“I hate it when the bed is made, it's not comfortable” Oliver laughs, “Please make yourself comfortable” Betty picks up the blindfold off the floor where it had fallen when she flung the sheets back and places it over her eyes, “what are you hiding, Oliver?” “No the question is what are you not seeing, when you only look with your eyes?” Betty jumps to her feet, she quickly takes off the robe, “Where is the camera?” she barks. She walks toward an oversized mirror, anchored to the wall, “Are you behind here?” she turns around looking over her shoulder and removes her dress slowly, her head turned watching herself as she reaches around and with ease unclasps her bra, tosses it in the direction of the bed and turns to face the mirror, grabbing her breasts she speaks again to the void she believes is Oliver “This is me, Betty, nice to meet you, whoever you are.” She leans in to her own reflection, tilts her head, closes her eyes and slides her tongue out, like a teenage girl practicing to kiss for the first time.
Betty laughs at herself and runs her fingers through her hair as she heads back to the disheveled bed to refill her empty champagne glass. After two sips she lays down on the bed, the champagne relaxes her body and mind. Who cares who he is. Betty closes her eyes, she is again aware that she is half naked on a bed being watched by a man she still has never even seen an image of; his description of himself had been contradictory- he's overweight, he's buff, he likes older women, yet his pop culture references qualify him to be at least her own age, his contradictions mock her feelings for him. Betty was here because he knew she would come and because he wanted to test the limits of her desire for him. She was willing to be here because she wanted to feel something not mundane, he could have easily taken her into the woods with a blanket and a cheap bottle of chardonnay, the fact that he was paying her any attention at all, was all the hypnosis she needed.
“Thanks for the music, the last song you sent me made me cry” “Joy?” No, the dichotomy, 'Oh--and she never gives out, and she never gives in' “No” he says argumentatively... Ah this was the Oliver she recognized from their chats “Irony then- she never gives out, and she never gives in, yet here I am?”
“Oliver?” “Yes Betty?” “What if I have changed my m ind?” “About?” “About being willing to wear the blindfold” “Betty sweetness, you are a lady and it is a lady's prerogative to change her mind as many times as you like.” “I haven't exactly changed my mind, I answered yes I would trust you, but I never said I would be willing to.”
Betty's eye's fill with tears, she pulls the covers up over her chest. You make me so miserable with happiness. I simply can't stand it, when we are hanging out I am giddy, you take me to the highest high and then you leave, I miss you even before you're gone, I have lost you before you're mine to lose. I can't play this game, it's too scary and too intense.
“Betty- you will be taken care of, the driver will wait for you in front, he'll drive you to the train station and get you a ticket home.” “Thank you... Oliver?” “Yes?” “We can still be friends?” “Yes, of course” he says assuringly. “The champagne was lovely” she says remembering how he went out of his way for her. “You're welcome, I'm turning off the mike and camera now, you can continue to talk but I wont hear you.” “He knows me well, I'm an open book.” She sighs.
Betty gets up and retrieves her bra from the floor, she puts it on without thought then catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her dress is still laying in a heap on the floor, she slowly bends down to pick it up and considers maybe he is still watching her, she buttons it up slowly, smoothing down the fabric and buttoning and unbuttoning around her cleavage indecisively. Her panties feel uncomfortable, they are damp from being so turned on and even the idea of wearing them in the heat of the railway station while they rode up her ass was causing her discomfort. She reaches under her skirt and and removes them, then looks around the room, as if she is doing something quite fiendish, she decides to place them on the bed. I always like to leave a souvenir, she thinks. She turns to the mirror again raises her hand, closes her eyes and strokes the glass as if stroking Oliver's face. “I wish I could have met you, baby.”
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