white smile. I grabbed his T-shirt and yanked it up over his head.
"What the crap are you doing?" he exclaimed as I hugged his hot body with my arms in the cold sleeves.
"Come on, get your pants off!" I said, letting him go and reaching down into the bag. "They're for you!" I said, throwing two PVC bundles onto the sofa behind him.
"Your size, I think!"
Zac leapt forward and let the jacket fall open. He inspected it, threw it back on the sofa and examined the pants.
"Awesome!" he said, "Where? - how'd you get that?"
He started wrenching his sneakers off and frantically unzipped his shorts and practically ripped his underpants off. Zac had a huge hard on!
"One of the other guys has gone on vacation for three weeks and just happened to leave his suit hanging on a hook. I thought you could use it. He won't be needing it in Florida."

As Zac pulled the shiny pants on, I got my jacket done up properly. There was nothing quick and easy about it. There was a drawstring at the bottom, a belt around the waist and several flaps and two drawstrings to do with the hood.
Zac had got the pants on.

Stefan enjoys watching his buddy finding his way into the unfamiliar closed-fronted jacket.

... I decided to let Zac struggle, too. He was used to getting out of things as an escape artist, and now he could learn how to get into things.
His flushed face eventually appeared in the hood and his hands emerged from the sleeves. "Wow - I nearly suffocated in there!" he gasped happily.
"Here, let me help you," I offered, and yanked the jacket down properly.
I pulled on the draw-cord and the bottom of the jacket tightened around his ass. I reached for the belt around his waist and strapped it tight.
"This is AWESOME!" he shouted. "Gotta mirror around here somewhere?"
He went off in the direction I indicated.
"This is so awesome!" he exclaimed again, pushing his hands into the pockets and admiring himself in the full-length mirror.
"It looks awesome and feels awesome! Thanks dude!" He smoothed his hands down the shiny vinyl suit.
"Let's get out in the rain", he said.
"We're bare-footed, Zac, let's get some shoes on."
I slipped into my sneakers, pulled my hood up, and rushed out into the rain. I had my workman's boots in the truck with me and I had seen Zac throw in black hiking boots.
I ran back in with them. Zac sat down on the sofa and started pulling his boots on. The dull light from the window shone off his shoulders and thighs as he laced his boots shut.
I put mine on as quickly as I could, too.
"Come here, Zac, let's get your hood done up properly."
He beamed at me and held me while I pulled his woolly hat off and fluffed his hair up. I pulled his hood up over his head.
He pulled me to him and suddenly gave me a little kiss on my lips. "Thanks, dude!" he said.
I pulled a heavy flap right across his mouth and over his nose and fastened it into the inside of his hood. He wasn't expecting that! He could still breathe OK through brass eyelets in the black vinyl.
He tried to fiddle with the flap, but I quickly yanked the drawstring of his hood and it closed tightly around his head.
Again he reached up to adjust it, but I slapped his hands away and then pulled the collar flap tightly around his throat. This fastened with both press studs and with black buttons, too.
We weren't allowed to wear the hoods up when active at work. They restricted our vision, they restricted our hearing and of course we had to wear hard hats.
But on my first day, several of the guys had fun getting me all geared up.
David, whose suit Zac was now wearing, had fastened my hood properly as I had just done to Zac. He had knotted the drawstring so that I couldn't get it undone again. The guys found that hilarious and pushed me from one to another as they stood in a circle around me. It took me half an hour in front of a mirror picking at that knot before I could push the hood down off my head.

Both fully suited up, they have fun unloading the truck and fooling around in the muddy woods. This ends with hosing one another down - and then spending the night in the suits.

... I got some breakfast together, still wearing the full rain suit with its hood down. When Zac came into the kitchen, he was wearing his black leather jeans. He looked so good I nearly dropped the egg pan.
"Where'd you get those pants from?" I asked, "They are awesome!"
"LA," he said simply. "You really like them?"
"You know you look great in them - especially when you're tied up in your strait-jacket, I added.
I wrestled my rain jacket up over my head and it came off more easily than Zac's had done. "Wow, I think your strait-jacket's probably easier!" I gasped.
We sat down at the table and ate the eggs and the ham I'd prepared.
"You reckon?" he said. "I brought my strait-jacket with me. Wanna try it out?" he asked with a grin.
"You brought it with you?" I said enthusiastically.
"Got all my gear here - thought I could get in some practice," he said. "You wanna try it out?" he asked again.
"No chance!" I said. "You're not getting me in that thing!"

I would have loved to have tried it out, but I didn't trust Zac Hartley one little bit.
Zac had gotten his strait-jacket off the Internet. It looked good, but was really made for escape performances. It was strong, brownish canvas, reinforced with brown leather around the neck, down the front and at the ends of the sleeves. The back straps were all attached to brown leather, too. It looked impressive, and Zac looked amazing wearing it. He looked so helpless strapped up and hugging himself - your heart went out to him.

Most people have never seen a strait-jacket before, and have no idea what makes it really efficient and when the struggling is only for show. As long as Zac had his arms crossed in front of him, they thought he was helpless. I've watched him use all the tricks of the trade, holding the inside of the sleeves to gain slack later and also crossing his left arm above his right elbow, which gives him so much looseness when he slides his arm down below the elbow. There are no side loops to prevent the arms being worked up and over the head, or any other means of making the jacket more secure. Zac can escape easily, but he makes it look difficult.
"Go get it!" I said.
Zac went over to one of his unopened bags and pulled out a canvas restraint. Buckles jangled and clinked menacingly. It was not the jacket I knew.
"Here you go!" said Zac, laughing, "Presenting my new strait-jacket!" he said proudly.
I was getting another hard-on in my PVC pants.

