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Wednesday was a surprise. No work. I spent the entire day in the cell. Breakfast was water and Cheerios again, but was much easier to eat because my hands weren't cuffed.

The cell is dull. The boredom of my stay in the cell was something I was looking for, but dealing with it doesn't come easy for me. This was one of the times I was inspecting the cell -- in great detail. There was very little to do. Bob must have been watching me on PTV (Prisoner Television) and decided that he had had enough of me inspecting every mortar crack, block, bar, and board in the cell. He had me place both of my hands through the bars at the front of the cell and cuffed them there. Now I had even less to do.

A second distraction occurred when Bob put me in a Fetters' leather and canvas straitjacket. Bob was quite proficient in putting it on me, snug but not too tight. I like to try to get out and Bob said it was OK to try. (If getting out of a straight jacket while still wearing leg irons in a small cell is "getting out".) The only place in the cell that I could work the strap buckles against was the re-enforcement/connection of the bar above the center of the "food passage" opening in the cell door. After getting the front center arm and the crotch straps free, Bob visited. I had also torn off a bit of skin on the back of each of my heels with the leg irons. Bob put Humane Restraint cuffs on below the leg irons to protect my ankles. He also reconnected the crotch strap, at my request.

The next time I saw Bob I had removed the strap encircling my right arm under my left shoulder and the crotch strap again. The strap under my right shoulder was spring loaded. I could open the buckle or I could pull on the strap, but I couldn't figure out how to do both at the same time. At this point, Bob un-did the spring loaded strap and said I should be able to get out now.

I could. I slipped my arms over my head, un-did the strap at the neck and the two lower straps closing the jacket at the lower part of my back. This left one strap buckled at the middle of my back. I then pulled the jacket off over my head, all in about 3 minutes. Considering what I go to to get into a straitjacket, the feeling of relief that I get when I get out is hard to explain.

Bob left the jacket in the cell and the lights on. I guess I played with it for about 2 hours. I tried various configurations. Straps in front, straps in back, arms strapped under the bed, arms strapped through the cell bars, ankles strapped to the chains at the corner of the bed. As I thought about what I was doing, it occurred to me that I was keeping myself well-entertained and in the process was "missing out" on my stay in the cell. Time to be with just me. Time to reflect. Time to be out-of-control. Part of what I wanted was time in the cell with nothing to do. So I carefully folded up the jacket with the straps inside, slipped it under the door, and slid it across the room to where I couldn't possibly get it back. I was suddenly back to being in the cell with nothing to do!

Sometime later Bob broke the boredom with a trip to the isolation cell across the room. He placed a cold steel collar around my neck and locked it in place, attaching a chain at the back of my neck. To this chain Bob connected Hyatt handcuffs with my hands about six inches above my belt. With the leg irons still attached, he brought me over to the isolation cell. This cell has a very impressive solid steel door. I would guess that the door is about 3.5 feet wide, the same width as the cell, and must weigh close to 200 pounds. The door has an inspection port that opens into the cell. This port is protected on the prisoner's side by a set of bars. Front to back the cell is about 6 feet. The cell has block walls and a rough concrete floor.

Bob had me sit on the floor with my back toward the back wall and he locked the collar to a ring set into the back wall. Talking with Bob I learned two things: 1) The wire on the cover of Checkmate Magazine issue # 21 isn't electrical, it's a shutter release and 2) the cover is a self-portrait of Bob!

I am glad that Bob checked on me in about 20 minutes, because my position was dammed uncomfortable on my back. The ring had been placed on the wall for someone quite a bit shorter than I (most people are). I couldn't begin to get my back straight. Bob gave me an extra 5 inches or so, and a few inches helped a lot! I could sit with my back straight. It still wasn't comfortable, but I could and did move around a lot with those extra generous inches.

I could turn around and get on my knees. I could even stand up with my feet flat on the floor, my head bent way down and my butt up in the air. I could stretch out and touch the door at the other end of the cell with my toes. My antics of moving around tore some skin off the tops of my feet.

My position in the isolation cell, with my neck chained to a ring 2 feet off the floor was the only play that I felt was unsafe at MCF. I don't like to be in a position where if I slip, fall, or faint I might strangle myself. It could be that I was being watched, but I didn't sense it. Observation can be very discreet, of course.

I was in the isolation cell for about an hour. I was glad to get un-chained and un-cuffed and placed back in "my cell". It was beginning to feel like home.

Dinner was oriental vegetables with chicken properly warmed, served in a stainless steel bowl with a spoon. It was at this point, that it was quite clear that my guard and I were eating the same food. I expect that in many small jails the guards and the inmates do eat the same food. Anyway, MCF food was far better than I was expecting after reading Checkmate Magazine # 5 "Kinky Cuisine: Feeding a bottom".

With my feet bummed up, Bob put me back in the cell without locking on the leg irons. He left me with the key too. This was Bob's lapse in security. I plotted and planned to take advantage of this over-sight. I placed the chain connected to the leg irons outside the cell about two feet away in a pile, with the leg irons on top. The shackles were open so I could quickly apply them to at least one of Bob's legs if he opened the call door far enough.

I never tried to pull off the switch. I decided that I didn't want to. I was enjoying being captive too much to want to switch places with the guard. In the end, I left the chain and leg irons in place; but put the key, and the brick I had found above the ceiling, about a foot in front of the cell door.

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