Chapter 6

Tim & The Cage Van

While Alicia and Adelaide were talking, Tim Farracut was helping to shut up the pub for the night Looking out across the village green, he could see the lights around the vans. As the landlady grunted and headed off to her room he stared at the warm glow of lights from the vans, wistfully. He turned the last of the bar stools upside down on the tables. The floor would be swept and new sawdust put down in the morning.

His work done, he felt himself drawn to the cluster of tents and vans. Somehow he found himself standing next to the van where the Gimps were kept in their cages. Two of the cages were empty but the others were occupied. He’d never seen one close up, still less six like this. In a world where men were generally subject to women, the Gimps were legends; quintessential men, skilled in demonstrating the arts of service and obedience. The six were all shackled, all naked apart from the black leather hoods that was the badge of their calling. In some ways the shackles were merely conventional – they were solid enough of course but a Gimp wore his cuffs and collar as badges of honour amongst his caste. The hoods they wore, although practical in allowing sight or speech to be restricted marked them out as members of a submissive elite. Tim could see that they were obviously content in their chains; some sitting quietly in their cages staring out, others already sleeping. Tim was fascinated by the sense of calm, the sense that if the shackles or the cage bars were gone, the Gimps would remain. One raised his head and turned it towards him. Tim went to back away.

A voice behind him said, “Don’t worry he can’t see you. The zips in his hood, over his eyes, are closed.”

Startled, Tim turned around to be confronted by the auburn haired girl he had seen earlier. Where her hair had been tucked up under a scarf before, now it was loose, hanging down straight behind her almost to her waist. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t doing ... I suppose I shouldn’t be here...”

“You’re all right. You won’t open those cages unless you’re a master locksmith and besides they wouldn’t leave. The Circus is their life. There aren’t many places for a performing Gimp and we look after them well. Don’t we boys?”

Her question was answered by a murmuring of assent from those awake in the cages.

Tim looked at her. She was smoking a thin hand rolled cigarette, taking slow deep pulls on it that seemed to burn away a quarter of it each time. As she finished it she pinched out the end and trod it out under her boot. She half turned, a shaft of light from a van nearby fell across her. He saw that around her neck she wore a gold necklace with the name ‘Sasha’. She caught his look as his gaze travelled down from the necklace to the gap in her overalls. She smiled again and shook her head. “You boys. All the same. But you have someone who looks after you, I am sure. You are not free to do as you choose, that I know.”

Tim shook his head. “I work in the pub. In return, the landlady gives me lodgings but that’s as far as it goes.”

“So you do as you choose? But like our Gimps you stay in your cage?”

Tim wasn’t sure why he said what he said next. “How do you get to join the circus?”

Sasha looked at him for a moment. There was something about the boy that encouraged her mischievousness. “Let me tell you,” she said, quietly, circling around until she was standing behind him. She grabbed his arms and pulled him back against her – the strength she had gained from her stoking duties allowing her to easily overpower him. She put her hand over his mouth stifling any cry. As she pulled him back, Tim was pressed close against her. “You wait around behind these vans until you feel your arms pinned behind you with rope and a gloved hand over your mouth. Then, when you wake up, you find that you are part of our troop.”.

Tim struggled against her and she released him, laughing.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s fun.” Pulling him close to her she kissed him full on the lips while he, startled by the intimacy, found himself coyly resisting. He tasted tobacco and smelled coal dust and grease. She laughed again and let him go. “I have to work. But you kiss nicely, for a boy, in case nobody has told you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s right. Too many boys try too hard. You don’t have to.”

It was only after that he thought, ‘for a boy?’ Did that mean she kissed girls too?