Blind Passion by OnePaige
Indulge in 'Blind Passion,' an erotic sex story that explores desire, temptation, and the thrill of the unknown. Dive into a provocative tale that ignites the senses and awakens hidden fantasies. Perfect for those seeking steamy escapades and passionate encounters!<br/>
*****OOps, it went over one page again. I try to make each in this series of stories a stand-alone read. Dr. Wright appears in an earlier chapter, Word of Mouth, describing one of their ‘Friday sessions’ mentioned here. It’s not essential to read that one first.*****
Every couple of weeks John stopped at the lookout over Fort Wadsworth and took stock. He found that the position above all the other eight million New Yorkers gave him a sense of perspective. He liked the view over the harbor, even on a cold late February afternoon like this. The Verrazano Narrows Bridge faded across to Brooklyn in the fog on his right. Governor’s Island and Manhattan receded in a gray mist on the horizon, the ranks of skyscrapers evaporating into the ashen sky. Dark fuel barges littered the harbor like dead leaves. The Statue of Liberty’s outline barely broke through the monochrome murk on his left. Old snow brightened some spots in the panorama. The white-dusted, derelict fort sat below him, guarding the shipping lanes like an old man on a park bench watching the young runners pass, his own knees shot.
John wasn’t a broody man. Leaning against the truck with a thermos of coffee he couldn’t help feeling the sense of isolation and waiting in the scene before him, but he knew Spring was coming. Taking stock of his own situation he really didn’t have anything to complain about. His business was good. There was no shortage of houses to upgrade but a shortage of skilled and honest contractors like him. There was no shortage of older women who appreciated his twenty-nine year old, well-muscled and sexually skilled body, who hungered for his adroitly wielded male-ness.
Why would he want the dull sameness of a cubicle job when every house he remodeled was different, each its own challenge and a chance to learn new skills? Why would he want one woman when every cougar was different, each her own territory to explore with her own appetites and skills to share? He appreciated their unique and gladly expressed female-ness. How tedious it must be to make love to the same woman every week. His roster brought him new adventures and satisfactions, when, he supposed, a single lover would get bored with him. As it was, each of his new lovers was delighted to discover him and the ones ready to move on did so with gratitude, before their relations got stale.
No, he couldn’t complain.
Yet, with all the variety there was also a kind of sameness. He didn’t know the women deeply and he made it clear he didn’t want to. But John longed for something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was there some quality in a longer-term relationship that he might want to discover?
He opened the email from Dr. Wright again and considered taking on the challenge she’d proposed: essentially, to act as a sexual surrogate for one of her clients. John wondered if this meant he would go semi-pro in the sexual restoration work fate had directed him to. He liked being an amateur, letting the women find him through his network of happy cougars. Still, it warmed his ego to have the psychologist suggest he had the skills to take on a ‘special case’ as she’d put it.
Dr. Doris Wright knew his skill set well, since they conjugated regularly. She wanted him to help a woman become sexually active again who, as she wrote, had become frigid, afraid of sex after a physical and emotional trauma six years before. His time in Doris’s consultation room ‘cleansing her chakras’ always made him feel as good and powerful as having sex possibly could. How would it be to work under her guidance with a skittish and damaged patient? He’d had to turn away a few of those who’d heard of him at the diner because they were clearly a little nuts. John’s fated mission to restore older women’s faith in men, or at least enjoy sex, had its limitations. There were women who needed professional help. Should he, could he, take one on under the tutelage of the doctor?
The part of her email that both intrigued him and gave him pause was the sentence: You must always be blindfolded in the presence of patient X. Apparently, the woman was so uncomfortable with her own physical appearance that she couldn’t bear the idea of anyone seeing her bare. He’d never taken on a woman who wasn’t eager for his body and what it could do for them, who wasn’t at worst just a timid soul waiting to be noticed. This patient X seemed to be farther from ready than anyone he’d made love to. Still, she wanted sex. Sounded like Dr. Wright had got her to the point where she could at least claim that. Yet she was afraid to be naked? Definitely the kind of nut case he wouldn’t touch alone.
But….
The sun didn’t set on these damp February days so much as it was eclipsed by the lights of the eight million New Yorkers. Below him the city that never slept chugged another cup of coffee.
The stop at Fort Wadsworth and the cold air on the bluff woke John up, too. He would indeed test those frigid waters, wintry as they might appear. It might be that Spring was coming for this woman, too. It couldn’t hurt to meet patient X in Dr. Wright’s consultation room and get a feel for this particular challenge. Much better than going home to a bored wife of his own.
John climbed in the truck. Her office, and the appointment, were only five minutes away.
********
As the doctor had instructed, he arrived ten minutes past the hour and found the blindfold ready in the waiting room. It wasn’t a cloth strip, but blacked-out swim goggles. He stood before the old oak door, settled the goggles over his eyes, worked the strap into his curly, black hair and knocked. Not a hint of light reached him. The sound of the ornate door hinges told him they needed some oil. Dr. Wright’s voice told him she was in full professional mode, warm and slightly reserved.
“Come in, John,” she took his elbow and guided him toward the now very familiar, very plush, eggplant-colored couch in the center of the consulting room.
“Sit here and let’s get acquainted.” He could hear the rustle of clothing at the other end of the couch and the anxious breathing of another female. The room was saturated with the thick smell of incense. Interesting how his other senses came to the fore when he couldn’t see.
John noted that under that heady incense lay the aroma of sex, of a woman’s heat and a man’s semen. Knowing Dr. Wright’s earth-mothering, goddess-affirming practice he wondered if these rich and subliminal pheromones were in the air because she knew they’d reach her clients on the physical level and prime them for the sorts of treatment she provided. Their Friday sessions must surely have spilled a lot of aromatic fluids in the room.
“This is Vivian,” said the doctor. “I’ve told her much about you, though nothing about your personal life, of course. More about your sensitivity as a lover, your qualifications. That sort of thing.”
John turned his blindfolded head in the mystery woman’s direction and greeted her. Unsure, he didn’t extend his hand. There was a pause, then Dr. Wright said, “I should tell you that Viv and I are both naked from the waist up. As you know, I often meet with my clients this way as it helps us, as two women, to normalize our bodies.”