Innocence

© Copyright 1997-2014 - Crimson Dragon All Rights Reserved

Main Page · Short Stories · Snapshots · Novels · Contact

========================================================================
                           Innocence
                       (rom, light bond)
========================================================================
                    (c) Copyright - July 2002
                       All Rights Reserved
                         Crimson Dragon 
                      (dcrimson@yahoo.com)
========================================================================
Innocence, my ass.
I squirmed on the bed, pulling at my trapped hands, my trapped
ankles. I wanted to scream, but of course, I couldn't. All I really
could do was seethe, and watch the sun slowly set, its rays kissing
my bare skin as it slipped, uncaring of my predicament, down my
thigh. Eventually, that ray of light would touch my toes, and fall
to the bed, then slowly fade away.
I turned my eyes to the door, and closed them. No matter how much I
wished it, Stacy didn't open it and walk in.
I blamed Stacy for this, completely and utterly.
Of course, she wasn't entirely to blame. But, I blamed her anyway.
                      <---===***===--->
It had begun innocently enough, sitting in a nondescript coffee
shop.
All right, so it had been the Heuther Hotel, girls dancing naked
upstairs, pool tables, and locally brewed beer downstairs. I wasn't
supposed to know about the strippers upstairs, but everyone did.
Down here, amongst the pool tables, the air was smoky and dense,
stinging my eyes.
It could have been a coffee shop.
The guys shot eight ball, the balls clacking, rushing about the
table in complex patterns of stripes and solids. Stacy and I had
played one game with them, then settled to a stand table, perching
on stools. Catching a few stares from other tables, I shrugged and
tucked my legs together, hooking my toes over the crossbar of the
stool. I tipped my beer, the stronger locally brewed stuff, to my
lips. The full taste slipped down my throat like ambrosia.
Stacy tossed her head, her blonde curls falling out of her face with
a practised motion.
"You know what guys really go for, Danielle?" she said, her eyes
shiny with mischief.
I knew, or at least I thought I did, but I shrugged anyway. A blonde
girl tossing her hair out of her eyes without having any idea of how
sexy it was, at least to the guys. Things like that.
I raised a finger. "Hold that thought," I said. I slipped from the
stool and paced over to the jukebox. It had fallen silent a moment
earlier, the room now only filled by laughter and the clacking of
pool balls. I traced my finger down the list, sighing as I went.
Only new dance music, and I'd already taken as much of that as I
could. Somewhere on the tenth page, my eyes lit up. My fingers found
a loony in my front pocket, and I dropped it into the machine. It
sighed as it swallowed the coin.
I punched J5, without waiting for the secret mechanism within to
engage.
The music began, rushing towards my back, pounding through the pool
hall. Nobody gave me a dirty look, so I had to assume that the
eighties ballad met with some approval.
Harlequin sang about Innocence behind me, my body automatically
swaying to the music as I returned to Stacy and the guys.
                      <---===***===--->
Innocence.
That's all you ever pleaded.
Innocence.
And that's all you'll ever plead.
Stacy shook her head with a laugh, and leaned in.
"That isn't what guys really want, you know."
Confused, I stopped dancing in my seat long enough to flash her a
puzzled glance.
"What isn't? Dancing?"
She grinned and I shivered. I knew that grin. Bad news, that grin.
"Innocence," she said.
I pursed my lips, and slowed my body, reaching for my beer. Rick
and James continued to ignore us, shooting the silly balls about the
table. Stacy glanced at them, and then grinned again.
She pushed herself off her stool, and walked over to Rick. She
whispered something in his ear at which he shrugged. When she
returned to the table, she held out her hand. Unthinking, I took it,
and she practically pulled me to my feet. My beer sat lonely on the
tabletop, sloshing.
"Where are we going?" I asked her.
"I told Rick we were going to the ladies room."
I shook my head. "I don't need to go."
She grinned again. Damn, that made me nervous.
"Neither do I. Come on."
Stacy was a bad influence. Whatever she was up to, I was quite sure
that my mother, bless her, wouldn't have approved. But of course,
Mom wasn't there, and I was a little tipsy already, so with a shrug,
and a wave to James who was watching us, I followed Stacy to the
stairs.
                      <---===***===--->
This is where I learned, far too personally, what happened upstairs
at the Heuther Hotel.
Blindly, I followed Stacy up the stairs, watching my feet on the
worn wooden planks, one step behind her. I didn't really look up
until we entered a large room, booming bass and more cigarette smoke
surrounding me.
When I made the mistake of looking away from my feet, I found myself
at the back of a long rectangular room, a red stage with a brass
pole near one end. Tables and chairs lined the room.
It took me a moment to realise that Stacy and I were the only girls
in the room. The remainder of the clientele appeared to be dingy,
middle aged men, some of whom raised their eyes at our entrance. I
flushed, but Stacy pulled me forward towards the bar. I could feel
eyes raking in my body. Not the most pleasant sensation in the
world. Not the worst either, but close.
"Stacy?"
She ignored me -- typical -- and I eased up to the bar, taking a
stool.
"She needs a rum and coke," Stacy glanced at me, a wry look about
her lips. "Badly," she added unnecessarily. "And I'll have a vodka
straight up."
I began to protest, but Stacy waved me away. The bartender raised
his eyebrows, shrugged, and poured the drinks. His demeanour wasn't
because of the liquor Stacy had ordered, I suspected; it was the
fact that we were of the wrong gender for this place. While he was
pouring, I felt a subtle shift in the room; the multitude of male
eyes left my back, and turned elsewhere.
I slowly spun, my own eyes tracking the men's new distraction. A
tall woman strode onto the stage, high heels, stockings, a business
suit, and oversized tinted glasses. I swallowed, unable to take my
eyes off her. Dimly, I was aware of Stacy behind me, paying the tab.