He let the heavy jacket unfold dramatically and held it open in my direction.
I stared at the formidable restraint. I knew my strait-jackets - I'd looked at so many on the Internet. It seemed basically like a Posey asylum jacket, but much longer, and with a high strapping collar, which no Posey jacket has. It had side loops and a loop at the front of the jacket that the arms threaded through. The crotch strap was short, I guess because the jacket was so long. It had more straps and buckles than normal - canvas webbing straps with silver eyelets and roller buckles. Roller buckles are easy to fasten, but I'd read they are easy to open, too. The escape artist shrugs and tugs until the prongs just spring out of the eyelets of the straps. This was a fault of that type of buckle.
Zac's new jacket was of seriously thick natural canvas, and that would be a problem when escaping, I thought. Even when Zac got his arms free, his fingers would still have great difficulties opening the other buckles through the closed sleeves.

"Sure you don't want to try?" he said, a beaming smile on his face.
"No way, buddy! I'll put you in it and give you the challenge of your lifetime. I've been thinking about the way you get out. Bet I can beat you!"
"I'll get out," he said arrogantly, obviously up for the challenge. "Do your worst!"
"Or best!" I added.
He was still holding the jacket as though I was the one going down the sleeves.
"Uh - other way round!" I said, taking the jacket from him.

Wow, it was heavy! The cream-coloured canvas was really thick but somehow smooth. It was a bit battered in places and there was a light stain on one sleeve.
"Already seen some fighting, has it?" I said, as I held it out towards him. "In you go!"
Zac dramatically dived his arms into the sleeves of the jacket, nearly tugging it out of my hands.
"Turn round," I said, and he did.
We happened to be standing by the big mirror and Zac admired himself in it.
"You're right," he said. "I do look good in leather jeans."
"You won't feel so good when I've got this on you", I said.
"Yeah, they all think that," he replied provocatively.
I closed the two sides of the jacket over each other at the back, and started to do the buckles and straps up one by one, pulling them tight, but not too tight. There were five down the back and a sixth at the collar. More than usual. I knew that Zac had taken a deep breath to expand his ribcage - that would give him a bit of slack when he needed it.
I did the collar up so tightly, Zac's cheeky smile disappeared for a second. I loosened it by a couple of eyelets. Mustn't choke him! The collar went right up under his chin.
Grabbing from behind, I gripped hold of the bottom of the strapped jacket and jerked it downwards to get rid of any looseness.
Making sure I got as much feel of his leather pants as I could, I pulled the crotch strap through from the front and jerked it through its buckle at the back. It made a great strapping sound.
I tucked all the straps through their retainers.
The body of the jacket now looked reasonably tight.

He brandished his closed sleeves in front of him, a strap hanging from one closed end and a buckle from the other.
As I moved around to the front of him he grabbed me and hugged me close with his canvas encased arms. He kissed me deeply and I kissed him back, pulling him even closer to me by grabbing one of the straps on the back of his jacket. I felt the dangling arm strap slap lightly against the leg of my vinyl pants.
I forced myself to pull away.
"Let's get you all tied up," I breathed.
With a grin he crossed his arms obligingly through the front loop but then held his right elbow tightly with his left hand. Another of the sneaky tricks I'd often seen him use. I decided to ignore it - for the moment.

Passing the sleeve ends through the side loops, I brought them together at the back, threaded the canvas strap through the roller buckle and jerked it tight. The prong snapped through an eyelet and Zac was fastened. His sleeves were pulled really tightly, or so it seemed.
"Get out of that" I said.
He smirked. "A third grader could do better!" he said.
I said nothing, but embraced him from behind, my chin over his shoulder. I wanted him off his guard, because I hadn't actually finished.
"You look great," I said in his ear and he strained in the high collar to turn his head to me.
"It suits you, you crazy idiot!"
Zac laughed, and that was the moment I reacted quickly, pulling his left sleeve down off his right elbow, and at the same time violently jerking the sleeve strap, which I already had twisted around my right hand for a good grip. I was able to yank it considerably tighter. The buckle prong clicked through a metal eyelet five further along the strap.
Zac gasped. "You bastard!" he exclaimed but at the same time laughing. "You prick!"
"That should make it more difficult!" I said, grinning over his shoulder into the mirror. His arms were now wrapped tightly around his waist.
Zac actually looked a bit worried. He watched himself in the mirror, drew in a deep breath and started wriggling his shoulder to get some slack back into the sleeves.
I had seen Zac escape on many occasion. He would work his arms up over his head, but that was with the escape artist's jacket he always performed with - the one without side or front loops.
I stood behind him, watching him watch himself in the mirror.

He looked great, wriggling his shoulders up and down. The canvas made a kind of swishing sound as the sleeves rubbed together. They already appeared looser, and that was exactly what I was waiting for.
Again, I reacted quickly, grabbing the sleeve strap and at the same time putting my knee in Zac's back.
I wrenched with all my strength and the strap tightened by yet another three notches. It was as tight as it would go.
Zac wrenched around to face me, furious but still smiling. "You bastard!" he exclaimed!
"I don't believe you just did that! I thought we were friends!"
"What's being friends got to do with it," I said. "You challenged me to do my best, and that's what I'm doing. One day you'll have some big truck driver who'll tie you up so tight you'll hardly be able to breathe. Now stop moaning and get out of it!"
I tucked the sleeve strap through its retainer and twisted it around itself to tidy it up, but also to make it more difficult for him to undo through the thick canvas of the sleeves.
Zac fell to his knees and started to pull and wriggle, already working on his escape - but I hadn't finished.

