Vivian awoke. She awoke not suddenly, but rather slowly considering she felt someone kneeling over her naked body and pulling on her arms. The room was solid darkness, though perhaps it merely seemed that way because Vivian, in her state of sleep, was not yet used to the little light there was.
She had been sleeping, quite soundly, in Stephen's bed. Stephen had been her date for the evening, the first date they had had. The first of what the tall woman with the long, thick red hair cut in bangs across her forehead hoped would be one of many. All seemed to have gone well. The dinner Stephen prepared was marvelous, and the walk along the beach, hand in hand in the warm summer night air, was the stuff she had only thought happened in movies. Viv remembered the lake water lapping over her bare feet as she and Stephen kissed in the moonlight on the water's edge. The water was freezing cold, but Vivian did not care. She felt very comfortable with Stephen. It was the sweetest encounter with a man she had had in a long time.
Stephen was a few years beyond the 38 Vivian had been alive. He looked his age, but was still clinging to the incredibly handsome man he no doubt had been 15-20 years ago. He was 6-foot-1 and had retained most of his reddish-brown hair that he still wore reasonably long. He had a slight pot belly, but obviously was not ashamed of it as he removed his shirt -- with Vivian's permission -- before setting out on their walk to the lake and their romantic stroll along the almost empty beach. Perhaps because Stephen just wanted to show off the dark suntan he had, still as dark as caramel on this mid-September weekend, that contrasted so strikingly with Vivian's milky skin.
Viv thought nothing of Stephen taking off his shirt. He had said he merely wanted to feel the warm night air on his skin. OK, sure. But she didn't mind the gesture, a gesture she would have thought was too forward in some other men. Stephen had been such a gentlemen at dinner. No leering glances. No subtle suggestiveness. Just intelligent conversation and a respect for Vivian as a person and as a woman. Such a change from other 40ish men, who Vivian divided into two categories -- those looking for girls young enough to be their daughters and those looking for sex right out of the gate.
But Vivian and Stephen HAD sex right out of the gate -- only this time, it was a mutual understanding. No words were necessary. Stephen could just about read Vivian's mind, and that was fine with her. From the moment she had met him only weeks earlier, she could sense he was different. Not "the one," as in this-is-the-man-I-will-marry-and-the-sooner-the-better, but rather a partner who would give her all she needed and allow her her own space. Marriage? Fine for some, maybe even for Vivian, but nothing to get panicky over. What her mother's generation would call spinsterhood, Vivian called independence.
Such a feeling on a first date Viv had never had, but this WAS so different right from the moment he opened the door for her. There he was, in his neat, faded jeans and black polo shirt and bare feet. Bare feet, on a first date. It brightened Vivian the moment she saw it, and she felt no hesitation to slip off her shoes upon entering Stephen's home. Bare feet. She loved it. Made her feel like a girl again. And when they walked to the lake it was the first time Vivian had gone barefoot in public, other than beaches and picnics in the parks, in almost 20 years. It was crazy, sure, but it was a craziness that endeared Stephen to Vivian all the more.
But now Stephen was over her as she lay on her side. She felt him doing something to her arms. What was he doing? She became aware just in time to realize her wrists were being tied behind her back. "What are you doing to me?" Vivian asked. "Our night isn't over," Stephen replied in almost a whisper. Why was he doing this? She had been sleeping so soundly, and had so much thought she had found a man who liked her and knew how to treat a woman. Was she wrong about him? Was she being kidnapped? Was he planning something horrible? "Are you going to hurt me?" Vivian asked meekly. "No, never would I do that," came a somewhat indignant reply.
So why did he tie her hands behind her? Viv was more than a bit frightened. How could she have been so wrong? Stephen gently grabbed one forearm, in more of a gesture to get her to rise from the bed than any forceful motion to make her do so. "Come with me," he said. Vivian was carefully led from the bedroom to a flight of circular stairs. Stephen had her go first up the narrow steps, while he gently held Vivian's arm. His lack of roughness in her treatment of her was disarming. Maybe Stephen wasn't going to hurt her. So why the bound wrists? Was she really being kidnapped? Why? Her family was not wealthy, and a 38-year-old woman isn't in high demand for the sex trade, no matter how attractive.
Vivian walked slowly up the stairs. The bare iron felt cold on the soles of her feet. What was in the attic to which she was headed? She began to softly tremble. Stephen, meanwhile, said nothing. Eventually, Vivian and Stephen reached the attic -- a small, low-ceiling room with only a single bed, dresser, end table, upholstered armchair and footstool. On the dresser and end table, 10 candles illuminated the room. There was no other light.
"Please sit in the chair," Stephen said. Not knowing what to do if she didn't obey, Vivian sat in the low-backed chair. Stephen moved behind the chair, and Viv felt a rope going around her. Stephen tucked the rope under her arms. so that it would only hold her body to the back of the chair. The rope rested across her belly, but when it was tightened it came right below her breasts. "Are you going to hurt me?" Viv asked again. There was no reply. Stephen went about tying Vivian's ankles tightly with more nylon rope. He lifted her legs so that they were on the footstool. A longer rope was then placed across her bound ankles, looped under the footstool and secured tightly. Another rope was then used to tie the rope around Vivian's ankles to the rope around the footstool. Finally, a Vivian's toes were tied together with what looked like a shoelace. She was securely bound to the chair and stool, unable to move her legs in any manner and able only to engage in futile squirming of her upper body.