We all knew such girls existed -- brave enough to take their clothes
off for a bunch of horny men who paid for the privilege -- but how
often does someone like me actually witness it? How often does
someone like me want to witness it? Suddenly, I was sure that I
didn't want to. While I respected the girl for her bravery, I simply
didn't want to be here.
"Stacy," I said more urgently.
She grinned. That damnable grin of hers.
"Please," I said, jerking my head towards the entrance -- exit --
whatever. Predictably, Stacy ignored me.
Instead of stepping towards the door, she laughed and grabbed my
hand. Numb, I stumbled and followed her towards the stage. It
wouldn't have surprised me if Stacy wanted to join the bleached
blonde up on the stage, me included, bumping and grinding to overly
loud music. I have no idea why, but I had always envisioned a more
subtle show -- a girl with a boa, teasing and shy. Silly me. As we
stumbled closer to the stage, I was relieved of my misconceptions.
She played a secretary, or a manager, I don't know, but an office
worker. She teased, but not much. Her clothes didn't stay on her
very long, falling from her like rain, scattered about the small
stage, puddles between her high heeled feet.
I wondered idly if the girl had worn some sort of tear-away clothing
to make her job a little easier. I don't remember her pulling her
top over her head, or even pushing her skirt down her legs. But
there she stood, bare to the world, only her stockings and her shoes
between her and her birthday suit. Odd what one notices when under
stress. The girl was shaved. I mean completely shaved. For some
reason, it struck me funny. Perhaps it was the drink I had already
nearly consumed, or perhaps it was only the picture of myself up
there. The girl spread her legs, cupped her ample breasts and the
crowd gasped. That seemed even funnier somehow, but sad in another
way.
My mind flashed to my mother -- not a good thing to have happen in
the middle of one's first experience in a skin show. I flushed for a
moment, hesitating. Stacy stopped, and we stood behind the first row
of chairs arranged like a fence around the red velvet of the stage.
Definitely a bad influence. I couldn't tear my eyes off the girl on
stage. She seemed to see me staring at her, and instead of being
properly abashed at her nudity, her exposure to the world, she
winked at me. I lowered my eyes.
"Perverts Row," Stacy whispered in my ear.
"What?"
"The first row."
The fence of chairs around the stage, filled to capacity, featured
drooling men staring at the blonde and her antics. Some waved bills
in the air towards the girl. She didn't seem ready to accept any of
them, twirling slowly around the brass pole, a vacant look now on
her face, the novelty glasses discarded with the rest of her
clothing.
A touch to my arm brought my eyes down. A middle aged man dressed in
a tweed suit peered up at me, his eyes a little surprised, and more
than a little bloodshot. His teeth were yellow stained, though
whether that was due to cigarettes or coffee, or both, I don't know,
but it was his eyes that registered a pleased surprise at our
presence behind his chair. I suppose, in his place, I might be
surprised, too. One wouldn't expect girls to be in this place. Hell,
I didn't believe we were there, either, and I was one of the girls
in question. The music pounded around us, and the girl above
twirled, her nakedness almost normal now to me.
I couldn't hear his words, and I bent my ear towards him. Stacy
frantically tugged at my fingers, but I ignored her, feeling a vague
sense of justice. Let her wait. Bad move. This time, I should have
listened to her.
"You two care for a leettle menage a trois?" he grinned, his voice
slurred enough to remind me where we were standing. His grin seemed
far more sinister than Stacy's evil cousin. Surprised, I
straightened, shaking my head vigorously, a flush rising to my face.
I might be naive, and innocent, but I knew what he was suggesting.
Stacy laughed beside me.
"What the hell are we doing here?" I whispered in her ear.
She motioned towards the dancer, now on her knees crawling about the
stage, like an animal.
"That's what guys want."
"What?"
"Whatever the opposite to innocence is."
She pursed her lips, her eyes laughing, and we retreated. Suddenly,
I was aware of eyes on me again -- perhaps bored with the brutal
wantonness onstage. They were probably speculating what I might look
like onstage instead of the shaved blonde woman. I shivered.
                      <---===***===--->
The guys still played pool, a new game, balls galore scattered
across the green felt. I sat trembling beside Stacy, and we watched
them for a while in silence. The jukebox had fallen back into the
mindless dance music that had preceded Harlequin.
"You know," Stacy said, almost nonchalantly. "What guys really
want?"
"Girls dancing naked on a stage. Or two at once," I said thinking of
the middle aged creep upstairs, probably still drooling at whatever
boob enhanced female was dancing for him now, our presence only a
dim memory.
Stacy shrugged and glanced at the guys. They weren't paying us any
attention, and with the music, I doubted if they could hear us in
any case.
"What isn't innocent?" she mused. I had a bad feeling that she knew
exactly what wasn't innocent. Worse, she was going to tell me.
"Strippers?"
She shook her head. "Not subtle enough. Anyone can take off her
clothes."
Personally, I disagreed, but I didn't say so. I mean, I took mine
off every night before I went to bed, but that's hardly the same as
parading around a velvet stage with a brass pole in the middle. I
watched Stacy for a moment, then I turned away from her. Bad
influence. Very bad influence.
"No," she said, her voice light and airy.
"What?" I asked, knowing better.
"No. We need to tie you up or something. That," and she emphasised
the word, the grin returning full force, "wouldn't be innocent."
See why I blame her? My mother was right. Bad influence, girls like
Stacy. Very bad influence.
I laughed, a little uneasily. The pleasant buzz from the drinks was
fading fast, and I stared at her.
"I'm not letting a guy tie me up in bed. Forget it."
