In a Pickle

I can imagine that some of you will find this story a tad insensitive. I guess it is. Still I decided to write it and publish it. If only to show that imagination is strange and that mine is not always doing what it should. If you are a tinsy winsy bit like me, your imagination wanders off in very inappropriate ways when it shouldn't. It doesn't mean you condone the things that made it wander. I think you will understand this and forgive me for this story.

It goes without saying that I do not condone the gadget riots in UK, and I do take them seriously. It's just that my mind got some strange ideas at the same time, quite detached from my moral compass.

There I was, standing in a room, in front of four sturdy policemen, dressed in nothing more than a neon green t-shirt. It was long and covering, almost like a very short dress, but the fact that it was the only thing I was wearing, made the stares of the four men much more intimidating than would otherwise have been the case.

It started as a very ordinary day. I was walking home and noticed that there was some commotion in the streets. There were policemen and people in a angry mix. I didn't care that much, instead I tried to keep away from the crowd and found myself walking down a small lane.

As it happened I came out on a larger street where chaos had already started. Now I began to realise that something was, indeed, happening.

I had not much time to think about it, before I was grabbed by a motley crew who pulled me aside. They were a mixed bunch of mixed colours and creed and the only thing they seemed to have in common was their audacity and desire to take what they wanted.

They began immediately to help themselves to my clothes. They were very efficient, I must admit, and soon I was lying on the ground, quite naked, and held by my arms and legs. The gang was about to help themselves to more than my clothes when I heard the clang of metal.

The hissing sound that was heard made them release me and scamper away like frightened squirrels. The white smoke and the pain in my eyes and throat suggested that a cannister of tear gas had fallen nearby.

I fled down an alley as I saw the riot police rush forward. Out of the immediate danger I found it appropriate to try to take care of the fact that I was stark naked.

After have been running for my life, I started walking cautiously, scared that I would cut my bare feet on glass or other debris on the ground. I heard the fighting behind me, but found no one in the alley. I thought this was a good thing, since I was not keen on being stared at in my present condition.

I got to a street that had already been affected by the riots and found myself standing by a smashed window, staring at a neon green t-shirt that someone had dropped. It seemed like a heaven sent gift, so I took the shirt and donned it. I found that it was long enough to cover me and thought that now, at least, I was more able to get home with a minimum of embarrassment.

My plans had to change when I turned around and was confronted by the riot squad, complete with helmets and shields and very nasty looking sticks. They wasted no time and arrested me and bundled me into a police van.

I was glad the others were equipped with handcuffs too, their eyes told me that otherwise they would have taken the opportunity to strip me of my last vestiges of decency, and probably more.

The police station was brimful of looters locked up in the cells, so I was ushered into a room where the situation was explained to me. It was very simple. I had been caught looting and would be charged for it.

There was an alternative, though. If I was willing to accept them dealing with my case immediately, they would let me go.

So there I was, standing, facing the four sturdy policemen who where about to deal with my case. The way they said 'deal with' made me understand that it would be something quite unpleasant but temporary, as opposed to the drawn out process that otherwise would have been my fate.

As soon as I had nodded, accepting their suggestion, I was gripped by my neck and my upper body was forced down on a table. I saw the glaring eyes and the evil smiles and began to regret my decision.

Soon I saw one of the policemen remove his belt from his trousers, while another pulled my shirt up.

I must admit I was embarrassed as he stopped short and started chuckling.

'This one has made it easy, no knickers.'

'What a pity, I quite like that.'

'What?'

'The getting rid of knickers thing.'

'Well, you do it with some gusto.'

'I can't help it they tear so easily.'

One of the policemen grabbed my wrists and the other held me down with a grip around my neck. The third one had the belt, while the fourth was just staring.

A strong policeman with a belt in his hand, trying to make you suffer while your bottom is naked and exposed to his efforts, is not a nice thing. The impact was terrible, my body rocking forward while my buttocks exploded with pain.

He seemed to be skilled with the belt. And he was not keen on mercy. No, he let the dreaded belt swing through the air and land on my unprotected skin, time and again.

I did cry. I did yell and whimper. It was hard to avoid it. And it never stopped. I guess he had a lot of frustration to take out on me.

I was quite numb as I was finally let up from the table. The smiling policemen said I was now free to go. I nodded. Before I had time to leave they told me that the shirt I was wearing was looted and had to be returned.

I did hesitate. It is understandable, considering the fact that it was the only item of clothing I was wearing. But the smiling policemen were very helpful and soon I was stripped of the neon green t-shirt.

I was embarrassed walking through the reception on my way out. Once again, I found myself in the not so enviable situation of having to get home through the city wearing absolutely nothing.

How I got home is another story, a completely different story.