I pulled one of the white laces out of one of my trainers. I went into the kitchen and found a short sharp knife.
"Get up, Zac," I said, "Come on!"
I helped him get up by holding his shoulders.
"What're you doing now?" he asked concerned, but half laughing.
I threw him face-down on the sofa and climbed on him.
"Hey!" he screamed, "That hurts - get off! What're you doing?"
What was I doing? Just solving the problem of the buckles coming open on their own. I had seen a solution on a strait-jacket website.
I threaded the lace through an appropriate eyelet on the sleeve buckle, two or three along from the prong, and tied it around the retainer in a tight knot.
With the knife I cut the lace as close to the knot as possible. That buckle wouldn't open again on its own.
Zac was straining and struggling ineffectually. I was sitting on him with all my weight and he was trussed up in a strait-jacket.
I tidied up the loose strap end, did the same with the collar buckle, then with the others, one after the other, threading, tying, cutting - all the straps except the crotch strap. I left that one.
"You are such a bastard!" mumbled Zac into the leather of the sofa, but he was enjoying it all really.
I grabbed one of his back-straps and pulled him to his feet.
I fluffed his hair up, gave him a quick kiss, slapped him playfully twice left and right on his shoulders and said: "There's only one way out of that! Escape!"
"I'll get out!" he said laughing. "I always get out! A turd like you can't hold me!"
He rolled from the sofa, ended up kneeling on the floor and then got to his feet.
"Then do that, Zacky!" I said, and shoved him back sitting onto the sofa.
He stood up again. I shoved him back again.
"OK, cut it OUT!" he shouted, "I got some serious escaping to do!"
"Get on with it then, Houdini!" I taunted.

Zac started some determined shrugging and pulling, wriggling and tugging in his jacket. He was actually managing to work his sleeves a bit looser - but not much, I had strapped them really tight.
He stood up and wrenched his arms from left to right, twisting his body at the same time.
His arms became just a little looser - but again, not much.
He knelt down and pushed his elbow against the hard end of the sofa - that didn't get him far. He raised his shoulders and tried to get his chin into the collar of the jacket. It was fastened too snugly for that and where would that have got him anyway?
He jerked one arm upwards and the other one downwards. He did this several times, quickly.
The canvas made that great swishing sound, but Zac got no further.
He tugged violently and managed to get his left arm up a little onto his right elbow.
That's as far as he got. The sleeves were too tight and the three loops stopped him getting any further. If this new jacket was supposed to be for his escape act, he was certainly going to need a lot of practice.

I settled back on the sofa to watch.
He rolled around on the floor, gasping, wrenching, struggling and battling with the jacket, although I think he already knew he stood no chance of getting out.
He tried every move in the book to gain slack, to lever his arms up, to make some move that would give him some hope of freedom.
He rubbed and pushed against the stair banister to see whether he could dislodge or open a strap.
No chance! I had laced and knotted those buckles shut.
He rolled around on the floor again, wrenching and pulling, arching his back off the floor, contorting as if in agony.
No sympathy. I was not impressed and told him so.

This results in Zac demanding to be left on his own to continue his attempts. Stefan goes out onto the porch in his PVC, and is happy listening to Zac's grunting and cursing - and occasionally crashing around.
Eventually the exhausted Zac pushes his way through the screen door still as tightly strapped as ever, and admits that he can't escape - and Stefan refuses to let him out.

... "I said NO! I'm not taking that jacket off you. You stay in it!"
Zac stood there breathing deeply as he slowly realised he was really in trouble.
"How long for?" he asked.
"Long-term! Unless you can work your way out alone, you'll still be in it when we pack up in six days! - and maybe even still be wearing it on the way home!"
That got me breathing deeply at the thought.

Through the afternoon Zac tries every trick to get his buddy to release him - but, although Stefan feeds him and even helps him to piss - against all arguments Zac spends the night still jacketed, not so tightly, but still totally helpless.

This long (110,000 word) story continues with several dramatic developments including a visit from the local sheriff who has known Stefan and his parents for many years. He arrives while Zac is still strait-jacketed and Stefan is fully suited up in his PVC although the sun is shining.

The sheriff and his deputy take advantage of the situation. They release Zac and then invite him to get his revenge by putting Stefan into the strait-jacket - over the PVC suit. They even insist on Zac locking each buckle with small padlocks from his escape act kit.
The Law Officers then leave, taking the keys to the padlocks with them, saying they will return the following morning.

... I was in a strait-jacket. I had always wanted to try one out, and never risked admitting it.
I pulled in the sleeves with all my might and wrenched my arms back and forth.
It got me nowhere, but I loved the swishing sound the thick canvas made, and the feeling of the closed sleeves. pressing the PVC underneath close against my skin.
I moved my shoulders back and forth and moved my head in a circular movement.
The jacket seemed to settle down to become a little more comfortable.
"Zac! Sort out my pants. They're all caught up in this crotch strap," I said.
He bent down and jerked each trouser leg until they hung right. The PVC creaked. The uncomfortable pressure on my prick lessened.
I felt wonderful, until I remembered that this was for a long time.
Until this time tomorrow - 24 hours they'd threatened!
Maybe I could escape.
Maybe Zac would find a way to let me out.
On the other hand I needed to stay in the jacket. It was the greatest feeling I had ever had. I had already forgotten the brutality of the sheriff and his deputy while they were 'persuading' me to allow Zac to get the jacket on me. Although my bruised arm reminded me every time I struggled.

After an uncomfortable and eventful night still locked into the jacket and PVC ...

... The smell of cooking came from the kitchen.
Late breakfast. 'Brunch' they call it, don't they?
Zac came to the table carrying the plates. He was enjoying this - he even hummed to himself. "You're looking exceptionally good this morning, Stefan," he teased. "New jacket?"
"Ha, ha!" I said, grimacing.
I sat down. Not too easy. The long jacket was strapped tightly around my hips about crotch height, the thru-strap still pressing in on the PVC between my legs. Zac started cutting my waffles. He fed me - embarrassing at first because he teased me, but I began to enjoy it. He was having so much fun feeding his prisoner.
He ate too, chatting all the time. I sipped milk through a straw.
"Feel like going for a walk this afternoon?" he asked.
"I'm a bit tied up today," I joked, and strained in my sleeves.
The sun had gone in and typical Oregon rain was running down the window pane.
"Apart from that, I will get this jacket soaked," I said.
He cleared the plates from the table.
"Maybe it will shrink and slowly crush you to death!" he said dramatically, grabbing me from behind and giving me a bear hug - then said, "Oww!" as a padlock or buckle pricked his bare chest. "Serves you right!" I said.
"We can still go," he said. "I've been thinking about this."
He stomped off and came back with one of the rain jackets.
"What I'll do is pull the sleeves inside. See?"
He wrenched the heavy PVC sleeve into itself. That didn't come easy.
Breathing heavily due to his own thick PVC covering, he then did the other sleeve the same.
"See!" he said, "A jacket without arms. Just right for a boy with his arms tied up."
"OK - let's try," I said, aroused.
I stood up and Zac, with difficulty, reached up and began working the garment over my head. For several minutes all I heard was the creaking vinyl as he pulled it on to me. I was in the dark again, and it wasn't easy to breathe in the darkness, but soon came out into the light - well, at least into the hood.

