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Destined to play, p.13
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       Destined to Play, p.13

           Indigo Bloome
 
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  It scares me. It excites me. Can I take the plunge? How far does he want to go? How far does he want me to go? Can I handle it? I have absolutely no idea. I gulp another mouthful of the berry drink to distract me from my rising tension.

  ‘All of your questions will be answered in time, I promise,’ he smoothly states, as if reading my mind.

  The doorbell rings and he lets someone in.

  ‘If madame would care to accompany me.’ The words make me freeze. It’s difficult to decipher whether the voice is male or female.

  Jeremy senses my reaction and wraps his arms around me. ‘You will be fine. I will be with you shortly, I promise. We just need to get changed. Have that shower you wanted.’

  ‘Why can’t you come with me? Or I stay with you?’ My neediness shocks even me.

  ‘It’s just not how it works around here. I promise I’ll be with you again in ten minutes or so.’

  ‘Please, Jeremy, don’t make me go.’ I feel like a child on the first day of school, being coaxed away from my parents by the teacher. He lifts me from the couch, holding my hands. He replaces his hand with the stranger’s soft one and I am led away.

  ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’ I sense him staring after me as I stumble along uncertainly. I cannot honestly say whether I believe he is concerned or amused by throwing me into what feels like the lion’s den, once again. I surmise it is probably a mix of both, which is totally disconcerting.

  I needn’t have been so apprehensive. The stranger takes me through a long corridor and into a warm room. My clothes are carefully, considerately and silently removed. I’m led to a toilet and I am relieved to be relieved. I hear a shower turn on and feel the steam near my skin. My nakedness is complete but no longer significant. I take a step forward to the steaming water and let out a sigh as I allow my body and hair to run wet. I stay this way for some time until a hand stretches out my arm and proceeds to scrub. Unlike the soft, gliding hands from this morning, the scrubbing is vigorous and shocking. My other arm receives the same treatment, as does my back, my chest, my stomach, my butt, each leg and foot. Layers of skin are removed from my body and, although the motion is rough and hard, it feels good. Like it is serving a purpose. I consider yelling ‘stop, it hurts’ or ‘I am not that dirty’, but I don’t. I allow the firm hands to continue scrubbing until their mission is complete. It’s almost like I’m happy for the dirty layers of my skin to be scrubbed clean. Will this make me clean? Physically, yes. Emotionally, it barely touches the surface.

  The shower shuts off and a luxuriously soft, warm robe is placed around me. I stand still, momentarily lost in the unknown world I have allowed myself to enter. I’m guided away, barely conscious of my situation.

  ‘Wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  It takes me a moment to realise that, true to his word, I am reunited with Jeremy.

  ‘No, not too bad. Where on earth are we?’

  ‘Alexa, please, I implore you, no more questions — not here!’ His voice echoes around the room, sounding more anxious and concerned with each word.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll try.’

  ‘Thank you. Can you guess where we are?’

  ‘Not really. It sounds very echo-y, but muffled somehow. I can hear water dripping in the background.’ I hope we are alone.

  ‘Here, come, feel this.’ He guides me along a few steps and places my hand on what feels like cold marble. I place my other hand on it and start to slide it a little further downwards.

  ‘It feels like a torso.’ I slide a little lower.

  ‘Now it feels like a butt.’ I laugh. ‘Please don’t tell me we are in a museum in bathrobes, Jeremy.’

  ‘No, not quite, but we are surrounded by statues.’ It feels very odd caressing a sculpture.

  You’d never be allowed to do this in a museum or gallery; imagine sliding your hands over the statue of David in Florence. ‘Move around to the front.’

  I shift my hands carefully around the torso and feel a very large erection. Jeez, obviously not David, then. I feel quite naughty as I fondle its length and girth.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘I’d prefer you.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to have that confirmed. What about this one?’ He guides me along another few steps and places my hands on another marble torso.

  ‘This one is female.’ I quickly remove my hands. Jeremy guides them back toward the breasts, his hands cupping mine to keep them there.

  ‘Is this difficult for you?