And it worked out that way, too. I didn't let a guy tie me up in
bed. A technicality, I suppose, but for what it's worth, I did
manage to keep to my word -- at least in a literal sense.
I sighed, wishing that I was in a nice safe, nondescript coffee shop
where girls didn't disrobe and crawl around red stages upstairs.
                      <---===***===--->
It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and I sat at my small desk trying
to write. Stacy melted into my bed, staring out the window at the
clouds. I gave up, and dropped my pencil to the desk, clapping the
notebook closed with a snap. Stacy looked up.
That damn grin spread over her face, and I had an awful feeling that
I wouldn't be proud of whatever happened next. I was right, as
usual.
"Let me tie you up," Stacy said, her voice filling the small dorm
room.
"Excuse me?" I hadn't forgotten about our conversation at the
Heuther, much as I would have liked to. The stripper haunted me
sometimes, dreams where I was both on stage and seated in Perverts
Row gripping me, waking me, flushed and hot in the night. But Stacy
had never mentioned it again, and I hoped that she'd forgotten --
two girls who'd had a little too much to drink. Obviously, she
hadn't forgotten.
She looked up at the ceiling, her voice far more serious than I
would have liked.
"Innocence," she said, but not to me. "It's all you ever pleaded."
"Harlequin. You're not tying me up."
"Why not?"
She lowered her face, her eyes holding mine. That grin was back, and
she tilted her head, daring me to answer.
"You're just not."
She shrugged, and turned back to the clouds.
"I swear, you are never going to get laid," she said.
I swallowed, and opened up the notebook again, the pencil resting
against the page, but not moving.
                      <---===***===--->
"I've got rope in my room," Stacy said.
I turned back towards her.
"Stop it. You're not tying me up." I paused. "It's too -- kinky."
"The guys would salivate over you."
"So let me tie you up."
She shrugged. "Okay."
I didn't want to tie her up. My heart hammered in my chest, my
breasts rising and falling noticeably under my shirt. I wasn't
wearing a bra -- it was Saturday -- and the cloth tickled my
nipples. They rose, despite my attempts to ignore the sensation.
"No. Nobody is tying anybody else up."
"Innocence," she whispered.
I shook my head, and turned back to my notebook. There was no way I
was going to concentrate. None. The image was in my head, whether I
liked it or not.
After a while, I turned to her.
"Fine," I whispered. She turned her head from staring out the
window, and grinned. I hated that grin.
                      <---===***===--->
She returned after a while, letting herself back into my room with
my key. I flushed. A length of rope, almost like clothesline, swung
from her right hand. It gleamed there, a snake, a serpent. I
couldn't take my eyes off it.
She stood swinging it slowly as the door closed and latched behind
her. Outside, the clouds chased each other across the sky.
"You or me?" she said. The grin was gone now, but I still didn't
really trust her. Bad influence.
"I don't want to tie you up," I said.
She shrugged. I truly believe that she would have been willing to do
it, if I'd wanted to. It would have changed a few things, I suspect,
had I tied her up, but that's in the past now.
I pushed myself out of my seat, and walked over to her. I held my
hands out, wrists pressed together.
"Get it over with, if you must."
She looked at my hands and laughed. "Most girls want to be tied to
the bed."
"Most girls don't do this," I reminded her. "Otherwise it would be
innocent, wouldn't it?"
She laughed again, and pushed my shoulder. Resigned, I fell to the
bed, swinging my legs.
"Do I lie down? What?"
She peered at me, her eyes sparkling.
"First you have to take off your clothes, silly."
I shook my head. "No, way. Uh. Uh."
She laughed again. "Oh, really brave. Really going to catch a guy's
eyes. Danielle tied up on a bed in her nun's habit."
Actually, I suspected it might, but I shook my head. Stacy sighed.
"If you don't want to do it right, then I'll do it."
She dropped the rope on the floor where it coiled like a cobra near
her feet. Her purple socks contrasted with the white. She reached
for the hem of her shirt, and pulled it off in one swift motion
while I stared. All I could picture at that moment was Stacy up on
the Heuther stage, ripping her clothes off and spreading her legs
for Perverts Row. Her bra shone in the light from the window.
"Stacy ..."
She looked up, her hands reaching behind her, fumbling for the clasp
on her bra.
"What?"
"Stop stripping in my room."
"Why?"
"I'll do it. Dammit."
I shivered. Bad influence. Dangerous influence.
"Sure you will ..." she said. She made absolutely no movement to
retrieve her top. It lay on the floor between us like a challenge.
I sighed. This was the girls' dorm -- no guys around, anyway -- and
the door was locked. I reached down and pulled my shirt off,
mimicking Stacy's disdain. The air greeted my skin like a cool
breeze. My nipples crinkled. I shivered, and stood. If I was going
that far, I may as well go for the gold.
Soon, I stood bare in front of her, my clothes littering the floor
at my feet. I grinned, somehow feeling on top of the world. I'd
stripped. Yes, only in front of Stacy, hardly Perverts Row, but it
felt good in a strange way. I swear, I never make sense even to
myself.
My mother called into my mind, warning, warning. This wasn't the
time or place. I shoved her from my mind. I had a feeling that I
might regret my hastiness, that old Ma may have had a few good
reasons to constantly remind me of my inadequacy. I somehow
couldn't picture her quite in this situation, though. Of course, one
didn't have to be a direct participant to recognise a bad idea. For
instance, one didn't have to be a super genius to understand that
sawing through a limb upon which one was standing, like Sylvester
the Cat, might be a poor idea, even for a cartoon. The passing
thought wormed its way into my brain, causing ripples of unease,
forcing me to think. I hate thinking. I eventually might have
regretted this foolishness, but at the time, it seemed to make more
sense than it had any right to.
