It’s about 11:30PM on a Thursday night. I’m at my neighbors’ apartment enjoying a glass of wine, listening to vinyl, and talking about sexuality when I get an email notification on my phone. I was expecting a few important work emails so I discreetly pull up my inbox. It’s a response on Reddit to my RAOMD blindfolded by a stranger fantasy. It’s well-written, with the perfect amount of detailed eroticism that leaves me wanting more. I already know I’m going to respond to this man before I get to the bottom of his message, which he signs off with, “I can be to yours in 20. – AJ.” I let out a chuckle. The audacity.
I had been planning to meet another redditor to fulfill my fantasy earlier that day, someone I chose from the first few hundred messages. We chatted for a while and set a date to meet the following week. Conversation flowed, chemistry felt good, he seemed like a solid candidate. But the day of, he went MIA for almost 3 hours before we were supposed to meet. He resurfaced eventually, got defensive when I explained that good communication is 90% of this experiment, and my fantasy was ruined for the evening – maybe forever.
This was supposed to be an exercise in vulnerability and trust. And, if I’m being completely honest, in surrendering control – something I’m not particularly good at. I’ve been on a journey to push my boundaries. Like I do with most things in my life, I decide to plunge myself into the deep end. I write up an ad for a stranger to come into my home while I’m blindfolded and waiting. I can’t speak and am at their mercy until they remove the blindfold. Sure, my preparations include getting out my toys, picking my lingerie, and securing my cuffs to the bed frame. But more than that, I have to get into an emotional place where I am willing to let a stranger enter my home, explore my body, penetrate my psyche all before I see their face in person for the first time. What a thrill to trust an internet stranger to, you know, not rape and murder me at my own invitation, right?
Needless to say, I’m a little disappointed that I did all this work for it not to work out. Sigh. C’est la vie.
My neighbors down the hall invite me over for dinner. I’ve lived in my building for 8 years and I’m close with almost everyone on my floor. It feels sort of like a dorm, but with super badass professionals and creatives in their 30s and 40s instead of awkward, pothead college students. Somehow my neighbors always seem to sense when I am in need of some company and good conversation.
Before I head over, I get a text from my favorite divorced dad (I went through a phase – it’s a whole thing). We haven’t talked in a couple of months and I am excited to hear from him. He lets me know he’s opening a new venture in my neighborhood and will be close by for the next few months. He asks how I’m doing. My thumbs hover over my phone while I decide if I should take the plunge. Fuck it. I tell him about my failed fantasy, equal parts hoping and terrified that he’ll offer to fulfill it.
We met a few years ago when I was in my late 20s and he was in his early 40s. I was going through a huge career change and moved in with family to reduce my overhead while I pursued a risky career jump. I hadn’t lived with family since I was 18. It was humbling, to say the least. He was freshly divorced and building his next big thing. One of the reasons I love divorced dads? They’re humbled in love. We were in different life stages, but had the “fuck it, we’re building a new life” thing in common. I knew from our first conversation, and then the first moment we met, and then the first moment we touched that this connection was going to push me way, way out of my comfort zone.
Physically, he’s handsome and a deliciously tall 6’7”+ with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build. But it’s all of the other things, the fact he’s very successful in a cool, hard-to-be-successful industry, is smart and effortlessly confident, has awesome friends, and is a great dad and ex-husband (god, I have a weakness for this), that make him frustratingly attractive.
It’s always been hard for me to receive, but he is the first man to make me secretly crave surrender. He’s patient. Persistent. We often tussle for power during sex, each trying to out-give the other. It makes sex dynamic and fun, but I start to wonder, what does it mean to trust someone enough to surrender to pleasure? I can’t help feeling that this need for control is getting in the way of intimacy. Am I robbing him and other people of the pleasure of earning my trust? Is there a whole world of pleasure I’m missing out on because I can’t fully let go?
He asks me to tell him more about my fantasy. I send him the link to my original post. He says he has to get back to work, it was great catching up, and hopes to see me soon. Welp. That’s that.
A few hours go by before I get the email about my reddit message. I know from the first sentence that it’s him. I choose not to overthink it. I respond quickly telling him I’ll be ready and waiting. I let my neighbors know I’m headed home for the night. They send me off with a “good luck” and a copy of “The Right to Sex” (a thought-provoking read if you’re in need of some good ol’ feminist theory). He sends a follow up message, “No talking until the blindfold comes off?” Yes.
AJ and I have mostly squeezed in rendezvouses between our busy schedules over the years. Long conversations about work, philosophy, and our lives are a prelude to sex. Often afterhours, always in sweats, quickly naked. But tonight’s fantasy is lingerie, leather handcuffs, and wordless seduction. He could easily be a stranger. In many ways it’s more vulnerable that he’s not.
I quickly freshen up and smudge some smokey eye makeup with my fingers in my 20 minutes before he arrives. I’m a curvy 5’7” with 52” hips, and a 36” waist. The lingerie I purchased for this fantasy is a scant piece of fabric guiding where I want to be touched, my 38I boobs begging to be released from the lacy mesh working hard to contain them, my hips protruding like a Victorian hoop skirt. I’m not usually the lingerie type, but in this scenario it feels powerful.
He texts me that he’s parked and coming up. I decide to stand a few feet from my bed so he can fully appreciate my figure. If I’m going to stand nakedly in my vulnerability, might as well let him see me in my entirety. I plant my feet firmly, wearing a confident stance to hide my nerves.