  ‘I have only ever felt my own.’

  ‘They’re just marble, Alex. Feel them, for me.’ I allow my fingers and palm to linger around them, as he stands close behind me.

  ‘Roll the nipples between your thumb and forefinger.’ I wonder why this is so erotic. ‘That is what I do to you, sweetheart, with merely my words.’ His hands twine through my robe to cup my breasts and confirm the truth in his statement. My lower belly grinds in agreement.

  ‘Come.’ He takes my hand and guides me away from the sexy statues.

  ‘Lie down. I need to reapply your eye drops.’ I’m lowered to a hard bench; it feels like a narrow, marble plank. I lie down in the full knowledge that I am accepting his conditions of this weekend, without the resistance that has been causing me so much nervous tension and anxiety.

  ‘Thank you.’ His words are heartfelt.

  Once again, he methodically goes through the procedure of ensuring my continued blindness. This time, I accept my fate calmly, but instinctively, I can’t help but try to open my eyes. They are so heavily weighted, my lids won’t separate at all.

  I lie still awaiting the full effect of the drops and ointment for the second time. Jeremy slides my robe to either side of my body letting it fall off my shoulders and encourages my arms to rest above my head. I know he likes me in this position, with unfettered access to my body. He slowly and methodically shifts my legs either side of the bench, leaving me open to him. It is as if his softness and intensity are attempting to compensate for my lack of vision. My pulse quickens in anticipation. He lightly kisses my nipples and gently takes them in his teeth and rolls his tongue around their tip until I imagine they look like the statue’s. Oh, he is good at this. My brain clouds over. Goosebumps take over my body at his touch. His mouth continues painstakingly along my belly, his focus thoughtful, intense. My body ripples in response to his delicate caress … my skin is highly sensitive, alive and tingling due to the harsh scrubbing a short time ago. My desire for him is so acute it is as though it has been years, not hours, since we last connected sexually. I’m aware of his closeness as he lowers himself between my thighs. I am so highly aroused I could be floating on the ceiling. He blows lightly, gently and silently into me. The sensation is exquisite. Nothing touching me but his breath, until his lips join in slowly, considerately, then eventually his tongue joins the rhythm he is creating through my body. It is excruciatingly divine. I feel the rush of blood flowing and pumping through my body, swelling in anticipation as if I have never desired him more.

  And then, just like that, he stops. I’m left in torment, unfulfilled, unreleased. I sense his face close to mine so I reach out and pull him toward me, kissing his lips, desperate for him. ‘What are you doing to me? Please, don’t leave me like this. I need you, I want you, please.’ My mind is spinning, my heart pumping.

  ‘All in good time, sweetheart. I need you more wanton than you have ever been.’

  ‘Wanton? God, that is so not fair.’ I actually think I’m pouting; how childish.

  ‘I know it’s not fair, GG, but it will be worth the wait, I promise.’

  How the hell does he have the strength to impose this sort of control? And why don’t I?

  His arms lift me to a standing position. My legs are quivering like jelly against the unreleased constriction of my swollen sex, and he takes both my hands and slowly, slowly edges us a few steps forward until I regain my balance. I feel warm water dancing around my feet as his forefinger crosses my lips, cautioning
me to silence and preventing any more questions escaping from my mouth.

  I’m now naked before him, and hopefully only him, not even a blindfold or sunglasses to hide behind, just my closed eyelids, sealed shut. He guides me down a ramp and silky liquid encompasses more of my body with each step we take. His arms lift me up and further deposit me into the liquid, which saturates my skin; I feel like a baby being given a warm and loving bath. Something about it feels serenely relaxing, yet there is an undercurrent of apprehension, foreboding. I push the latter feeling away.

  ‘Let’s just take some time to relax, unwind and soak up the experience.’

  I don’t argue.

