Chinese Finger Trap
I sat outside in my Chevy coup. We’d met on the internet. He had called me a wannabe when I told him I like the photos from his last party. I asked if I could join and told him I wanted him and his friends to turn me into a Chinese finger trap. It was crude. But the photos from his party were cruder. Straight jackets and rubber balls. All manner of rough devices and wooden contraptions. Participants in all stages of contortion and lust. I now sat two hundred feet from the scene. ...