I swallowed, and lay back on the bed, face up. I calmly stretched my
arms over my head. I felt my breasts lift upon my chest, nipples
still uncertain of this.
Stacy loomed above me, and I shivered again. The evil grin was back,
and I suddenly felt a little like a fish, grasping at the worm,
completely unaware of what was about to happen to me. In a moment, I
would be gasping for air, so far out of my element that I would
think I was drowning.
                      <---===***===--->
The ropes held me securely. Nothing I could do about that, now. Her
fingers wrapped coils of the rope about my wrists, and I shivered as
she secured me to the bedposts.
I pressed my legs together, but at her urging, I eased them apart
for her, allowing her to finish the job of making me the world's
easiest sucker. The ropes wrapped my bare ankles, tightening, and
suddenly I was helpless. Naked and helpless and flushed. My breath
rasped in and out of my lungs.
Stacy settled into my desk chair, where I should have been plying
calculus problems, or writing a philosophy essay. The grin
returned.
"All right. We know. Let me up."
I pulled at my right wrist, shaking the bed a little.
"Sort of."
"What the hell do you mean: 'Sort of'?"
She paused, and turned to look out the window. Stacy could be
maddening that way, simply ignoring the important things in life.
"We need a guy's opinion."
My heart sank, forming a pit of lead in my belly.
"A guy's opinion?"
She grinned again. "Yes. I mean, *I* don't think it's innocent. You
look about as innocent as Satan lying there, but we need ... Rick."
My eye's widened. "Rick?"
"Yeah. If he thinks you're still innocent, then we'll have to try
something else."
"Stacy ..."
She pushed herself to her feet. She hunted for something on my desk,
and then held it up to me. My door key. She placed it gently on my
belly where it lay, so close, but so out of reach. It rose and fell
with my laboured breathing.
"You can't do this."
She laughed. "Why not?"
"Because. You know why not."
She moved towards the door, and leaned back on it.
"You like Rick, don't you?"
I nodded. He was ... interesting. Stacy knew that. It wasn't like we
never talked. Girl stuff. Even if I'd never told her, she was smart
enough to figure it out.
"But this. No way. He'll think ..."
She laughed and stepped back towards me. Her fingers brushed me as
she gathered up the key from my belly.
"... that you're a brave girl."
"Brave? Stupid, more like. Let me out. Now."
She shook her head, and opened the door.
"Don't go anywhere," she said lightly. Such a goddamn comedienne.
I sighed as the door clicked shut behind her. I didn't want him to
see me like this -- not the best introduction to a potential love
interest -- but I didn't see much of a choice. Much as I blamed
Stacy, I'd allowed myself to be goaded into this. As it turned out,
he wasn't much of a love interest, and Stacy wasn't completely
wrong.
                      <---===***===--->
It could have been ten minutes. It could have been an hour. Time
passes differently when one is bound naked and helpless to a bed in
the middle of the afternoon. I amused myself by counting the dots in
the ceiling tile. It isn't as easy as one might believe. I kept
losing track at about three hundred and forty. My limbs felt a
little numb, even my relatively free fingers tingling, perhaps not
used to being tied motionless for so long.
A noise at the door surprised me, breaking my latest count nearer
two hundred and five, than three hundred forty. My heart began to
hammer in my chest as I heard the key slip into my lock, the handle
turning as I stared at it. I wanted to scream at her, wanted to beg
her to let me go, let me dress, cover me. Anything.
But it wasn't Stacy that stepped tentatively through the door. Shit.
She'd done it. I had no idea how, or why, but the familiar form of
Rick stumbled through the door, hands held out in front of him
almost like a zombie. I couldn't face him. I turned away before he
could even fully step through the door. I pulled frantically at my
bonds, moaning under my breath.
He moved closer, but the exclamation of surprise never surfaced,
never flowed to brand me with derision. Given the lack of response,
I guess I expected a look of flabbergasted surprise, striking him
dumb. Perhaps, a vain part of me actually wanted him to be
dumbstruck by the unexpected view of me naked and helpless in front
of him. The truth was both relieving and surprising at the same
time.
He walked slowly forward, groping, guided by the maddeningly smiling
Stacy, her hand light upon his shoulder. He was much taller than
her, and she reached up. I have no idea why I notice these things. I
simply do.
I sighed inwardly, relief washing over me as I saw his face. He
looked a little like a reverse Lone Ranger, his eyes covered instead
of his mouth. High-ho Silver -- oh crap -- wait a sec. Kemosabe? Uh.
You may have screwed that up. Damn. The cloth looked dark and snug,
fit about his eyes like a mask. I trembled as she guided him to the
chair that was set beside the bed where she'd sat before taking off
and leaving me.
She hadn't tied him, his hands were free, only his eyes were
covered. I suddenly realised that my innocence was only fleeting.
He could take off the blindfold himself, at any point. I began to
pray, without much hope, that he wouldn't.
I have no idea how she got him into the dorm, still don't. I have
no idea how she managed to get him to wear that silly reverse Lone
Ranger bandanna across his eyes. Either way, a guy in here was a
decisive no-no. Stacy, and probably me by extension, was risking
expulsion by bringing him here. Hell, Rick was probably risking far
worse than expulsion given the apparent situation. I could see all
too clearly what it might look like to the Dean, if he were to waltz
in here without warning. Bed check! Surprise! And what a surprise.
After Rick settled into the chair, Stacy stepped away, winking at
me. I turned my eyes to his hands which clenched and unclenched in
some strange mimicry of stress. He was stressed?!?
Stacy stepped to the door, opening it silently.
"Stacy, no!" I called out. But it was far too late, even if she had
ever had any intention of staying, which I seriously doubted.
Perhaps she knew what would happen, perhaps not. I suspect that she
knew Rick better than I did. But could she honestly have foreseen
what was to happen? I doubted that.
