She found that whatever the rubber object in her mouth was, it served as an effective gag. The man who grabbed her license moved over and grabbed her left arm tight. The man behind her started to lift her shirt up until it reached her bra, which was quickly unclasped. Holding her right arm tightly, the man behind her unlocked her handcuffs, and both men moved her arms in front of her, holding tightly as they moved her shirt and bra up and off her body, taking only a quick look at her small a-cup chest before moving her arms back and re-cuffing them.Without Melissa's arms to encumber him, the man who had been digging through her purse bent over and grabbed some rope from the ground. He smiled as he brought it over and lifted her left arm a little, threading the rope between her arm and her body. He did the same thing with her right arm before leading the rope in front of her, toward the right front of the desk. He seemed to wrap it once around a desk leg (she couldn't tell for sure. Standing took a few minutes. I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the shower until the water went cold, forcing me out. Standing on the cold tile—why, oh why had I insisted on this beige, freezing Spanish tile?—in front of the mirror fogged over and streaming rivulets of water, I forced the whole world into focus. My goodness, I couldn’t help thinking, I’ve really let myself go. Holding the weight of my breasts, letting them go, squeezing the tiny bit of fat around my middle, even as the mirror showed all evidence to the contrary—objectively an hourglass figure—all I saw was a 34 year-old unshaven slob. Almost compulsively I stroked my fingers through the damp and overgrown hair that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. In the bedroom I rifled the closet for a dress I could hide in. It’s counter-productive, of course, baggy clothes make everything worse but no one who feels the tiniest bit self-conscious can help themselves. Opening the underwear drawer, though, and sorting through.
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