I was quite disappointed when Zac began to drag the thick hood down.
"Need to fix the jacket first," he said.
He reached up into the jacket from below and found each of the sleeves, now hanging inside, and gave them a tug.
The jacket pulled snugly over my shoulders.
Zac grabbed the jacket at the bottom and jerked it equally as hard.
The jacket was now tight onto my shoulders.
"There!" he said. "Now let's see what we can do with the belt!"
Experimentally, he buckled the wide belt firmly around my waist, just under my strapped arms.
"Now the drawstring!" he said, and dragged the bottom of the jacket as tight as he could just below my butt.
"Done!" he said triumphantly, slapping my shoulder loudly. "Awesome!"

It did feel awesome. I moved over to the mirror. My prick was hard again.
You couldn't see anything of the strait-jacket as both jackets were about the same length. Just a bit of white crotch strap showed if I leaned back.
You could hardly see the openings to the rain jacket's sleeves which were inside the jacket - flattened. It really did look like a jacket without arms.
It bulged where my arms were crossed, of course, but because of the bulkiness of the PVC gear, it hardly mattered. I was totally enclosed and no part of my strait-jacket would get wet.
My strait-jacket!" I thought. "Was I getting fond of it?"
"Off we go!" said Zac, both of us now suited up completely - "let's face the elements."
"Er - one point, Zac!" I said.
"Shoes perhaps?"
Our boots had got soaked the day before but were dry again now. Zac fought mine on me with great difficulty.
He found that hilarious! He kept stroking my PVC trousers and placing his hand about where my prick was, somewhere under all the layers.
I found it a massive turn on, too.
His jacket was stretched tight as he crouched down, trying to force my bare feet into the hiking boots. The light shone off the jet black, glossy vinyl.
Zac kept laughing up at me, his eyes shining happily.

We went out onto the deck and while still in the dry under the roof, Zac started to drag the hood up over my head, and determinedly anchoring the face cover across my nose, before tightening the other wrap-over flaps snuggly around my neck.
Why were they all there on a workman's jacket? The face-cover was almost a gag! I could see why we were never allowed to have the hoods up when working.

For devilment Zac then pulled the hood draw-string as tight as it would go, leaving only my eyes showing. I didn't protest.
"Off we go!" said Zac, as he dragged his own hood up, because the rain was hammering down. His grin soon disappeared behind the face-cover, and it and the collar wrap were soon tightly closed. Now suited up completely, he said from behind the layer of thick PVC, "Let's face the weather."

Later in the story when the sheriff and his deputy (Mike) return, Stefan is still helplessly locked into the strait-jacket.
When the lawmen find Zac's escape kit including the other strait-jacket, they have skill enough to force Zac into it, and strap it in such a way he can't escape. While doing this, the handsome deputy, Mike, shows his sadistic side - and a surprising amount of know-how.
The two buddies are both helplessly trussed, not knowing for how long. But eventually the law men return, threatening more 'fun' in the future.

When the trip is over, the next section of the story is e-mails exchanged between the two buddies at their different colleges.
In texts they discuss (and order) more PVC gear, one-piece suits and other equipment.

40,000 words into the story ...
For part of the winter vacation they agree to take another trip to the cabin together.

... We had so much new gear to try out. We were now really well-equipped. We had been saving and spending and buying and ordering since our last trip to the cabin.
We didn't need to borrow Mr Henley's PVC workmen's suits anymore, we had our own. We had the blackest, shiniest, heaviest suits, custom-made and specially designed to be PERFECT. Along with jeans and a hooded jacket, Zac also bought me dungaree-style pants, with a chest bib fixed to strong shoulder straps. These had arrived by post, and I just loved wearing them, whether it was raining or whether the sun was shining. They often served as pyjamas, too.
And then we'd ordered cool overall-style suits like racing car drivers wear, only I have never seen a racing driver encased in a suit made of thick shiny black vinyl!
And then there were the strait-jackets:
Zac still had his light brown canvas restraint trimmed with dark brown leather. That was the strait-jacket he used for his escape act. If it was strapped on properly, it was sometimes difficult to get out of, but Zac knew all the tricks, so could usually get out of it. That jacket had been through battles and was well-worn. Zac looked real sexy rolling around in that, especially when wearing the leather jeans.

Then there was the other canvas jacket - the one that had held me prisoner for so long last summer. That strapped tight and could be padlocked. No getting out of that jacket. The canvas was thick, the collar was high, and loops at the chest and sides made escape absolutely impossible, as I had learned only too well.

And now Zac had a new jacket. He had written to me about it and had talked enthusiastically about it, but I hadn't seen it yet. He had designed it to be inescapable, of course. He said it was canvas but with leather heavy reinforcements added, three arm loops and leather straps. I was looking forward to seeing - and definitely wearing it.

In addition to other gear there is a leather strap-head muzzle and a leather hood.
All are lovingly described in advance of the next visit to the cabin in the Spring Break.

Soon after they arrive, Zac is upstairs and Stefan is still unloading their gear.
It isn't raining much, but he is wearing his new one-piece PVC suit, when the sheriff and his menacing deputy pay a visit.