"Stacy?" Rick called as the door snicked shut behind her.
When no answer came, he slowly rotated his head, perhaps sensing
where I was by my rapid breathing.
"Rick?" I said slowly, carefully.
He started at the sound of my voice, his hands rising almost
instinctively towards his face. I shivered, and panic rose into my
throat.
"Rick, no. Please."
He dropped his hands back to the arms of my chair, and his fingers
began that weird rhythmic clenching again. Open. Close. Open.
Close.
"Danielle, what the hell is going on here?" he asked slowly.
I swallowed. "She didn't tell you?"
"I thought," he began. Then stumbled. His hands rose to his face,
and I began to protest again, but he didn't pull off the blinder,
merely cradling his head in his hands.
"Rick. Please, don't take off that blindfold. Please."
"That's what she told me, too. Said I would never ... if I did ..."
My head spun for a moment, but then settled. I had to tell him.
There was no other way.
"Rick. I'm sorry. I swear I am. I don't quite know what's going on
here."
"That makes two of us."
"I'm naked, Rick."
His head rose at that, and I was nearly sure that he would take off
the blindfold. Now, with a little more experience under my belt, I
know that most guys would have, especially, after the next little
conversation. But to his credit, Rick didn't. I never asked her, but
I suspect that Stacy somehow knew that he wouldn't, even if she
would never admit it.
"What?" he whispered. His lower face paled a little, as if I was a
dragon or something, having told him that I was about to kill him,
or breathe fire all over him.
"I'm naked. If you take off that blindfold ..."
He nodded, understanding. If I was reading his body language at all,
he understood perfectly. I wanted to tell him the rest, but he'd
find that out soon enough. No need to rush things. I was
embarrassed enough having to tell him that I was nude.
"Get dressed then," he murmured.
I sighed.
"I can't, Rick."
He looked puzzled. "Why not?"
In retrospect, I probably should have told him a lie. Stacy had
taken all my clothes. I had some rare life-threatening illness that
would kill me if I dressed. Something. Anything.
I could see my panties lying innocently under his right foot,
crushed and trapped like a pink butterfly. I swallowed before I
spoke, my mouth dry.
"Because I'm tied to the bed. All right?"
He paused then. I could see it upon his face, the set of his body in
the chair. His instincts rose up, clashing with whatever was holding
his impulses in check. So easy to simply reach up and pull the
blindfold from his eyes. His hands actually shook. I don't know if
it was because I begged him, or whether it was a sense of chivalry,
either way, he managed to control his hands.
"Please, Rick. I'm begging you. Please, don't."
He nodded.
"Danielle, why? I don't believe you."
I don't know if it was male stupidity, or simply the male propensity
to make female's lives uncomfortable. Why the hell would I have made
up such a stupid lie for?
And it flooded into me.
A stupid prank, played to make him look foolish. How far would us
girls go to make a monkey out of a man? That's what he thought this
was: me sitting on the bed, fully clothed, trying to get a reaction
out of a desperately horny man. He wasn't going to fall for that.
Oh, I understood. I didn't want to, but I understood.
"Stacy didn't tell you?"
He shook his head. "I thought ..."
I sighed.
"About two feet in front of you, a little to your left."
He shifted his head towards my voice.
"What?"
"Reach out, but be careful."
He missed my arm, which is where I wanted him to be, but at least he
was higher than my breasts. For a stupid instant, I actually hoped
that he missed a little further south. I regained my senses when his
fingers touched my cheek. I forced my head to remain still under his
touch.
"That's my cheek, Rick."
He nodded slowly, understanding, making the connection between what
he felt and what I'd said, gathering his bearings.
"Slowly, Rick, find my right arm, and trace up to my wrist."
I shivered as his fingers trailed over my throat, my bare shoulder,
and up my arm, finally encountering the ropes that circled my wrist.
I wiggled my fingers, and he withdrew as if he'd touched a snake or
a spider.
"Oh, my God," he whispered.
"Yup," I said unnecessarily.
"Jesus. Are you all right?"
I didn't know the right answer to that, but I made one up anyway.
"As long as you leave that damn blindfold on, I'm fine."
"Holy shit. Why?"
I didn't answer him, couldn't face that particular truth myself.
Instead, I lay there helplessly, and hoped that he wouldn't get too
curious about what I looked like. He sat silently for a while, and
then shook his head, sighing.
"Danielle?"
"Uh huh?"
"I have to go."
"What?"
"I have to go."
"What? Why?"
I have no idea why I said that. Apparently, we were on the same
wavelength. He had to leave. But I didn't want him to leave.
Something unsaid. Something that needed to be resolved. Even under
these, um, trying circumstances.
He didn't answer me, but he didn't push himself to his feet either.
I wiggled my toes. They tingled way down the other end of the bed,
almost as if they weren't a part of me any longer.
"Do you think you could untie me?"
He looked startled.
"Untie you?"
"It's only ropes. I'd do it myself, but the whole point of tying
someone up is so they can't reach the knots."
I cursed Stacy for the millionth time. Unfortunately, she knew the
whole point, and nothing but the point. Believe me, I had been
trying to reach those damn knots for a while, now.
"Oh," he said. He made no move towards me.
He gathered his breath, filling his lungs.
"Please?"
"I doubt if I can with the blindfold on."
I swallowed. "No. Please. Leave it on. That's okay."
He hesitated for a moment longer, and then reached forward. In a
panic, I was sure that he was reaching for my right breast.
"Rick!"
He pulled his hand back. I let my breath out in a whoosh.
"I was just ..." he stammered.
I sighed. "Your fingers came about a millimetre from my right
breast."
He shivered for a moment, and then mumbled something unlikely.
"I'm sorry."
