Post

My First Time Was . . . Involuntary

By Captive

The first time I was handcuffed was years ago when I was caught shoplifting. Here is what happened, near as I can remember it. It has been a long time and I’m sure I don’t have the words quite right, but the sense of it is there and the sequence of events is accurate.

I stole a few things that, as a young man, I was too embarrassed to buy: some lipstick, mascara, panties, and a bra. (I had, and still have, something of a mild cross dressing fetish too, which I occasionally indulge. Back then I was much more secretive about it. Now I go in and buy whatever bit of feminine wear suits my fancy.)

I was careful to watch out for video cameras and I concealed the stolen items in a shopping bag from another store in the same mall. Then I went to a changing room and peeled off the security tags. I almost got away with it but I missed a sewn in sensor tag in the panties. When I went to leave the store an exit alarm sounded and a bag checker asked to check my bag. I didn’t know then that if I had just kept walking probably nothing would have happened. I was stunned and I handed over the bag without thinking and of course she found the goods with no receipt. It was obvious that these items weren’t from the other store. I had no receipt for them and the other store was a bookstore anyway. The bag checker called security. She told me I should wait if I knew what was good for me because they had me on video and running would just make it worse. By then I was scared, too scared to run although, looking back on it, if I had done so I might have gotten away successfully.

A security lady showed up in a minute or two. By then I was shaking like a leaf. She asked me where I had gotten the makeup and women’s underwear. I didn’t have a good excuse but I didn’t want to admit anything so I didn’t say anything. She told me that I would have to go with her back to the security office and I balked at that, finally having enough initiative to try to walk. That didn’t work though. I turned towards the door but she took me by the arm. When I didn’t go with her on the first tug, the next thing I knew she was behind me and had grabbed both of my wrists firmly and pulled my hands behind my back.

I’ve kind of wondered since what would have happened if I had tried to fight her. I had a little bit of a size advantage over her, but not much. I was taller, but a slender young man then. And she was obviously a pro. I am pretty sure that the cuffing part would have come out the same way if I had fought back, only she might have had to injure me and the legal consequences would undoubtedly have been far worse.

So, she steered me over to a wall and pushed me face up against it. Not roughly, but firmly. At first her knee was between my legs and I had nowhere to go. Then she ordered me to step back. I was protesting while this was going on and asking, “Why are you doing this?”, etc. but that just seemed to irritate her. She ordered me to step back again, ******* my arms a little bit at the same time. Not abusively, just making her point. Although she wasn’t yelling there was a no nonsense kind of bite to her voice. I complied. Then she tapped one of my feet with her foot and said “step out to the side”. I did that too. This was followed by the same command for the other foot and again I obeyed. By now I was off balance, my chest leaning against the wall and my feet spread. I was feeling pretty helpless and I begged her, “Please, don’t do this.” She didn’t listen to me, just said, “Keep your hands behind your back.” She let go of my left arm for a moment and of course I tried pulling it away. She was ready for that, though, and caught it almost immediately, although this time instead of her just grabbing me with her hand I could feel that she had something cold and hard in her hand also. I finally figured out what was coming then but I was too shocked and scared to resist. She let go of my left wrist again, but hooked her left arm around mine, by the elbow, keeping my arms together. Then, using her left hand she brought the cuff down on my right wrist. I felt a momentary sharp pain as the cuff rotated around the wrist bone and caught. I heard that “click-click-click” sound, which sounded very loud to me at the time. Then she seized my left hand with her left hand and applied the cuff to my left wrist. “Click-click-click” again. By this time I was in tears. Not sobbing uncontrollably, but crying, which was very embarrassing for a young man in public, and of course by now there were a number of people watching.

She got nicer, then, probably knowing that she had me in her control and maybe taking pity on me a little. I must have been hyperventilating because she told me to try to relax and to take some deep breaths. She told me not to struggle anymore because that would only make the cuffs tighter. She then fiddled with them, and I heard a few more clicks as she tightened them. Not too tight, but tight enough that when I tried later I couldn’t turn my hand around in the cuffs. There was another pause while she did something else. I didn’t know it at the time, but she must have been double locking them.