... I heard a car engine, and stopped dead at the truck and listened. Yeah, there was the sound of a car. The sheriff's police car came through the trees.
My heart suddenly started pounding. I was scared of the sheriff.
I went back towards the cabin and sat on the steps up to the deck.
The car drew to a stop next to our truck and the doors opened.
Sheriff Jackman and Deputy Forster, aka Mike, got out.
"Good afternoon, Stefan!" said the sheriff. He said it quite normally, but it sounded sinister to me. The deputy nodded, putting his hat on.
"Afternoon," I mumbled.
"Your mom phoned to say that you were coming. And she complained that you don't you ever call her to say you're OK?"
"No cell phone signal here," I said. Actually I hadn't thought about it.
"Thought you guys were going to tell me when you were using the cabin," said the sheriff.
"We were going to, Sheriff," I said. "We only just arrived."
They were in front of me now. I stayed sitting.
"New oilskins?" asked Mike. He was studying me from head to toe.
"I guess so," I said, looking down at my new snug-fitting one-piece suit, glistening with water. "Gotta keep dry!" I added.
"Where do you guys find stuff like that?" said the sheriff.
I didn't answer. It hadn't really been a question.
"Take a picture, Mike!" said the sheriff. "Don't see gear like that every day!"
Before I knew it, the deputy had got out his cell phone and taken a picture of me.
"Hey!" I said protesting. I got up from the step.
There was a flash, and Mike had taken another picture. He checked the images and seemed happy with the results.
"Where's yer boyfriend?" asked the sheriff.
He said 'boyfriend' in a sarcastic, detrimental tone.
"Zac's showering," I lied.
"If I find you've got that poor kid tied up against his will again, you're in for big trouble, boy!" the sheriff said.
"He's having a shower, Sheriff," I lied. He noticed my nervousness.
"Are you lying to me, Stefan?"
"No, Sir," I said. "He's having a shower."
"How long're you guys here for?" asked the sheriff.
"About two weeks, Sir," I answered.
"If I do find that guy tied up against his will, then you're gonna spend every minute of those two weeks strapped up so good that you won't even be able to move your eyelids!" said the sheriff harshly.
Mike was smiling evilly.

The sheriff then threatens to send the photos to their parents unless they are 'cooperative' during their two weeks stay.
When Zac comes downstairs, the sheriff shows the Escape Artist a pair of handcuffs he hadn't seen before, and demonstrate how easily they can be applied against resistance - grabbing and cuffing Stefan none too gently. Then, taking the key with them, they promise to return the following day - and bring with them another 'surprise'. This is Keagen, the sheriff's sister's son.
The deputy even takes a pair of PVC pants, to show the 'boy'

Only after several hours uncomfortably handcuffed, does Zac discover the cuff key the lawmen had left tucked into the pocket of Stefan's PVC suit while they were overpowering him.

... Around four the next afternoon, Sheriff Forster's police car came crunching up the gravel road to our cabin. Zac and I were already outside. The sun was shining and we were actually doing a bit of tidying up around the outside of the cabin. The winter snows had practically all melted away and left a load of broken twigs, branches and other debris behind.
Zaccy was looking awesome in his black vinyl skater pants, baggy and hanging low over his hips. Folds of the PVC collected around his ankles over his bulky black DC sneakers. He was wearing a dark red hoody and looked - well - awesome! - there's no other word for it!
I was wearing my black leather jeans - my Christmas present from Zac. They were real cool - waxy and still new, but were getting a really good shine on them because I wore them real often. I had a grey hoody on, but I was wearing it under my leather jacket, as the day was pretty cool.
Neither of us felt particularly bothered anymore about being caught in leather or PVC - or both - by the sheriff. He knew what we were into, but after what had happened the day before, we felt very threatened by him and his deputy Mike, which caused Zac to instinctively come over to stand beside me. He hoisted his pants up onto his hips. Skater Boy!

"You guys look slick and shiny in the sunlight!" the sheriff said as a greeting. "Change to see you out of a strait-jacket, Zachary!" he said.
Zaccy pulled up against me.
"Got our handcuffs?" the sheriff asked.
I had placed them on the bench behind me. I held them out to him at arms length.
"How long did it take you to find the key?" he asked.
"'bout half an hour," I lied. "Zac saw the outline in my pocket."
"Shame! They suited you, Stefan!" he said, looking at my bandaged right wrist. "Made you sore in just half an hour, did they?" he said.
Mike was getting out of the passenger seat. He went around the car to open the right-hand back door. Someone was sitting in there - the sheriff's nephew I supposed.
Mike leant in and seemed to be undoing the boy's safety belt. Was the kid handicapped or something?
Then he got out.
"My jeans!" exclaimed Zac as the boy got out dressed in very shiny black vinyl pants. "How'd they get on him?" he asked unbelievingly.
The kid just smiled broadly.
I don't know what I was expecting. Some gawky, nerdy 18 year-old, I guess - but he was really something different, slim, athletic, really good-looking with brownish straight hair that flopped over his forehead.
And oh! I forgot to mention - apart from Zac's black PVC pants, he was also wearing a white canvas strait-jacket!
So that was why Mike had had to help him out of the car!
"Meet my nephew Keagan!" said the sheriff. "Don't expect him to shake hands!"
All three of us said "hi" at the same time.
"You're in a strait-jacket!" said Zac, expressing the obvious.
"Yeah! Uncle Jeff and Mike put me in it. They said you could teach me to escape from it. Like a real escape artist!"
Uncle Jeff? I couldn't imagine this sadistic sheriff being anyone's "Uncle Jeff"!
"Yeah, I'll show you how!" said Zac, smiling at the new boy. "We'll make a second Houdini out of you in no time!"
"Uncle Jeff said you'd both show me a thing or two."
"Uncle Jeff" was standing there looking at his nephew with a slightly sneering smile on his face. Deputy Mike was looking highly amused.
"Mike, you're actually a good-looking asshole," I thought at that moment. I hated him, though.
"We'll be getting off - for now," said the sheriff, handing me a small bag with Keagan's things in it.
"You kids have fun. Pick you up Sunday evening Keagan. Don't want to see you still in that strait-jacket!
Keagan said happily, "No chance!".
But Zac and I just smiled, perhaps a bit unnaturally.