  His hand slides down to the small of my back, gently pushing me forward until I am fully immersed, floating in the water. It feels amazing. For some reason, I have the sense that he is cleansing my body, preparing it for a greater purpose. Images flood my mind of the baptisms and christenings I have attended and the symbolism that embodies the ritual of purifying water. The silence surrounding us combined with the buoyancy of the liquid in which I’m floating, solidify these images in my brain. The water lapping at the edges is the only sound amplified. It is as if we have been placed in some form of magical aqua cocoon. Once again, I can’t help but wonder where we could possibly be.

  It feels wonderful to be floating. I try to soak up the experience as I feel Jeremy floating serenely beside me in this strange pool. I envision him from above, a floating circular version of da Vinci’s Vitruvian man. Beautiful. The temperature of the water seems to be in perfect unison with the temperature of the room, creating a surreal womb-like effect. We alternate between different pools: a very hot one, which is shocking to enter and initially makes me feel light-headed, but feels sublime when my body adjusts to the heat, and a cold one, which invigorates and cleanses, making my heartbeat faster and pump blood rapidly through my veins, letting me know I’m well and truly alive. My circulation is pounding with the fluctuating temperatures and my skin greedily soaks up the minerals. I feel like I’m somehow restoring my vital balance. I’m quietly pleased we aren’t talking as the silence helps replenish my peace of mind and facilitates calm after the wild ride I have been on since meeting Jeremy for an ‘innocent’ drink.

  It feels like an eternity ago. My intuition slyly suggests that that version of myself withered away when I accepted my blindness and I should acknowledge I am in the process of being ritualistically reborn. I don’t allow myself to dwell on it further.

  On leaving the pools I am wrapped in a towel. What skin I have left is alive and sensitive, and this becomes even more apparent as I am laid face down on my belly. I am adjusted a little as is the towelled bench I am lying on. As strong hands begin to knead my shoulder blades and various parts of my back, I am thrilled to verify I’m on a massage table. Jeremy has certainly planned the last few hours to perfection — aside from the ‘missing in action’ orgasm.

  The towel is whisked away from my body, as the strong scent of orange and honey penetrates my nostrils. I raise my head slightly from its position to confirm the sweet citrus odour. My head is eased back as my hair is scooped up from the nape of my neck and bunched up away from my body. A sticky substance is dolloped on the small of my back before the hands return and the massage begins in earnest. The gooey ointment smoothly discovers my extremities as the skilful hands ensure I’m thoroughly embalmed in the intoxicating yet sticky combination.

  I allow my mind to wander, not wanting to focus on anything in particular. I know in myself that the more I consider my situation, the more stressed my body will become — not a good thing when strong hands such as these are dissolving tense muscle tissue upon contact. I try to focus on my breathing … it works for a while. My mind seeks to further unravel the need for Jeremy to have me blind and questionless this weekend. His logic makes partial sense, and I can’t deny that I have certainly experienced sensory overload. As for emotions, I don’t know whether I am coming or going … I should be relaxing and letting go, I love a good massage and this is glorious. This feels so good, I am becoming as soft and gooey as the ointment as it sinks into the pores of my skin. What is holding me back? I can’t help but sense there is still something more to all this that Jeremy isn’t telling me. It’s not normal to put relationships at risk like this for a bit of frivolous and, at times, terrifying fantasy, is it? Even if it is with Jeremy … even if I feel more sexually alive and sensual than I have in my entire life … Is our relationship about more than this weekend?

  My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by reality as a number of arms lift me up, turn me over and place me back on the towelled bench. More orange and honey arrives on my belly as smaller hands work my stomach, chest and breasts. I jolt when they slide over my nipples and instantly attempt to normalise my breathing. It’s only a massage , I convince myself. The hands establish their rhythm with my breath and the kneading continues, as do my thoughts.

  Jeremy was right. I have too many questions; they seem to be multiplying exponentially in my brain like a viral disease. My body relinquishes all pretence of flesh and bone as the insistent palms morph me into soft clay. What could I do now, anyway? Would I once again be prevented from leaving? I don’t even know where I am. My breath becomes shallow as I consider both the consequences of being here and the reality of trying to escape. Is that what I really want? Deep down I know I don’t want to leave, I’m just scared of exploring what he has planned for me, as I always am — at first. Damn him for doing this to me; for forcing me to reach for a conclusion that seems impossible. Am I honestly this weak? All the values I have clung to so desperately in life, those that have given me stability and meaning and worth. And I am throwing them out the window for one careless, fanciful weekend? Is that all it will be? Or is this truly valuable research?

