Are you a creative writer? Then send me your contortion story. It could be:
- Made up
- Real experiences
- Unreal or abnormal
IMPORTANT! The story must have a flexibility and contortion theme. Your story can be written in German, English or French. It should contain more than 1000 words. Each new story will be rewarded with a free (month’s) membership to Zlata.de
Nida the Contortionist
Nida rolled out of her low bed, a light groan escaping her lips as she looked around her dark room, tired in the early morning. Her older sister, Noor, was still asleep. Nida walked into the small, bare side room, originally a large storage closet, and stripped. Standing in the centre of the room, naked, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat in the fetal position, bending and straightening her legs, rubbing her feet and running her fingers between her toes as she did a light warm up. Standing up again, she spread her legs shoulder width apart, and curled her upper torso back, her skin folding on her back and the skin around her stomach tightening as she planted her shoulder blades on top of her bum. Taking a few deep breaths and adjusting her footing, Nida raised her arms over her head and slowly slid her upper torso further down her legs, folding herself in half like a hairpin. She wrapped her fingers around her ankles and bent her knees, lowering her chest to the floor. Rolling, she sat with her belly on the dusty ground, and her feet planted right at her chest, her heels grazing her lower ribs. Nida closed her eyes and rested the back of her head between her thighs and stretched her neck, looking up. After a few minutes of enjoyed liberation, silence and deep breathing, Nida kicked her legs back, uncurling herself from the position.
Nida opened the little drawer next to her bed and looked through her training gear. Selecting a dull black unitard, she slipped in easily, pulling the tight material on like a sleeve, wiggling her hands and feet free through their respective openings. Searching under her bed, she withdrew a bottle of water and a tiny perspex box used in displays. The box measured around 1.6 feet by 1.25 feet. Placing the box in the centre of her training room, Nida took a long drink of lukewarm water and stood with her feet apart. Raising her arms over her head, she twisted them together, tying her limbs like rope, her shoulders smoothly popping out of their sockets. After stretching her arms, she bent forward, maintaining her foot positioning and keeping her legs straight. Nida continued to bend forward, moving her upper torso between her legs, bending so much so that her face was right in front of her bum. Unfolding herself, Nida opened the side of the box and began to squeeze in, first one leg and one arm, and then the rest of her body. Twisting her neck and squishing her soft torso deeper into the tiny space, Nida’s other foot then followed, sliding snugly into the twisted mass of body contained in the box. Finally her free hand slithered in, disappearing into the tangle of limbs. Noor, having woken by now and being quite used to the routine, sleepily walked over and closed the box off tight, Nida’s face being lost inside, Noor could rely on small puffs of breath forming condensation on the top of the transparent box to confirm her sister really was inside.
After prayers came breakfast. Today it was Aisha’s turn to prepare Nida’s meal. As the other girls sat and tucked into fruit and sweeter things, wearing their pajamas and long dresses, Nida hurried to eat her millet porridge and drink her water and daily glass of milk. Under the watchful eye of her mother, she gulped down the last of the milk, wiped a drop off of her unitard and hurried off to wash before all the other girls, while Aisha dutifully cleared Nida’s small bowl and two glasses.
Nida wrung her hair out and hurriedly tied on and fixed her hijab after putting on a tracksuit over her black spandex outfit. The tracksuit was a gift from the local amateur soccer team, and Nida enjoyed wearing it for her morning stretch days. It made her feel like a professional athlete. Hurrying back to tell her sisters and mother that the tub was free, she briskly walked to her training room and folded the tracksuit into the corner of the room. Pointing her toes, she rolled her feet on the floor, and slid into the splits, her covered feet sliding easily across the ground. Through pointing and flexing her feet, bending forward and backward and twisting, Nida stretched her legs, going through all sorts of split. She could barely recall when extreme oversplits made her grimace and cry.
