9 1/2 YEARS


January, 1989, 9 PM

"You really like that movie, don't you?"

I looked quickly up at the girl who worked in the video rental. Tall and
blonde, she was quite a looker, and admittedly one of the reasons why I
preferred this rental. She was wearing a tight-fitting green shirt, with a
large black silk scarf wrapped loosely around her neck.

"Which one? '9 1/2 weeks'?"

"Yeah, that one. I've noticed you've rented it at least five times in the last
couple of months."

She leaned her head slightly to one side, with a trace of a knowing smirk on
her lips. I would have let it go at that, simply saying that, sure, I liked the
movie, if she hadn't reached up with her left hand and fingered her scarf with
slow, soft strokes. This was too much. It called for a quick burst of bold
honesty, come what might.

"Actually, I think it's a lousy movie. The characters lack credibility, and the
whole thing looks like an outgrown music video. It's just two scenes that I
really like, and I watch them every now and then."

She abandoned every attempt at disguising that enfuriating smirk.

"Oh, really? And what scenes are those?"

"Judging from that slightly impolite smirk of yours, I'd say you think you have
a pretty good idea."

"So test me."

"Sure. How about a drink at that bar next door after your shift?"

That froze her grin. She wasn't expecting me to take it this far. I saw her
struggling to make a quick decision without showing that it was a difficult
one. I figured she would be too curious as well as too anxious to keep up her
daring poise to be able to pass. She didn't let me down.

"I'm off at ten. I'll be there."

I gave her my sweetest smile, nodded and walked out.

- - -

January, 1989, 10 PM

I picked a spot in the bar where I could watch the door without being easily
spotted from outside. When she arrived, I was rewarded for this choice by
seeing exactly what I expected: Not knowing that I was looking, she stood
outside the door for something close to 30 seconds, hesitating. At one point,
she almost started to walk away, then made a quick angry gesture with her right
fist, as if she was angry at herself for her timidity. Then she quickly turned,
pushed the door open with unnecessary force and strode in like she owned the
place.

I waved her over and she sat silently in front of me. While she was ordering
her drink, I remained silent. Only when her drink was there did she look
directly at me and say in a serious tone, quite different from the banting in
the rental:

"I do know what scenes you mean."

"Of course you know. I wouldn't have asked you to come if I didn't know you
did."

"Why don't you ask why I agreed to come?"

"Do I have to? Yeah, I guess I do. There are at least three possibilities. One:
You don't want me to think you don't dare to. Two: You're sightseeing,
observing what someone like me looks like, how he talks and acts. Three: You
like those scenes yourself. Pick one, or add one if you can."

She held my gaze for a few seconds, then looked down into her drink and said in
a low voice: "Three."

I sat and looked at her in wonder for a while. The wonder wasn't her answer,
I'd been expecting that, and certainly hoping for it. It was her attitude. Gone
was the laughing, assertive chick at the counter with the intolerably flirty
smirk. You might want to replace her in your mind with the image of a
humiliated Kim Basinger, but that wouldn't cut it, not at all. This wasn't
humiliation or slavishness, it was embarrassment pure and simple. She had let
me push her into admitting what she had only obliquely admitted before, and she
wasn't sure she liked it being out in the open.

"Hey!" I said softly.

She looked up.

I gave her a broad smile. "It's OK. I promise I won't tell."

She had to smile at that. Then her smile broke, she looked down again and
mumbled: "Look, I still don't know why I'm here. I'm not sure this is such a
good idea."

"Wait, it's true that you don't know me, and it's true that we're into
something sensitive, but I haven't bitten you yet, and until I do, I don't
think you have a good excuse for leaving."

She smiled again. "You're right. Come to think of it, you haven't even barked
properly!"

- - -

January, 1989, 1 AM

Incredibly, we ended up in her apartment. Through all the talking we did that
night, she apparently developed a sufficient amount of trust in me to let me in
and see what would happen.

As we kissed inside, I had a sudden inspiration.