  My mind implodes with the weight of my moral dilemmas until only numbness remains. My body becomes limp, there is no resistance left. I am a mere jellyfish awaiting the next current to reveal my future path. Exhausted mentally and emotionally, and now physically pliable, just as he wants me to be, I’m sure, I allow the blackness to surround my mind and let the futile desperation in my thoughts dissipate.

  Flashes of memories flitter within my dreamlike state. Happy memories: my babies, birthday parties, smiling faces, my son telling me he loves me eight hundred million, billion, zillion times more than the universe, and my daughter explaining why she will live with me forever and ever and that is why she must marry me and only me. The memories of my children flood through my subconscious one after the other. Simple times, uncomplicated times, but why does Robert appear somewhat forlorn, disengaged, in these visions of our family unit? I hadn’t noticed before. These pictures make up so much of who I am, minute by minute, day by day. Yet, why does it feel like there is still something missing? Why does his body language reflect that something is also missing for him?

  My internal arguments and debates are spiralling out of control. Jeremy has talked before about the possibility of me exploring my secret, dark fantasy, the one that provided the basis for my thesis all those years ago, the one I have never truly acknowledged as my own, except very briefly to him. Am I brave enough? I could never go there with anyone but Jeremy, and he is handing this experience to me on a personal and professional platter. What if I say no when it is exactly what I have always longed to experience, just to know and understand once and for all?

  Is fantasy just fantasy and should it be left that way, or is there a need and desire to act on it, to experience it first-hand? My mind seems a little fuzzy, meandering, and no longer able to accommodate the complexity of my thoughts as I surrender to the masseur’s magic hands.

  The sound of rolling wheels restores me to full consciousness and it is only then that I realise I am moving; lying down, but moving nonetheless. I struggle and attempt to raise my jelly-like limbs off the table. They are so relaxed and heavy from the massage it’s almost impossible. I try again.

  ‘Please lie still, we won
t be long.’

  ‘What? Where are we going?’ My voice sounds raspy and the words can barely leave my mouth.

  I realise I must have dozed off … for minutes? hours? Surely not? We come to a stop.

  ‘Madame. You are awake, may I help you?’ A female voice speaks to me.

  ‘Ah … yes, thank you.’ My natural politeness kicks in.

  ‘Can you tell me how long have I been asleep?’ Hands raise me gently to a sitting position.

  A robe, not the same one as before — this is more velvety and feels heavier — is placed over my shoulders. I notice it has no arms, or at least my arms are not threaded through any sleeves. It feels smooth against the silkiness of my skin, with no remnants of the massage oil’s stickiness.

  No answer. Has everyone I encounter been told not to answer my questions?

  ‘Would madame like some tea?’

  Oh, tea, that’s a surprise.

  ‘Yes, madame would.’ The words pop out of my mouth a little too harshly. ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’ I remember my manners.

  ‘Could you please tell me where Jeremy — I mean, Dr Quinn, is?’ Nothing. I have no idea if he is with me or not, but I don’t sense that he is, if that makes any sense.

  ‘Jeremy?’ I try again.

  ‘Please answer me if you are here. We need to talk. Please?’ My voice sounding more anguished with each word.

  Typical, just when I need to speak to him, he has vanished.

  Hot tea is carefully placed in my hand and smells delicious. It calms me and distracts me from my rising nerves. I embrace the infusion in the air, scenting camomile, with a hint of vanilla perhaps. I taste a little at a time so I don’t burn my lips. Perfect. The tiny cup feels like a heavy weight in my hands given the relaxed state of my muscles. As I finish the remainder, I feel bands around my wrists. The cup is taken away from me, giving me the opportunity to explore further.

  It feels like leather with a small jingly thing rattling above and below. They are a couple of inches long and fit quite snugly around each wrist. Shit!

 
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