Following a full run through of all her skills, taking hours, and involving everything, from walking laps around the small room forwards and backwards on her hands while her feet were straight, or on top of her head, in the splits, or almost brushing the floor, to folding herself like a blanket, twisting her torso like a wet cloth and tying herself into tight knots like a rubber band. Nida swapped her hijab for a thin, but tight spandex hood. Closer to her body and with no loose fabric, this allowed the supple teen a better awareness of herself. She also gently donned a pair of extremely soft white slippers which she typically wore during her weekly performance. The boneless seventeen year old lay on her back and took a deep breath. She raised her right leg up to her chest, rolling her ankle, her hands planted flat on the ground for support. With little effort she lifted her leg up and slid it down behind her neck. Rolling her foot in the position, she kicked her other leg over and slid it much lower, her toes brushing the ground. Trussed up like a Christmas present, Nida rolled back and forward in the human knot.
Nida lay flat on her stomach, her back bent and her bum nestled snugly on the last few vertebrae of her spine. Her legs were straight out in front of her, her pointed feet on the ground in front of her face. She had kept the position for minutes now, her deep long breaths expanding and shrinking her ribcage. Her face glistened with sweat, after hours spent stretching and exercising in the stuffy room. The side door opened and her mother walked in, casting a critical look at the contorted teen on the floor.
“What today?” Her mother said.
Nida rolled her legs back, straightening her body, and stood up, bowing her head lightly.
“Could I try some apricot, mother?” Nida said.
Her mother impatiently tapped her foot. “You know the choices Nida, now pick quickly.”
“Raisins then, mother”
Nida’s mother left the room and came back a few seconds later, a tiny cup filled with small dried raisins in her hands. She set it on the floor and left briskly.
Nida took off her shoes and sat cross legged, her stomach growling, and ate the small snack. Not the most filling, but this was deliberate. Her mother made sure she got enough for nutrition each day, including a glass of milk at every meal to keep her body strong and healthy. With the exception of any new born children, the milk was kept aside for Nida only. Nida ate only breakfast and dinner with the females in the family. She was instead kept stretching in the side room during lunch, but was allowed a snack from three choices to keep her energy up. All easily digestible and small of course to not fill her up and damage her flexibility. Raisins, which she had just chosen, dried dates, and sometimes a small round pita bread. Sometimes she would try to ask for something else, but her diet was of huge importance to her parents, and they never allowed any change. She hungrily swallowed the last raisins, and sat, eyes closed, twisting her waist to digest them faster. She popped her legs apart into the side splits and resumed stretching.
After another few hours, it was afternoon. Despite no clock (or many furnishings at all) being in the room, Nida had grown to know when it was time for her afternoon nap. Removing her shoes and hood (but keeping her bodysuit), she rolled out two small blankets and lay down. 30 minutes, no more, no less. Once every week after her nap, she’d go out with her father and brothers and perform a full routine for the eagerly gathered in the town. Afterwards, she’d return home while her father took all the money made that evening and stored it away. This was usually a lot. Between weekly performances, events like birthday parties, festivals, and hired performances, Nida’s earnings made up almost 70 percent of the family's total income. The combined income of her father and brother’s only made up around 30 percent. If she did a very good job performing, then she’d get cream instead of milk for her breakfast the next morning as a treat. Her father also took it upon himself to act as her “agent and manager,” turning the house into a headquarters for arranging business. Now and then Nida would hear her father on the family phone.
“Hello! Nida Al-Masri, Rubber Girl!” He received so many interested calls, that this had now become the first thing he said to anyone who called, much to the amusement of cousins and relatives. After her nap, this day, was more stretches, finished with a final, somewhat sweaty squeeze into her box. Leaving, she changed and joined the females for dinner. Today the girls enjoyed a couscous salad and lamb. Aisha had already prepared Nida’s meal. A bowl of steamed brown rice, a cup of dried lentils, and of course a tall glass of milk and one of water. Sitting down, she wolfed down the rice and lentils, and washed down the milk, saving the water for last. She joined the family for evening prayers (Nida was allowed secretly to skip the prayers throughout the day to work on her talent.), and after changing into pajamas, went to sleep with the rest of her sisters.