"What were you doing?"
"I was going to try to untie you. Like you asked."
Suddenly, it seemed like a bad idea. A really bad idea. Like letting
Stacy tie me up naked in the first place.
"It's all right. Nevermind."
"You don't want to be untied?"
"I doubt if you could do it blind either, and I'd rather be tied
than ..." My voice trailed off knowing how the remainder of my
thought would sound.
"Oh," he said. He leaned back in the chair making a familiar squeak.
He seemed a little upset. I couldn't blame him.
"I didn't mean it that way, Rick. Honestly. I like you, and under
other circumstances, without the ropes, maybe with my clothes ..."
Maybe if I was a little less innocent.
He shifted the chair back and away from me.
"Danielle?"
"Yes."
"You're babbling."
I thought I had a right to babble, but I didn't say so.
"Sorry."
He sighed, and fell silent for a while. Then, his head rose. For a
moment, I wished that I could see his eyes.
"I thought that she, Stacy, was bringing me up here for a blowjob. I
never ..."
I swallowed, the implications of that sinking in.
"Stacy?"
He nodded, almost miserably. I silently thanked Gods that I wasn't
sure that I still believed in that I hadn't chased him. It wasn't
too late to pull back my attraction to the guy. It seems cold, I
know, but I was cold, literally, my body shivering, exposed. And
there are more important things on a girl's mind than whether or not
she can stop liking a guy when she's in this kind of situation.
"You and Stacy? Together?"
He nodded. "Not yet ..."
The implication was clear. Not yet, but hopefully. Together.
Blowjobs leading to ...
"Rick ..."
"I shouldn't have told you that."
"That's all right."
He paused for a moment, thinking.
"Was this all in benefit for me?"
"What?"
"You? Tied up there? Naked?"
I swallowed. I didn't know what the right answer was. I wasn't in
charge here. I doubted if I ever was.
"I was supposed to take this off, wasn't I?" He gently touched the
reverse Lone Ranger mask across his eyes.
"I think so. To prove I wasn't as innocent as I look." I paused for
a moment. "It wasn't exactly my idea," I whispered. I knew it
sounded lame as soon as I said it. I cursed Stacy silently again.
It wasn't her lying here trying to explain the fucking impossible.
Truthfully, I couldn't believe it myself. I don't know why I
expected Rick to understand it.
"Do you want me to take it off?" He fingered it, making my heart
begin to hammer again in my chest.
I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn't see it. The shame
of it was that I did, in some remote corner of my mind, want him to
whip it off and ravage me. Even when I knew that he wasn't
interested in me. Stacy's blowjob filled his mind, even with me
lying helpless and naked only a blindfold away.
"Rick. No. Not like this."
He sighed, and shifted back towards me. He reached out again, and I
held my breath. I thought I knew what he was doing, a last effort at
releasing me. I'd ceased being jumpy, more resigned to my fate.
Truthfully, I no longer really cared if he removed that blindfold or
not. Then again, maybe I did, I didn't tell him to take it off, even
when it meant freedom.
"Rick ..."
He halted, his fingers only a centimetre from my right nipple. I
could shift myself enough to get out of its way, or to press myself
into him. Tying a girl onto a bed so she absolutely can't move isn't
easy. Four ropes on wrists and ankles won't do it. At least, not the
ones I had. I could move a few centimetres in some directions if I
had to.
I closed my eyes and held still.
"Do you know where your hand is?"
"Almost at your wrist?"
His sense of direction, typically male, had failed him again. I had
no doubt that this was innocent, that I was innocent, even lying
here naked about to be touched intimately by the guy I was
interested in. Had been interested in. After this, he wouldn't look
at me sideways in the street. Fuck. Then again, I got the feeling
that he never really would have. He was hung up on Stacy, and that
was life.
I kept my eyes closed.
"Close enough."
Reassured, he pushed forward again. I gasped as his fingers touched
my breast, almost caressing my nipple, erect and waiting. Figures.
Well, it took a moment for the tactile sensation to reach his head:
far more soft and yielding than my wrist, or forearm if he'd been
off by only a centimetre or two. He hesitated a moment, confused.
Tendrils of sexuality raced through me, even this innocent touch
driving some of the maddening frustration into my groin. I pulled
savagely against my ankles, but the rope held, as I knew it would.
Nothing was that easy. My nipples throbbed, especially where he'd
brushed me. My vagina pulsed without warning. Somehow, I managed to
stop myself from moaning.
"Christ," he whispered. He pulled his hand back, cradling it as if
it were wounded. "I'm sorry."
"Rick, it's all right," I said. He still didn't know where he'd
touched me, not for sure. He only knew that he'd touched soft skin,
and it wasn't a wrist wrapped in ropes. Who the hell am I kidding?
He had to know.
He moaned, and it was then that I realised that Rick was as innocent
as I, perhaps more so. I sympathised with him.
"I tried, I'm sorry," he mumbled.
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying ungainly, robbed of the
stabilisation of sight. We don't really understand what it feels
like to try and do normal things without our eyes. The blind live
with it every day, but I think I now understand what the white cane
is for.
I didn't say anything.
He turned his head to look at me, unnervingly accurate in locating
my face. For some reason, I was sure that he would be staring at my
chest, considering my position. But of course, even if he had, it
wouldn't have been conscious. His world was mercifully dark, where
he couldn't be blamed.
"I have to go," he said. "Stacy. I. She's. I'm sorry."
He held his hands out in front of him, and I watched as he awkwardly
moved away from me.
"Rick?"
"Danielle, please don't ... I can't ..."
"You're about to step in the trashcan."
"Shit," he murmured.
It felt like a very weird game of blindman's bluff, but we played
like desperate souls. Left. Right. Hot. Cold. Until his fingers
finally touched the door. He felt along it, a drunk, or the blind
man that he was, until he found the knob.