Keagan is enthusiastic to learn the ropes, but is totally naïve while being confident of his own abilities. The two buddies soon set to work to show him that escape from even a simple strait-jacket can be made difficult.

... Zac, in his baggy vinyl skater's pants, sat down on the wooden steps leading up to our deck. I sat down next to him, my leather pants creaking.
"Come sit down, Keagan!" Zac said.
Keagan plonked down a step lower. The sun glinted off the buckles down the back of his jacket and gleamed off his PVC-covered thighs.
Zac and I were both studying Keagan's strait-jacket. It was a Posey asylum jacket with a red trim to the top of the jacket. That meant it was a "small". It wasn't that small, though - Posey jackets are cut large - but it fitted Keagan absolutely perfectly. It had roller buckles, which were usually easier to get undone than the newer slider buckles, but every strap was held tightly in place by a metal clip with teeth that bit into the webbing. Great idea! Hadn't seen those before.
"Need a photo!" I said, and rushed in to get the camera.
I took several pictures - Zac and Keagan sitting there next to each other, the setting sun lighting them up from an angle. Two great-looking guys, one a kinky skater boy in PVC pants, the other a naïve teenager in a strait-jacket.
The jacket held Keagan's arms firmly around him. The closed sleeves passed through two side loops. Keagan's arms were strapped tight, but not painfully tight. Keagan would be snug and comfortable - a good thing, because I could tell the boy was never going to be able to get out of the jacket on his own. The two law officers had done a very good job of work.
"How long have you been in that jacket?" I asked.
"They strapped me in it just before we set off here," answered Keagan.
"And you just let them put you in it?" asked Zac:
"Sure! I first put on these plastic jeans and then they buckled the jacket on me. That was real cool!" said Keagan, with a beaming smile. "Then they led me out to the car like a real prisoner. A guy walking by really stared. That was so cool!"
"Those 'plastic' jeans are heavy PVC - or vinyl if you like! "Plastic" sounds cheap and tacky."
"Whatever! They're really cool! I'm gonna get some!"
"Have you tried getting out of that jacket, yet?" I asked.
"No, not yet! Waiting for a few tips from you two. Where do I start?"
Keagan enthusiastically looked down at his crossed arms in their canvas sleeves.
"This is a really cool jacket!" he said, shrugging his shoulders and jerking his elbows away from his body best he could.
"Sure suits you!" said Zac. "Maybe you should stay in it!"
"Naa - I'm gonna get OUT!" said Keagan, his eyes sparkling.

The boys had already decided otherwise.
A long sequence describes in detail the kid's attempts to escape, including being taken out into the woods still strait-jacketed and tethered between two trees.

Much of the rest of this sequence involves the enthusiastic new-comer, after being released from the strait-jacket (temporarily), being introduced to the new one-piece vinyl suits.
These can be locked on, as Keagan soon finds out. He is then offered the opportunity to try one of the heavy anorak-style hooded rain jackets over it. These custom-made versions of the lumber-yard suits, are much more elaborate - and also lockable. The
He spends the night in it.

The following morning Stefan is wearing his PVC 'dungarees'. These have straps over his naked shoulders and a front panel which covers his chest.
Zac is again in the baggy skater-style PVC jeans plus a tight-fitting black tee shirt.
Keagan had remained locked into the one-piece PVC suit since the morning before.

... We worked the PVC jacket over his PVC suit, with the kid willingly cooperating.
It slid down quite easily, two smooth surfaces against each other.
Keagan's head emerged into the hood.
"Awesome!" he said, a bit muffled.
Zac and I jerked the jacket down until it was sitting perfectly over the suit. We pulled Keagan's hood down. I fluffed his hair back into position.
"It's quite loose," said Keagan almost disappointedly, as he held his arms out as if flying.
"It laces tight!" said Zac. "Come here!"
We tightened the looseness out of the jacket with the laces that went from under the armpits to the bottom of the jacket. Zac was working on the left side, I laced up the right. Keagan was smiling, still holding his arms out like wings. Zac and I concealed the lacing with the flaps that zipped shut to the bottom of the jacket. We clicked in the little padlocks that would stop those zippers opening. The padlocks were then concealed under the Velcro flap. It just looked as though a reinforcing panel was on each side of the jacket. No sign of laces or zippers or even padlocks.
We tugged the jacket down anew and brought the crotch strap through between Keagan's legs. Unlike a strait-jacket crotch strap, this one fastened through a little buckle at the front.
"One more lock," I said, and fumbled in the layers of Keagan's hood to lock the neck shut. The high collar of the suit he was wearing underneath was visible up to his chin.
Again, Keagan never asked why a rain jacket had to be locked onto the wearer.
"Awesome!" said Keagan.
"Yeah, AWESOME!" said Zac, slapping Keagan on the back with a loud thwack!
Zac arranged the heavy layers of Keagan's hood around his neck and then stepped back to admire his work.
Keagan shot over to the mirror and admired himself, completely in jet black, shiny PVC.
"Wow! This is so AWESOME!" he said for the hundredth time. "This gear is already like a strait-jacket."
"Easy to make it more restrictive," smiled Zac.
"How?" asked the kid enthusiastically
Zac ran off to his bag with his escape stuff. Came back with old style iron handcuffs.
"Here, try these for size" he said as he snapped one cuff onto Keagan's right wrist. "Put your hands into the pouch."
The rain jacket had two front pockets, but also a kind of pouch at the front. You could put your hands in there and they met up inside. That was good in the winter to keep your hands warm.
Keagan obligingly did so. Zac reached around him from behind and felt into the pouch. I heard the other cuff snap closed, too.
"Gotcha!" said Zac, satisfied, his chin on Keagan's black shoulder.
Keagan was grinning. He pulled right and then left, but his hands didn't emerge from inside the PVC. They were locked together in there.
"Cool!" said Keagan.
"Hot," I said.

