The swing was old, to be sure, but the chains it hung from were not rusted, like they’d be in town. Someone had taken a wire brush to them and oiled...them. The swing itself was painted white and, other than a slat, missing from the backrest, and which might have been left out intentionally, as part of the pattern of the thing, he could see nothing whatsoever wrong with it.He sat on it, gingerly. Sometimes looks could be deceiving. He didn’t want to break the thing he’d come to fix. It was rock. But did I really want that? I also talked of humiliation, being exposedetc. but really that was the last thing I wanted. It just turned me on.At some point, John started pushing for a meet, but I wasn't ready I toldhim. "We'll see about that," he said.The following day, I was walking towards home when a car pulled up askingfor directions. The man got out to show me his map and as he did so hepressed a cloth over my mouth. The last thing I remember was falling intothe back of his car and it all. More

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