"What's going to happen to me?" Vivian asked one more time.
TO BE CONTINUED
She had been sleeping, quite soundly, in Stephen's bed. Stephen had been her date for the evening, the first date they had had. The first of what the tall woman with the long, thick red hair cut in bangs across her forehead hoped would be one of many. All seemed to have gone well. The dinner Stephen prepared was marvelous, and the walk along the beach, hand in hand in the warm summer night air, was the stuff she had only thought happened in movies. Viv remembered the lake water lapping over her bare feet as she and Stephen kissed in the moonlight on the water's edge. The water was freezing cold, but Vivian did not care. She felt very comfortable with Stephen. It was the sweetest encounter with a man she had had in a long time.
Stephen was a few years beyond the 38 Vivian had been alive. He looked his age, but was still clinging to the incredibly handsome man he no doubt had been 15-20 years ago. He was 6-foot-1 and had retained most of his reddish-brown hair that he still wore reasonably long. He had a slight pot belly, but obviously was not ashamed of it as he removed his shirt -- with Vivian's permission -- before setting out on their walk to the lake and their romantic stroll along the almost empty beach. Perhaps because Stephen just wanted to show off the dark suntan he had, still as dark as caramel on this mid-September weekend, that contrasted so strikingly with Vivian's milky skin.
Viv thought nothing of Stephen taking off his shirt. He had said he merely wanted to feel the warm night air on his skin. OK, sure. But she didn't mind the gesture, a gesture she would have thought was too forward in some other men. Stephen had been such a gentlemen at dinner. No leering glances. No subtle suggestiveness. Just intelligent conversation and a respect for Vivian as a person and as a woman. Such a change from other 40ish men, who Vivian divided into two categories -- those looking for girls young enough to be their daughters and those looking for sex right out of the gate.
But Vivian and Stephen HAD sex right out of the gate -- only this time, it was a mutual understanding. No words were necessary. Stephen could just about read Vivian's mind, and that was fine with her. From the moment she had met him only weeks earlier, she could sense he was different. Not "the one," as in this-is-the-man-I-will-marry-and-the-sooner-the-better, but rather a partner who would give her all she needed and allow her her own space. Marriage? Fine for some, maybe even for Vivian, but nothing to get panicky over. What her mother's generation would call spinsterhood, Vivian called independence.
Such a feeling on a first date Viv had never had, but this WAS so different right from the moment he opened the door for her. There he was, in his neat, faded jeans and black polo shirt and bare feet. Bare feet, on a first date. It brightened Vivian the moment she saw it, and she felt no hesitation to slip off her shoes upon entering Stephen's home. Bare feet. She loved it. Made her feel like a girl again. And when they walked to the lake it was the first time Vivian had gone barefoot in public, other than beaches and picnics in the parks, in almost 20 years. It was crazy, sure, but it was a craziness that endeared Stephen to Vivian all the more.
But now Stephen was over her as she lay on her side. She felt him doing something to her arms. What was he doing? She became aware just in time to realize her wrists were being tied behind her back. "What are you doing to me?" Vivian asked. "Our night isn't over," Stephen replied in almost a whisper. Why was he doing this? She had been sleeping so soundly, and had so much thought she had found a man who liked her and knew how to treat a woman. Was she wrong about him? Was she being kidnapped? Was he planning something horrible? "Are you going to hurt me?" Vivian asked meekly. "No, never would I do that," came a somewhat indignant reply.
So why did he tie her hands behind her? Viv was more than a bit frightened. How could she have been so wrong? Stephen gently grabbed one forearm, in more of a gesture to get her to rise from the bed than any forceful motion to make her do so. "Come with me," he said. Vivian was carefully led from the bedroom to a flight of circular stairs. Stephen had her go first up the narrow steps, while he gently held Vivian's arm. His lack of roughness in her treatment of her was disarming. Maybe Stephen wasn't going to hurt her. So why the bound wrists? Was she really being kidnapped? Why? Her family was not wealthy, and a 38-year-old woman isn't in high demand for the sex trade, no matter how attractive.
Vivian walked slowly up the stairs. The bare iron felt cold on the soles of her feet. What was in the attic to which she was headed? She began to softly tremble. Stephen, meanwhile, said nothing. Eventually, Vivian and Stephen reached the attic -- a small, low-ceiling room with only a single bed, dresser, end table, upholstered armchair and footstool. On the dresser and end table, 10 candles illuminated the room. There was no other light.
"Please sit in the chair," Stephen said. Not knowing what to do if she didn't obey, Vivian sat in the low-backed chair. Stephen moved behind the chair, and Viv felt a rope going around her. Stephen tucked the rope under her arms. so that it would only hold her body to the back of the chair. The rope rested across her belly, but when it was tightened it came right below her breasts. "Are you going to hurt me?" Viv asked again. There was no reply. Stephen went about tying Vivian's ankles tightly with more nylon rope. He lifted her legs so that they were on the footstool. A longer rope was then placed across her bound ankles, looped under the footstool and secured tightly. Another rope was then used to tie the rope around Vivian's ankles to the rope around the footstool. Finally, a Vivian's toes were tied together with what looked like a shoelace. She was securely bound to the chair and stool, unable to move her legs in any manner and able only to engage in futile squirming of her upper body.
"What's going to happen to me?" Vivian asked one more time.
TO BE CONTINUED