While Keagan is happily admiring his double layer of PVC, a slightly way-out new sequence begins. Stefan has secretly shown Zac a set of carnival false fangs and, on a couple of occasions since Keagan's arrival, the topic of werewolves in the local area has been casually introduced into the conversation.
Now, while Keagan is otherwise occupied, Zac asks Stefan quietly:
"We still going through with our scare-Keagan plan?"
and he nodded silently. Then Zac warns ... "Because if we do, you're gonna be the one who ends up tied up!".

Stefan then nods even more enthusiastically ... and gradually starts pretending to have slightly manic tendencies. In the failing evening light, he launches into a very convincing performance.

... While Keagan had been practically having an orgasm over his double layers of PVC casing in front of the mirror, I had put in the dental plate with my vampire fangs.
"Keagan looks so good, I could eat him!" I said, trying not to lisp.
Keagan looked at me quickly. I gave the slightest of smiles which I guess just revealed a hint of the sharp fangs. Keagan gasped and stepped back. I deliberately dropped a spoon and bent down to get it under the table, quickly taking out the false teeth as I did.
"Your teeth!" said Keagan!
"What's wrong with them?" I asked, pulling back my lips like you do when you inspect your teeth in the mirror to make sure all the spinach has gone.
"What's wrong with them?" I asked again.
"Nothing!" said Keagan. "I just thought…!"
"Thought what?" I asked.
"Nothing," said Keagan. "Nothing."
Zaccy was with his back to us, getting eggs out of the refrigerator. I could tell he was chuckling.
We sat there around the table chatting happily. Keagan was so turned on by his suit and handcuffs, he could hardly sit still.
"I feel so cool in all this gear!" said Keagan. "It's driving me CRAZY!"
"We could have some fun outside. We could make a video of you in the suit!" I said.
"Sweet!" said Keagan. "Cool!"
"Or you could try another escape trick. That'd be awesome!" Zac suggested tentatively. "We could tie you to a tree, and you'd have to escape before the werewolves come and get you."
Keagan laughed, but I leapt up and grabbed him, pushing him backwards, at the same time putting my leg out to tip him over. He fell to the floor and I fell on top of him. A chair tipped over. I immediately had him flat on his back, my face close to his. "Don't laugh about werewolves," I growled.
Keagan was still laughing, not really too sure how serious I was. He felt great under me, my PVC-covered legs astride his enclosed body. He suddenly gave me a kiss. I let him do it. I kissed him and gave him a little nip on his lower lip.
"Oww!" he said. "You bit me!"
Zac pretended to pull me off Keagan. "Be nice, Stefan!" he said, sounding concerned. "Get up you two!" he said. "No sex in the middle of the day, or I shall have to restrain you both!"
I got off Keagan, pulling him up, his hands were useless.
"Restrain us both?" he said to Zac. "I think he's the one who should be restrained!"
"You might be right," said Zac, looking at me. "Full moon tonight," he said out of nowhere, looking up into the rain.
"What's a full moon gotta do with it?" asked Keagan.
"Stefan! You're kinda scary!" he said.

During the next sequence, the three go out in the woods, and there is talk of bears.
As darkness falls and they are returning to the cabin, Stephan can not resist slipping the teeth in and out again, gradually getting Keagan seriously confused:

... "There was! I saw - two pointed teeth - like a vampire!" insisted Keagan.
"You're imagining things," said Zac none to convincingly.
"I saw them! Vampire fangs!" said Keagan.
I turned, pushing my hood back. Keagan took a step back.
"It's the bad light!" I said, smiling a normal smile at him.
"I saw them! I saw them!" said Keagan. "Zac?" he said, looking at Zac for confirmation.
This gave me time to slip the fangs back in.
"You're a beautiful dude, Keagan!" I said, walking towards him. "You smell so good! You're hard to resist!" I said and lunged at him, snarling, my lips curled back showing the fangs properly for the first time.
"AAGGHH!" he shrieked again, his eyes wide as I fell onto him and pretended to aim for his jugular, although I could get nowhere near to it because of his rainsuit. I made more animal-like snarling.
He was trying to wriggle me off frantically. At that moment Zac grabbed my hood from behind and jerked me off Keagan. He grabbed me under my arms from the back and pulled me away from the terrified boy.
"Stefan! Stefan! Look at me! It's Zac! Stefan!"
I hissed at him and showed him my fangs. I almost laughed.
"Stefan! It's me!"
As though I had just come back from somewhere far, far away, I slumped into Zac's arms. He hugged me. Keagan, still handcuffed inside his double layers of PVC, was trying to disengage himself from the chair and get up.
"It's OK, Keagan!" he said. "It's OK, Stefan!" he whispered, stroking my shiny back as he held me.
"What's up with him?" shouted Keagan! "He nearly ripped my throat out!" he exclaimed.
That was a bit exaggerated. I couldn't even get through the layers of PVC.
I lifted my head off Zac's shoulder and smiled at Keagan.
"See! See! He's got fangs like a vampire!"
"Get upstairs and calm down, Stefan!" Zac said to me gently.
I pulled away like a scolded dog, looked at Keagan, said "Sorry Keagan!" and went slowly upstairs, sad and dejected.
I opened and closed the bathroom door, but really sat down near the balustrade where I could hear the two below.

Zac plays his part well as he releases Keagan's handcuffs, admitting that Stefan has shown signs, after having been bitten by an animal in the woods.
Keagan finds it impossible to believe - but is still afraid.
Zac builds on the story, telling Keagan that it may be necessary to restrained 'poor Stefan' for everybody's safety.

Hearing this from upstairs, Stefan can't wait to get started - so comes down ready to continue his performance - with the fangs in but concealed.

