It was becoming apparent, to some extent, where in the house Bob was upstairs. It sounded like he had had his breakfast. The lights went on, and I heard him coming down the stairs into the basement. With Bob, I always tried to be standing up facing the front of the cell at parade rest when he came in. Once the boiler was running and he surprised me. I jumped pretty good when I noticed him standing there. This time Bob was delivering breakfast in two stainless steel bowls. One contained water, the other dry Cheerios.
Before I got to eat, he moved the Hyatt handcuffs from in front of me to behind my back.
I arranged one of the blankets on the floor for my knees. It didn't take very long to work out how to eat dry Cheerios. First, I would get as much of the dry cereal in my mouth as I could, then I would suck in a little bit of water and slosh it around. This would allow the Cheerios to compress without being just powder. Even though it was a good size bowl of cereal, I expected to get very hungry later in the day. This never turned out to be a problem.
Bob left my legs shackled and locked to the bars. He removed the handcuffs and replaced them with Humane Restraint cuffs. He had me stand outside the cells, with my shirt off, facing the edge of the wall between my cell and the one to the south. Then, using straps, he attached my arms up and out to the cell bars. I don't know enough about whips to tell what kind of whip he used; I never did see the whip. But the whipping was as requested, no warm up, intense, and relatively short. It hurt, but not for very long. Very shortly, I was back in the cell and was given "time-to-think".
Cells are very good for thinking. I was expecting more of a reaction to the whipping than I got, perhaps something emotional. What I got was doubt about why I had asked for it. I know I want to do it again, in very much the same way. Perhaps "more and harder" -- I still haven't a clue why.
Part of Tuesday, as planned, was spent working on the addition. I mixed one batch of mortar and cleaned the mortar that had splattered on the concrete wall footer to prepare it for waterproofing. Work stopped fairly early in the afternoon. Perhaps one or two in the afternoon. I spent the rest of the day (and night) with my legs shackled and chained to the bars, locked in the cooler basement cell.
Dinner was "Tuna Terror" served in a stainless steel bowl -- like all of my meals in the cell. A bit to my surprise, it was served at a pleasantly warm temperature, looked good, and tasted good too. I must have read too many "bad" food articles in Checkmate Magazine.