He paused there, his hand still resting on the knob. My body ached,
and not only because I'd been tied down so long. Something else.
Desire. Not innocence.
His face turned again to mine, unerringly finding my presence in his
darkness. I'll never understand how he did that, when his hands
almost unerringly found my chest instead of my wrists. If there was
a being of a higher power, she had a weird sense of humour.
"Danielle?"
"Yes, Rick?"
"I'm sorry, for what it's worth."
He wasn't sorry for touching me inappropriately, he wasn't sorry
that he was caught like a rabbit in a wolf's den, he wasn't even
sorry that Stacy had been as cruel as she had been to him, whether
she knew it or not, or that he'd been unable to untie me. No. He was
simply sorry for things that could not be. I was with him on that
score.
"Thanks, Rick."
He seemed to understand, and twisted the knob. I doubted if he'd
ever look at me the same way again, an innocent university girl, out
on her own, everything new. Somehow, it no longer mattered to me.
Perhaps, my innocence was fading.
I was sure that Stacy would come in as he left, laughing and
grinning, ready to untie me from my prison. But the door snicked
shut, no feminine laugh issuing forth. Only the running sound of
heavy feet, pattering down the corridor and the lonely sound of a
fire door slamming on the stairwell at the end of the hallway as he
escaped. I lay my head back on the pillows as I realised that Stacy
had assumed that something else was going to happen between us, and
had given us privacy. Either that, or she'd been called away.
I'd been wrong. Stacy hadn't known that he wasn't going to ravish
me, hadn't known that her offhand admonishment, or my begging, to
stay blindfolded would be so effective. She hadn't known, perhaps,
that Rick wasn't a typical guy, or that he was head over heels in
love with the wrong girl.
Just my freaking luck.
As I've said before. Stacy was a bad influence, but not always as
smart as she thought she was.
                      <---===***===--->
This is about the point where we began, the afternoon slipping into
night, my hands and feet numb, my stomach complaining about my
missed dinner, entire body shivering. My nipples ached, and my
clitoris fairly throbbed out a samba between my legs. Frustration,
and helplessness. That's me. Danielle, the sucker.
In a way, Stacy was to blame for this, but that is truly a
simplification. I didn't have to strip. I didn't have to let her tie
me to this damn bed. Despite my misery, I do understand that we, as
humans, have to take responsibility for our own stupidity sometimes.
Stacy would realise, sooner or later, what happened, or be able to
sneak away, and release me. I hoped for sooner. I watched helplessly
as the last rays of sunlight kissed my bare toes and then faded into
night.
                      <---===***===--->
I suppose I must have dozed off; what else did I have to do?
The soft sound of the key in the lock woke me. Disoriented, I
glanced around, confused as I realised that I couldn't move my hands
or legs. My entire body ached.
Stacy edged into the room, her back to me, probably trying not to
wake me. Her feet were bare, her hair damp, as if she'd taken a
shower. A shower sounded mighty nice to me at the time. It was a
miracle that my bladder hadn't started singing. The door closed with
a whisper.
"Stacy?"
The girl whirled, probably expecting me to be asleep in my bed,
curled up, satiated with an afterglow of Rick. Her face caught the
moonlight, almost like an angel. Her eyes widened as she saw me,
horror and anguish simultaneously flooding her face.
"Danielle? Oh, God," she moaned. Her feet carried her to the bed in
a whirl of motion.
"Can we untie me now? Please?"
She swallowed; I could see the motion of her throat in the moonlight
from the window.
"He didn't ..."
"Untie me?"
She nodded, her face miserable.
"No." I paused, perhaps for effect. "Did he fuck me?"
She closed her eyes, pained.
"No. He didn't even touch me. At least, not intentionally."
Stacy sank to her knees, her fingers reaching for my face.
Surprised, I realised that I was crying a little, tears slipping
unheeded down my face.
"Danielle, I'm sorry. The girls found me, and I panicked. They
wanted to come up here, go to the movies with you. I had to do
something, had to go with them. I thought ... I thought for sure
that Rick ... oh, god, I'm so sorry." Her fingers traced the line of
my jaw, tickling as she knelt beside me. There were tears in her
eyes. She really was sorry, of that I was certain.
"I know, Stacy."
And I did. I blame her, still do, human nature, I suppose, but I
have to forgive her, too. There are reasons.
She looked up at me, her fingers mopping the tears from my face.
"Rick ..."
"... is in love with you. I know." I pulled at my arm, the ropes
biting in deeper. I winced, but she didn't seem to notice. For the
first time, I realised that she was crying, her tears shedding and
running down her cheeks. Ironically, I wanted to hug her, but that
wish was doomed to failure. At least, then it was.
She nodded miserably. From my perspective, I thought that her misery
was simply the concern of one friend for another, a love lost.
"I wasn't in love with him, Stacy. Not yet."
"I know. I had to show you."
Confused, I looked up at her. The damn ropes still held me down. I
wanted to shake her. Make her make sense.
"Show me what?"
She sighed, and lifted herself to sit on the bed. Her body dimpled
the covers between my thigh and my armpit. Her hip brushed my
breast. I stifled a small gasp, unaware of how sensitive I'd become.
"Innocence."
"Stop it, Stacy. I'm not as innocent as you think."
She was talking about something else, I think.
She nodded, acquiescing to the truth, changing tacks with me. I
wasn't innocent. Hadn't been, even before she tied me to this bed.
Guys liked that, didn't they? Of course, Rick had left, even with an
available, naked, completely un-innocent girl obviously interested
in him. But then again, I hadn't asked him to stay, either. I hadn't
told him to tear off that damn upside down Lone Ranger bandanna,
when he hadn't done it himself.
