Page 16 of Never Say Never

CLOSE YOUR EYES—

BLINDFOLDS

But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart.

—ANTOINE DE SAINT-EXUPÉRY

To me, blindfolds are not even part of kinky sex. They’re simply sex. Wednesday sex. Sunday afternoon sex. Tuesday in the coffee room sex. How erotic it is to remove one sense. And how easy—with ties, nylons, a sleep mask, a scarf or simply the command, “Don’t open your eyes. Don’t you dare. Don’t even think about peeking.”

Oooh, I just got a little wet.

I’m more than a fan—I’m a fanatic. A quick search of my current files shows fifty-five stories featuring blindfolds, like this snippet from my novel Blue Valentine:

Next night, in bed, it’s me and Justin playing another one of our favorite boudoir games—a guessing game complete with a sumptuous fabric blindfold and an assortment of unusual and unexpected items residing on our bedside table. I’m the one in the dark, this time—literally in the dark beneath the blindfold—and I feel Justin raking different objects over my naked skin. My nerve endings are alive and crackling while my mind is busy trying to place each sensation and make sense of it.

“Come on,” Justin says. “Guess.”

I feel confused in the most sexy way imaginable.

“I can’t,” I tell him.

“Try,” he insists.

Although I’m settled comfortably on the ruby-red satin sheets in the center of the bed, I am desperately off balance.

I take readers into a little darker place in my novella Banging Rebecca:

Sean got the deal first. He understood the implication in my offer, as I knew he would. He was the one to let his lips go up, in that trademark half smirk, half smile to say to Derrick, “Wait here, for a second. Just wait,” while he took me to his room and tied me down on the bed and chose his favorite blindfold from the drawer. And he was the one to whisper in my ear, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, slut. But I believe you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

Even when my characters are not wearing blindfolds, I occasionally pretend that they are, like in this clip from “Last Call”:

Now I sense the men moving around me. Declan tells me to open my mouth, and I do, not surprised at all to find a naked cock at my lips. I keep my eyes closed still, as if I have a blindfold on, because it’s still easier that way.

Blindfolds can lend themselves to playfulness, like in a story I wrote for Bondage on a Budget called “Your Beautiful Launderette”:

Lisa nodded to Janina, and with the grace of a magician, she produced a silk scarf that she used to capture my wrists. Another one, this time in Lisa’s hands, was used to blindfold me. Then they went to work. Mouths on my mouth, on my nipples, my ribs, between my legs. Tongues flicking and probing, making circles or spirals, delicious designs. I felt myself tense and release as they continued their probing of my private parts.

Whenever a blindfold turns up in a story I’m reading, I perk up and take notice.

In “Sense of Touch,” Tenille Brown wrote: Abigail’s hands were her eyes, since her own were covered in a navy bandana. In darkness asserted by her lover, she lay, arms outstretched like angel wings, legs spread-eagled on the bed. She reached out, feeling for Karina’s figure in the dark.

Between Abigail’s legs there was heat that mingled with moisture. Then there was Karina crawling on top of the covers, up between Abigail’s thighs. Karina was careful and quiet like a cat.

Abigail writhed, blind and impatient, unable to keep still until…

…she felt the light brush of a feather on her pert nipples.

It traveled down her torso…

…flirted with her thighs…

…and finally teased her center.

Was the feather pink? Or black? Was it long? Or short?

Abigail didn’t know and she wouldn’t, until her lover said so, until Karina removed the bandana and let Abigail see the light of their daytime play.

In Molly Moore’s “The Whip,” we get a real feel for what darkness is like:

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