Blindfolds

You’ll wear a skirt, boyshorts.  I know, you prefer dresses.  But I’d like you in a skirt, please.  And a top that shows off your breasts. We’ll meet at noon. We won’t speak.  We’ll kiss hello – hard.  We’ll walk…

The other day, I watched. Today, I want to be lazy, to relax. But differently. I want you to tie me up. My arms, tied to the bed. My legs, spread, my ankles, cuffed. Movement should be impossible. I want…

You fumble with the key card.  You open the door.  You’re not even halfway in when I push you, hard, onto the bed.  You yelp with surprise as you flop onto it.  I flip the bolt on the door, and…

This piece is a counterpoint to the other day’s post, “Wisdom.” As the plane descends into O’Hare, you smooth your sundress.  You look at the list I had sent you:  light, cotton sundress?  Check.  Cork-heeled shoes?  Check.  White cotton boyshorts…

“Can you see?” “No.” “Can you make out light and dark?” “No.” I lifted her sheer t-shirt over her shoulders, over her head.  She instinctively lifted her arms to help.  I removed the camisole that remained.  Her breasts were round,…

The possibilities are endless. Do I want to use her mercilessly, wear her out, send her home weak and sore?  Or do I want to be kind, gentle, giving – send her home weak, satisfied, and spent? To challenge her…

I’m not submissive.  I’ve never really submitted to a woman.  Occasionally, I’ve allowed myself to be handcuffed or restrained or blindfolded.  But nothing more than that. Lately, I’ve found myself imagining submitting more comprehensively.  How would it feel to let…

What is it about sensory deprivation? I imagine you with your senses limited to touch, taste, and smell – and cognition.  You are blindfolded, hands tied, legs tied, earphones in your ears.  All you know about what I’m doing to…

I sit in the bar, waiting.  It’s dark.  The piano player is in his cups.  My phone vibrates with your text:  “I’m at the airport. Be there shortly.” I told you what to wear (a tiny black dress, heels, thigh-highs,…

“Humiliate me,” she pleaded. “Hurt me.” The first time we met, we had sushi. Her hair was bright red, falling in curls below her shoulders. Freckles stood out on the palest of skin. Her eyes were perfectly green, perfectly white.…