"May I blindfold you?"

She looked puzzled for a second, then got it. She almost blushed, and looked
timidly down. I threw up my hands, turned and walked towards the door.

"Wait!" When I looked around, she nodded.

I walked slowly up to her and drew the black scarf softly from around her neck.
I folded it, stepped behind her, laid it over her eyes and tied a firm but not
too tight knot.

"Does this excite you?" I asked as I stepped in front of her again.

She nodded.

"Does this frighten you?"

Of course she took her cue from my having deliberately switched the order of
the lines. She smiled and shook her head vigorously. Of course I knew she was
lying.

I led her slowly into the bedroom and placed her standing in the middle on the
floor. Then I went and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I would like you to take your clothes off."

I could tell that the total absence of a commanding tone in my voice reassured
her. It came out as what it was, a simple request, a statement of what I would
like. I wanted it to be clear to her that I was not interested in commanding
her about or degrading her in any way.

Without answering, she complied. Slowly, sensuously, she started pulling off
one item of clothing after another. Clearly the blindfold was having the usual
effect of removing any self-consiousness. The one thing that stayed on was the
shiny black square of silk tied snugly over her eyes, contrasting beautifully
with her blond hair.

I suddenly involuntarily broke the mood by laughing out loud. I piece of song
had slipped into my train of thought, a modified version of the lines sung by
Joe Strummer in the film that brought us together:

... You can leave your blindfold on ...

"What are you laughing about!"

She had stopped in the process of pulling off her panties, reveiling a dark,
triangular patch that raised doubts about the natural color of her hair. She
was frowning, and had raised her hand to her head, considering if she ought to
pull off the blindfold.

I jumped over to her and grasped her hand.

"Please don't! I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you, it was just a silly joke
inside my head. Honest."

She was still frowning sceptically, and looked for all the world as if she was
looking into my eyes to see if I was telling the truth. I stroked her cheek
lightly with the back of my finger. The frown slowly faded, to be replaced with
a sly smile.

"I believe you."

I helped her finish pulling off the panties, then took her in my arms and
lifted her up. I carried her over to the bed and laid her down. Then I kissed
her.

"I think I'll skip the icecubes for now," I said.

"That's OK, anyway I don't have any."

The ensuing laughing fit delayed our progress for a while. When we got started
again, it didn't appear to have hurt, though. As soon as I started running my
tongue all over her body, in lieau of the icecubes, she reacted with load
moaning and much squirming. When I got down to her already moist sex, she was
practically kicking me away.

"Look, do you want me to do this or don't you?"

"Yes, YES, I just can't help it!"

I couldn't have asked for a better cue for the next stage.

"I could help you with that."

She was about to ask how, when the obvious answer came to her and stopped the
question on her lips. Instead she bit her lips in way that made my already
erect member twitch.

After only a couple of seconds' pretense of consideration, she practically
shouted:

"Fuck it, why not. Top drawer."

Rather than lingering over the copious contents of her scarf drawer, I was
driven by her impatience to grab the first four scarves that looked long enough
and rush over to attach her limbs to the bedposts, rather than take my time
enjoying it.

"What the hell," I thought. "It looks like I might get that opportunity later."

When I finally had peace to concentrate on pleasuring her with my tongue and
fingers it wasn't long before she reached a screaming orgasm. I only gave her a
moment's respite before replacing my tongue with a piece of my anatomy that for
quite a while had been jumping about with excitement like a playful puppy.

A few slow, deep strokes took us both to the end of the road, only she was on
her return journey, while I was just at the end of the first leg of the
journey.

As I broke the kiss that had prevented her from having the neighbors call the
police, she whispered:

"You know, I just might get used to this ..."

- - -

July, 1998, 11 PM

She did, of course. And she didn't freak out after 9 1/2 weeks, either. In
fact, I've been writing this during our nine and a halfth anniversary, and
there's someone bound and blindfolded in the bedroom, screaming at me to come
and take her, NOW.

Gotta go ...