Would you trust me if I blindfolded you?

“Would you trust me if I blind folded you?” sitting on the edge of the bed she quickly turned around to find his voice, “Where are you?” she asked nervously. “I'm here, I'm always here, when will you realize that?” “I can't see you though.” He laughs gently, not mocking her but with affection. She feels conscious of her appearance all of a sudden and looks down to find her dress has crept up above her knees, she hates her knees, who likes knees? She pulls the fabric over them and looks around again, a single rose lays neatly placed on the bed, she picks it up and smells it but feels silly in the cheesiness of it all. “A rose, a hotel suite, I hear your voice it sounds nice, but still I don't see you, show me yourself, who are you? “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet” “What exactly does that mean?” she asks irritably “It means sweetness that, identifying myself to you doesn't change who I am, you look with your soul and you see me.” “Can you see me?”she asks, her voice is firmer now she is indignant. “I have always seen you sweet Betty.” She sighs and throws herself back on the bed surrendering to him, no matter what he asked of her she felt sure she would do as she always had, her arms out stretched now in a V behind her head, the top two buttons on the dress he had sent her for the occasion, (a size too small) were bursting open, she could feel him staring at her breasts and it made them tingle. She rolls herself onto her tummy, the skirt is twisted around her ample buttocks and her thighs are exposed, she wants him to see up her skirt, she wants him to spread her legs for her and touch the smooth inside of her thighs, a smile appears upon her face she looks over her shoulder flirting with the ghostly presence as she opens her legs to him, her knees bent, the four inch spiked heals wafting above her like like reeds gently blowing in a breeze. 

“Would you trust me if I blindfolded you?” He asks emphatically.  “Would you touch me and kiss my neck softly?” “Betty, sweet Betty, will you ever listen to me?” “I listen, what do you mean?” her voice is playful, she knows she hasn't answered the question, despite the fact she has guessed herself at least ten years his senior, she can not help but feel like a little girl in his company. “Betty, would you trust me if I blindfolded you?” Surely by now he must realize she trusts him; three hours earlier an old Mercedes with mismatched tires and faded robin's egg blue paint and dubious looking driver, had arrived in a billow of dust in her driveway. Betty opened the door wearing a sun dress and flip flops, her hair disheveled, her face dirty from wiping her brow in the days heat while attending to the flower beds, the weathered and scrawny looking driver in his mid to late forties was leaning on the passenger door, squinting toward her. “Can I help you?” she asked feeling like Laura Dern in an old David Lynch movie. The man puts his cigarette in his mouth and leans into the open window, he retrieves a brown paper bag and holds it out toward her. She attempts to soften his rough edge with a flirty smile and the sweetness in her voice as she advances toward him taking hold of the bag “for me?” Inside the bag is a postcard, with a black and white image of lightning bolting across The Eiffel tower, on the back in neatly written cursive the words “Please change into this garment and be ready in one hour, the driver will wait for you.” Betty pulls out a royal blue, silk charmeuse shirt dress. Well he obviously has good taste she thinks. 

An hour later Betty is sitting on the cracked leather front passenger seat, in defiance of the fact her surly driver had held open the back door. Now wearing her new silk dress, a pair of heals she had managed to find buried under some old blankets at the bottom of her closet, a bra she reserved for special occasions such as this, which still had the price tags attached and the matching boy shorts that caused a wedgie altogether uncomfortable but entirely perfect for her round ass. She had run out of time to finish drying her hair, she pulled down the visor and applied some deep red lipstick slowly, smacking her lips together and running her tongue over her teeth, she looks at her driver, her head tilted and asks “how am I?” He laughs and coughs revealing a gold tooth, his eyes were once pretty she thought. “You'll do” he says. Do you mind me asking where are you taking me? “The city.” She understands this is as much chit chat as her companion can handle and leaves him to do the driving while she leans back into the seat and tries to imagine what her mystery man will be like.

TO BE CONTINUED...