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'No, leave your shoes on. You won't get them on over all the plastic. Put the bags over your shoes, under your jeans.' |
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'You done this before?' he asked. |
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As he unfastened his belt and pants, Francine said, 'We'll have to go with you.' Something was different about her voice. She no longer sounded snotty. |
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The change in her, Trev thought, probably had to do with the way Lisa had suddenly decided to pitch in and help. |
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'Fine,' he told her. 'I can pull my car right up to the door so you won't get wet.' |
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When his jeans were off, both women crouched in front of his outstretched legs. He felt a little uncomfortable, sitting there in his Jockey shorts. Nothing they haven't seen before, he told himself. And neither of them made remarks. They measured the bags, cut them off, pulled them over his shoes and up his bare legs. They wound the plastic tightly around him. They bound it in place with strips of tape. The back of Francine's hand brushed against his genitals once while she taped his thigh. She murmured, 'Sorry,' and didn't do it again. |
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When the plastic leggings were snug, he stood up and got into his jeans. He unclipped his holster, set it on the desk, and took off his belt. |
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Lisa cut head and arm holes in a bag. Trev took off his shirt, put the bag on. It hung down to his knees. Francine took the scissors from her daughter and slit the sides so the bag wouldn't inhibit his leg movements. |
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