I imagine him walking down my long hallway, measuring his pace. Is he nervous too? I hear him open and close the door. I know he’s taking off his shoes and making his way to my bedroom, but the wait feels like eternity. When he comes in, he lets out a barely audible groan at what I can only assume is a reaction to seeing my hips on display. I’ve never just stood and let him look at me. I can feel him devouring my curves. Does he like them? Do I care if he doesn’t? My body is so wired with anticipation that I have to wiggle my toes to keep from squirming.
I feel him hover in front of me, fully engulfing me in his giant 6’7” frame. The air between us is electric. Maddeningly still. Wildly charged. I’m holding my breath, unsure where he’ll start. I feel hunted. Every nerve ending in my body is on alert. waiting. waiting. waiting.
I’ve always wanted a movie moment kiss like the one in the 2000s Spiderman. You know the one. He’s upside down, it’s raining, and she slowly peels down his mask. The tension and trust between these two characters is so believable you can taste it. I’ve had amazing, magical kisses throughout my life. But that movie moment feeling? Still waiting.
When AJ’s lips find mine, I know I’m finally living it. He kisses me slowly, delicately, restrained. It’s intoxicating and intentional. He communicates just through this kiss that I’m safe. That I’m wanted. That it’s ok for me to surrender.
His hand lightly traces up my elbow to my shoulder, finding its place behind my neck. He pulls me deeper into him. I melt against him, sighing into our kiss, savoring the taste of his lips and tongue. My fingers find the bottom of his hoodie and slip under his clothes. It’s cold for LA and his skin is deliciously warm to the touch. I don’t know if I’ve ever fully appreciated our height difference before. It’s not as noticeable when you’re sitting or lying down, so reaching over my head to feel the back of his shoulders towering over me is quite the experience.
His hand moves from the back of my neck down my chest to cup my left breast. He deftly teases my nipple over the lace with his thumb. If erotic touch is an art, he is a master. His other hand finds its way up to my face, lingering for a moment before running his fingers over my cheek and through my curly hair, grabbing a handful and groaning into me. I feel myself completely let go. I’m not thinking, just experiencing. I get what all the fuss is about.
He pulls away slightly and guides me backwards to the bed. He runs his hands up my legs over my crotchless stockings as he helps situate me against the pillows. The handcuffs are already attached and lying ready on my bed. He expertly closes them against my wrists, slowly. patiently. Without my sight, sound is heightened. Every brush against leather, ruffle of my sheets, creak of my bed makes me wet as I anticipate what will happen next.
AJ understands there’s more pleasure in pause. He wants me begging for more. His finger traces my pussy lips. They’re soaked. “Fuck.” I hear him take off his clothes. I’m already pulling against the handcuffs, desperate to get my hands on him. He knows how much of an oral fixation I have. I’m salivating imagining the burst of his salty precum against my tongue. It’s a special kind of torture to be denied his cock in my mouth, and I know he’s relishing it.
He takes his time exploring my nipples, swirling his tongue over one while he teases the other with small circles of the palm of his hand. He’s brought me to orgasm a few times just from nipple play, but this particular orgasm, the first of many for the evening, is mind bending. As I release, he moves down to cover my pussy with his mouth, his warm tongue engulfing my clit. It feels so good that I want to escape it.
He slides his hands under my hips and securely wraps his hands around my thighs. I let out an exasperated chuckle. My first orgasm or two is a warm up. Somewhere around orgasm 3 or 4, I break through a wall of pleasure. My hands are relaxed by my face and I’m no longer putting up a fight. I’ve fully surrendered. He emerges from between my legs. I can’t see him, but I imagine he wears a satisfied smirk. He lets me taste myself on his lips, before he uncuffs my left hand and leans over me, placing his cock gently against my lips in invitation – or reward.
God. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so ravenous.
He’s dripping so much precum that for a second I think he might have already cum. He lets me enjoy his cock for a few moments before cuffing my left hand again and finding his way back between my thighs. Different variations of this go on for 2 hours and several more orgasms – bless his stamina and jaw strength – before he removes my blindfold and my handcuffs.
I quickly get up on my knees and straddle him. I lean in so my breasts press against his face and nibble on his ear. “My turn,” I whisper, before kissing down his chest to take his cock in my mouth. AJ lets out a growl and pulls my hair out of my face. It doesn’t take long for me to bring him close. He grabs my arms and pulls me up. “I want to feel you.” He whips out a condom in record speed and I slide him into me. My pussy is so swollen from the dozen-ish orgasms of the evening, that I can tell it won’t take long for me to orgasm again. I plant my feet on either side of him, one hand on his chest, the other on his thigh, and aggressively slide up and down the full length of his cock until I feel him start to tense. I take all 8 inches of him, grinding back and forth until I cum, shaking around him. He cums too, grabbing my hips and pulling me into him as we both release, his cock throbbing in my pulsing pussy for a long, intense mutual orgasm.
I collapse onto his chest, my face in the curve of his neck. We lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the aftershocks. I slowly uncurl my toes and softly kiss his neck. “Wow,” is all he manages to get out. Not the random encounter with a stranger I planned for, but the random act of intimacy I needed.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rmlaa4/random_acts_of_intimacy_2_blindfolded_by_a