Stacy leaned down, her hands on either side of me, above my
shoulders. I squirmed. Her breath smelled faintly of honey, her
hair, still damp, dragged on me, kissing my collarbones. Her breasts
hung under her shirt, almost touching my bare chest.
"Stacy?"
She gathered in her breath. No grin.
"Rick likes me. I've known that for a long time," she said. Her
face pinched, brutally aware of her miscalculation. I got the
feeling that she didn't quite know the depths of how much, else she
might have chosen another tack with Rick, when she brought him up
here. I'd seen the pain there when he realised that he wasn't
getting what he'd come up here for, Stacy hadn't. It was more than
sex, more than a promised blowjob. Stacy, and her lips. I suppose I
should have been angrier, but I was more tired and aching than
anything else. Still, some anger seeped into me.
"So you promise him a blowjob, force him on me?"
Her eyes misted, and a single tear fell. The wetness fell to my neck
and trickled down.
"I'm sorry. It was stupid."
I nodded. It was. I could have been hurt. I'd trusted her. God knew
how much she'd fucked up Rick in the process. Sudden anger welled
up in me, but I think I should have been even angrier. But I wasn't.
Rick would survive. He hadn't touched me. Hadn't even taken off the
blindfold. I thanked my lucky stars it had worked out without
anyone, particularly me, getting seriously hurt. I suppose that I
shared in that blame, but at the time, I only blamed her, the anger
hot and undeniable. If I hadn't been tied down, I might have slapped
her.
"Damn right it was stupid. Now, my wrists hurt. Untie me."
She shook her head.
"Enough of this game, Stacy. I want out."
"A moment, Danielle? Please?"
I sighed. I'd been here for hours, and even through my anger, I
realised that she was trying to tell me something. Something
important. My anger retreated like a gazelle in flight. I never
could stay angry with anyone, not in my nature, I suppose. Calm
filled me, as calm can only fill a person that had no other option.
My shoulders ached, and my ankles were numb, but I didn't complain.
She gazed into my eyes, and I shifted under her. Her breath warmed
my face.
"Christ, Stacy. For a second there, I thought ..."
She whispered, and then did exactly what I thought she was going to
do, but never finished saying.
"Innocence, it's all you ever pleaded."
"What?"
"Innocence. It's what guys don't want."
"Some do," I said. I had a sinking feeling that Rick was one of
them. His interest in Stacy notwithstanding.
"I'm not a guy," she whispered, oblivious to my words.
I should have seen it coming, her posture, her demeanour, her
actions, her soft voice. But I didn't. Not until she nodded, and
then kissed me, and the meaning of her words became crystal clear.
Suddenly, I didn't care about being tied down. I didn't care that I
was naked. I didn't care about Rick, or billiards, or strippers, or
the Heuther Hotel, or nondescript, non-existent coffee shops. She
flooded me, her lips soft, and yielding, banishing my anger and my
indignation as a wind scatters smoke.
I heard myself moaning, as if from a great distance, and I kissed
her back, my bare body writhing under her, gasping for air until she
finally broke the kiss. Her lips continued to kiss me, though,
trailing down my throat, to my breasts, and then down my belly,
tickling and teasing, as I lay in the ropes and moaned.
                      <---===***===--->
She found my rhythm like a long lost lover, her tongue driving into
me, across me, her fingers light on my breasts and nipples. She lay
awkwardly, half on and half off the bed between my spread legs,
licking, stroking. My hips rocked towards her, my brain switched
off, only sensation driving me, like an animal.
And like an animal, I cried out as her tongue drove me over the
edge, into blissful free fall, my body arching and clenching, sweet
release at last.
                      <---===***===--->
She untied my ankles first, then my wrists. I lay still, savouring
each touch of her fingers on my damp skin.
When I was free, I finally gathered Stacy into my arms, and she
curled up there like a child. It was an odd reversal, after having
been bound and helpless myself for so long. I stroked her hair,
enjoying the damp sensation of it.
"You?" I whispered.
Stacy understood, and shook her head.
"Maybe later."
Perhaps, it was a concession, retribution for what she'd done to me
earlier, a small sacrifice of her personal pleasure as self imposed
punishment. I'll never know her true reasons, but I didn't push the
issue, even while I wanted to taste her. I was simply too damn
tired. One can't really blame me.
So, for a while, until later rolled around the next morning, I
maintained a little innocence, after all.
I still shivered from my climax. As I slipped down into the bed,
finally pulling the covers over my nakedness, revelling in their
simple warmth, I knew it was late, even if I didn't know the exact
time. It didn't matter.
Stacy curled up, her bare skin pressed silky into mine, purring
under the covers. The bed was a little cramped, but neither she nor
I minded.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
I understood, now, and I kissed the top of her head gently.
"Next time, you don't have to tie me up, you know. You could have
just told me."
Of course, she couldn't, and I understand that. Oh, let's go catch a
flick, Danielle. And by the way, I think I want to have sex with
you. I might even love you. My heart sped up for a moment, reliving
her fingers and her tongue, and simply her. I reminded myself of how
she came to me. It was a hell of a way to make me realise that she
existed. I wondered how much she did know, and realised, underneath
all that bravado.
She looked up at me, a lazy smile across her face. She shrugged. I
didn't know what that meant, but that grin was back on her face. I
hated that grin. She was a bad influence. As I lay there, I was sure
that even Rick would agree. I smiled and kissed those lips,
tingling. She curled in, and closed her eyes. I did, too. The scent
of sex and clover hung heavy, her soft skin comfortable next to mine
as the sandman rose closer.
I pictured her lips in the darkness; I didn't mind that mischievous
smile, even after everything.
Sometimes, innocence is all we really needed.