She said she wasn’t going to hurt me, but I had to go with her back to the security area, and so, we went, her holding on to the cuffs with her right hand and holding my left arm with the other. The bag checker followed with the stolen merchandise. On the way, she talked to me conversationally, asking me my name, and calling me by my first name after that, using a friendly tone. She asked me if it was my first time getting caught stealing from a store and I said that yes it was. Then I could have kicked myself because I realized I had just kind of admitted that I had stolen the goods. She told me that a lot of young people make mistakes like stealing and that the important thing was to learn a lesson from the experience. If I would cooperate with her she would work with me. I began to kind of like her. I was conscious that she was in total control of the situation. In a way, I kind of liked that because it was a point of stability in a chaotic, scary situation where the rug had just been pulled out from under me, so to speak. It made it easier to get through the experience,

When she got me back to the security area she called a male employee in and he did a pat down on me for weapons. The security lady also photographed me. Then they had me sit on a bench. The bag checker stood by the door. I tried to avoid saying anything incriminating for awhile. The security lady took a statement from the bag checker about what happened. Then she ran back through the surveillance video and they found where I had selected the makeup and women’s underwear. I had done a pretty good job on the concealment part. That wasn’t on camera, apparently, but since I had the goods in hand in one sequence, and next they were gone, and had later been found in my bag, I knew it looked pretty bad for me. The security lady continued to speak kindly to me, asking me if I had taken those things to give to a girlfriend. I felt like she was doing me a favor offering me that explanation rather than the truth, that I had taken them to use for myself. So I finally broke down and admitted guilt. By then I felt almost like she was a friend and that I should do whatever she said.

At that point she let me out of the cuffs and had me write a statement admitting I had stolen the goods and apologizing for it and saying I had learned my lesson. She also gave me a paper that said I was banned from the store and the shopping mall for two years and she told me I would be getting a letter in the mail from their lawyers about paying a civil demand or fine that would be several hundred dollars.

By now I thought that she was nice and would let me go with that, but then she came around her desk, took out the cuffs again, and told me to put my hands behind my back! I was stunned again and could only gasp, “Why? I cooperated . . . You said you would work with me . . . ..” She told me, “Well, we’re not done yet. I have to talk to my manager about this. It’s store policy that whenever we hold someone in a detention room they’re cuffed. Now come on, be a good kid and don’t start making trouble for yourself again.” So, like a good boy I did what she said and she cuffed me again. She then took me into a small room with a wired glass panel on the door and left me for awhile.

After maybe an hour she finally came back. There was a police officer with her. She said she was sorry and she had went to bat for me but her manager was very strict on prosecuting anybody who resisted detention and he had seen the video when I had made a feeble attempt to get away. It was out of her hands. I started to cry again. She told me it wasn’t the end of the world, that maybe the judge would be easy on me. The police officer put cuffs on me before she took hers off. I was then taken to the police station, “processed”, and released with a citation.

In the end I avoided a criminal conviction by being admitted into a diversion program as a first offender I almost didn’t qualify for that because of the evidence that I had resisted detention. However, at the sentencing hearing the security lady came and testified and said that she didn’t think I was consciously trying to fight her, that I had just reacted out of fear when she took hold of me and that afterwards I had been very compliant. She basically said that she thought I was basically a good, kind of sensitive kid who had made a stupid mistake. The judge bought that. So, I had to pay a fee for the diversion program, go to classes, do a couple of days of community service, pay a civil fine of $250, but in the end I didn’t have a criminal record, thankfully.

After the court hearing on whether I would be sentenced criminally or allowed to go to diversion I talked to the security lady in the hall. I thanked her for her help. She smiled and said she was glad to help, but that I should just be sure that I had learned my lesson for once and for all and didn't get "sticky fingers" again. Again, I felt almost like she was my friend, although she was the person who had detained me, sent me off to jail, and put me through the court proceeding and the classes and the community service I would still have to do. I actually left the courthouse feeling good about the whole thing.

And I did learn some lessons. Being handcuffed, hands behind the back, makes you totally helpless and dependent on your captor. When you are in someone’s total control, they have power over you, but if you’re lucky they may be kind to you and maybe even help you. In some ways it can be a reassuring relationship. My fear and simultaneous joy and fascination with being cuffed had been awakened. It has alternately waxed and waned over the years, but eventually I always find myself coming back to handcuffs.

As for the shoplifting part, well, at least I learned, “Don’t get caught.” If you want handcuff experiences it is far better to do them with a friend. A little less intense, yes, but a lot less stressful and expensive!
captive captive 31-35, M Dec 2, 2010

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