... "Sorry Keagan!" I said innocently. "Don't be afraid of me!" and then I smiled.
"Oh shit!" said Keagan. "Your friggin teeth!"
"He can't retract them at full moon!" said Zac.
Keagan had moved behind Zac for protection.
"You know we're going to have to restrain you, don't you, Stefan?" said Zac.
"Yeah - like always." I said. "Only way.." I said forlornly. "Put the muzzle on me or I will bite Keagan!" I said.
Zac had already got the black leather head harness. He worked it over my head and started to strap it tight. My artificial fangs bit into my lips as it tightened up, but I couldn't speak to communicate that to Zac. He was getting the new heavy-duty strait-jacket back out of the bag. This would be my first time in that one, though. I had an enormous hard-on at the thought, which became even harder at the sight of the formidable restraint.
I stood there, my arms out in front of me ready to accept my fate. Zac pulled the jacket on to me. My arms and hands slipped down into the depths of the closed sleeves. The soft leather lining was cool and smooth and gripped me gently but firmly. Zac jerked the jacket together at the back. I felt the first back strap pulled tight, then the second, then the third. The jacket was closing tightly around me.
"That jacket is amazing!" exclaimed Keagan. "I have never seen anything like that! It looks like a torture jacket or something! Cool!"
"Want it on?" I thought.
I looked down at the jacket with its black leather reinforcements and all the rivets which made it look even more dramatic. I held an arm out in front of me and looked at the heavy brown canvas the jacket was made of. The thick brown leather strap hung from the end of the black leather reinforced sleeve end. Black leather was also sewn around the sleeve at the elbow. Zac had meanwhile strapped up two more buckles and was now doing up the crotch straps. Everything was getting tighter and gripping me. My whole torso was now encased in the jacket. Zac did up the high collar. He looked me in the eyes as he did that. He liked imprisoning me. I liked imprisoning him. That's what we were all about.
I stood there in the strait-jacket, my arms not yet strapped around me. Suddenly I took a leap at Keagan, something that not even Zac was expecting.
Keagan was so startled he just made some shocked noise and tried to get out of my way, but I had him, my arms locked around him tightly in the closed sleeves. I pretended to go for the artery in the neck despite his high PVC collar and the muzzle I was wearing. Zac pulled me off Keagan, who was now was really frightened.
"Come on, Keagan!" said Zac. "Let's get Stefan strapped up properly and then he won't be able to get at you. You'll be fine!" he said. "Stefan! Cross your arms!" he ordered.
I did as I was told and felt the sleeve straps being passed through the loops on the side of the jacket.
"OK, this is it!" said Zac and jerked the sleeve strap through its corresponding buckle. The canvas sleeves gripped my arms and wrenched them around my body. I breathed heavily. That's always the best moment of being strait-jacketed - the moment of no return.
Keagan had moved from his fugitive position and was behind me.
"Strap him real tight!" he said loudly! "Tight!" I felt my arms tighten around me even more. "Tight!" demanded Keagan.
I felt him put his knee in my back and pull on the strap. Boy, was this kid's fear ever making him strong? My sleeves tightened even more. I was almost hugging myself to death. "Help me Zac!" I thought.
But Zac was in no mood to help me. He'd produced a set of extra straps. When ordering the new jacket, he'd described to me the principle of 'Pinion Straps' which surrounded the biceps and then from behind the back could be tightened to make it impossible to move the strapped arms either backwards or forwards.

Meanwhile, Keagan was adjusting and tightening other straps and buckles. He came around to the front and strapped the strap (extra to this high-security design) around my arms, pulling that really tight, and fastening my crossed arms to the front of the jacket. He looked me in the eyes.
"He's looking at me!" he said. "His vampire eyes scare me!" he said. Was this kid really going for the story, I wondered, but Zac stopped my thought in its tracks, by saying:
"There's a mask in my bag, Keagan! Go and get it!"
"A mask?" I thought. "Since when had we got a mask?" Zac was full of surprises.
While Keagan was searching for the mask, Zac loosened a couple of the strait-jacket's straps, including my armstrap. He had trouble getting that strap undone, Keagan had wrenched it so tight.
Keagan came back carrying something made of black leather.
"You loosened the straps?" he asked.
"Yeah!" said Zac. "They were too tight!"
"The tighter the better!" said Keagan, grabbing one of the straps behind my back.
"Don't!" said Zac. "You'll hurt him!"
"He wants to hurt me!" exclaimed Keagan.
"He doesn't want to hurt you. He can't help it. He smells your blood. He doesn't want to kill you!" said Zac.
"He'll get that jacket off! He'll get out!" Keagan panicked.
"No he won't!" said Zac. "No-one on earth could ever get out of that jacket. Look at it! His arms are strapped around him through the strap here at the front, through these two on the side and these straps around his biceps stop him moving his arms forward. Stefan's in this jacket to stay!" Zac looked into my eyes with a little smirk on his face.
"He'll break out!" cried Keagan. "Vampire's are real strong!"
"Stefan's much stronger at full moon, that's true, but he can't break out of this Keagan. It's real thick canvas, and all this leather, and it's riveted, and look at the thickness of the straps. Two tractors couldn't rip this thing apart. It's been made especially for Stefan. And just to be sure, Keagan," Zac said with a look at me, "we can put locks on it, too ... and I'll give you the keys!"

This becomes the beginning of another action-packed sequence.
Whether Keagan really believed the vampire thing or not, the author doesn't admit to - but there is a lot more wrapping, strapping, chaining and tying before the sheriff and his deputy come and take Keagan away, still securely trussed into in the strait-jacket he'd arrived. in.

After that, this eventful story continues for a further 13,000 words - mainly a sequence when the sheriff and his malicious deputy take the Stefan and Zac (securely restrained) and show them a disused Mental Hospital - territory previously explored by the same author in his story WEEKEND IN THE LIFE OF A MOTORCYCLE MESSENGER.

'Rainy Days in Oregon' by John Strickland (Nov 2011)
Excerpts 11,210 words?

For the complete story introduce yourself by E-mail to
John Strickland

For excerpts from all JOHN STRICKLAND'S stories on this site, go to

Return to HOME PAGE