Every once in a while
I’d see her smile
And she’d turn my day around,
A girl with those eyes
Could stare through the lies
And see what your heart was saying.
– Think of Laura, Christopher Cross
I got into tie-up games at an early age, and had played enough in my youth to be a veteran by my later teenage years. For that I have to thank my sister, who introduced me to TUGs and gave me many opportunities to practise and perfect my skills. Naturally, however, there was only so far I could go with her, so as I got older I looked for fresh damsels to put in distress. Yet it was not easy to find a partner who was willing to submit to my control. I didn’t want to be known as the creepy guy who likes to tie up girls, so I had to plan my approach carefully.
The fact that I had already tied up a couple of my sister’s friends was both a help and a hindrance. Although it wasn’t part of everyday schoolyard chatter, the girls did talk about it. Among the other guys I acquired a (not really deserved) reputation for coolness; while a few of the girls began to take an intrigued interest in me. At the same time, this made it more difficult for me to “innocently†bring up the subject. I had a girlfriend then, but on the three or four occasions when I tried to get her to play, she was unresponsive. But in my senior school year, she and her family moved away. I didn’t have another bona fide girlfriend until my sister introduced me to Michelle at university. We are still together, and she loves her TUGs.
In the meantime, I found Laura. She was a year older than me but in the same year level at school because she had spent a year overseas. I don’t know how that held back her education, but it worked out nicely for me. We became good friends, though never girl- and boyfriend, more like study buddies. We always walked home from school together, and we passed by a small park on the way. Often we would sit under a tree in a secluded corner of the park and talk about our studies, our future careers and other grownup stuff, nothing trivial or frivolous. Although I had a crush on her, we never developed a romantic relationship. She was a serious-minded young woman, very intellectual and a lot more mature than me, even more so than the year’s difference in our ages.
She was tall and trim and brunette and very pretty. She had dark, expressive eyes that could see all the way through you, or so it felt. One day, as we sat under our tree, she looked especially gorgeous. Her uniform skirt had ridden up her thighs, showing off the full length of her luscious legs; the top button of her school blouse had come or been undone, revealing just a peak of her white lace bra; and a soft breeze was ruffling her glossy chestnut hair back and forth across her slender neck and slim shoulders. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, her body swaying languidly, her pert nose wrinkling and her cherry lips pursing as she sipped the sensual delights of that dreamy late summer afternoon.
As she opened her eyes I said “No, close them again,†and I reached into my schoolbag. For a second I felt a twinge of shame as I drew out the large square of black satin. After all, what sort of guy carries a blindfold around with him? But the fact is that I had been waiting for a chance like this, and my major concern was how Laura would feel. So I moved quickly, before she could respond. I folded the material and put it over her eyes. She quickly raised her hands, but not to pull it way. Rather, she smiled and placed her fingertips on the cloth to press it against her temples, and she turned her head to the side so I could more easily tie it in place. As I tugged on the ends to secure the knot, she gasped then giggled.
She moved her head about, up and down, to the left and to the right, getting used to the tightness of the binding and to the sensation of being sightless. Some girls find it disorienting and unnerving, others enriching and exhilarating. (As I’m sure guys do too, but I’ve only ever tied up girls.) Usually, the second feeling follows from the first, and that’s the way it was with Laura. She left the blindfold on for the whole of the rest of the time we sat under the tree, maybe an hour. At first it commanded her thoughts. All she could talk about was how it affected her perception of everything around her – the cool caress of the breeze, the warm embrace of the sunlight that filtered through the leaves, the sounds, the scents, even the tastes wafting through the air that you normally don’t notice. After a while, however, the blindfold just became a part of her experience and she almost forgot that she was wearing it. We talked about other things, told jokes and shared gossip.
Laura was probably aware that in all the time we sat there I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Not that I could any other time, and because she knew I was gazing at her, it was really no different than if she had been able to see me. But I wasn’t staring at her splendid legs or her gently heaving breasts. My focus was on that beautiful face half-hidden by the blindfold, and how it made her seem so helpless, vulnerable and compliant – qualities I had never seen before in her – and so incredibly sexy. And there was something else that added immeasurably to her stunning charm and grace, and that was the trust that she had placed in me. True, it was just a blindfold, but for that hour she was willing to surrender a small part of herself.
When finally it was time to go, she left it for me to take off her blindfold. She blinked and sighed and looked a little let down at having her sight restored. I had seen that same expression on the faces of my sister and her friends when they were released from their bonds.
On impulse, I said “Next time we’ll go for a walk through the gardens.â€
She just smiled, but she didn’t say anything, or frown or shake her head, as I feared she might. In fact, as we walked the last few blocks to the intersection where our paths diverged, she held out her hand and I took it in mine. She pulled her arm down to her side, drawing me closer to her body. With my fingers intertwined with hers, I played with the hem of her skirt, grazed my fingernails lightly across the bare skin of her thigh. Hers playfully scratched and pinched the fabric of my trousers, as if seeking to dig through.
For a brief, blissful moment I fantasized that we might be more than just friends. That never happened, but the fun was only just beginning.