by Cathryn Fox
I have built this website so that you can take as long as you would like to decide. At the bottom of this page are two simple buttons. One says “Yes”, the other, as you might imagine, “No”. When you have decided, simply return to this page and click on your choice. Do not worry about someone else stumbling across this website and clicking one of the buttons. I have included a simple verification question that is specific to you.
Regardless of what you decide, please know it was my great pleasure to meet you.
Mark
I eyed the buttons at the bottom of the page. Instinctively I moved my mouse so that my cursor hovered over the “No” button. I hesitated and thought about how much I was looking forward to spending the evening with Mark upstairs in that hotel last night, until he dropped his bombshell and walked out on me. Being in the Information Technology field, I appreciated the effort he went to in order to setup a website specifically for the purpose of his note. I decided to give it some more thought. I closed the browser window and half-heartedly went off to my staff meeting.
5
Two nights and one spectacularly unsatisfying session with my vibrator later, I found myself back at the website, re-reading Mark’s note. “Many laughs, much pleasure” is the phrase that I kept coming back to. I had buried myself in my work since the separation and divorce and I thought that I’d probably settle for the many laughs. My staff definitely thought I was much too serious I’m sure, but you don’t get ahead as a woman in the IT field unless you are all business. I gave a little thought to how nice it might be to actually not be in control for once, to let someone else worry about the details. Taking an unladylike gulp of my wine, I impulsively took a deep breath and clicked the “Yes” button.
The words on the original note wiped away and a single question appeared on the screen.
Right or wrong, what (not who) do I blame for my ex-wife’s infidelity?
A blank input field stood empty awaiting a response. I knew from my discussion with Mark that he blamed Facebook for having provided his ex-wife with easy access to her former high school “friend”. I typed “Facebook” and hit the button marked “Submit”.
I smiled as fireworks filled the screen for a few moments. The screen went blank and words started appearing once again.
Summer,
You have no idea how happy I am that you chose to click “Yes”. I am honored by the level of trust you have shown in me. I promise you I will do anything and everything to show you that trust has not been misplaced. In an effort to give you some level of comfort with this decision, you will find the following on the next few pages:
1) Full background information
2) Employment history
3) A complete medical history, including blood test results
I hope this information alleviates some of your concerns. Once you have had a chance to review everything, go ahead and click on the “Okay” button and we’ll get started. I promise that everything will certainly not be this impersonal going forward, but being a computer professional, I thought you might appreciate this beginning.
Mark
I clicked through some of the information that followed even though I really did not feel it was completely necessary. I did appreciate the thought behind providing it however. Mark was essentially laying his life out as an open book and inviting me to decide whether or not it was worthwhile to keep reading.
As I sipped a little more wine and paged through Mark’s website, a thought suddenly occurred to me that stopped me in my tracks. How had he gotten those blood tests, put together all that information and put it online in the few days since our meeting? Clicking back through the medical information to the blood test results, I took note of the test date, just about a month ago. That was weeks before our first email interaction. Why had he felt compelled to get the blood tests?
Feeling my cheeks flush with warmth that had nothing to do with the glasses of wine, I fired off an angry email dripping with sarcasm.
Mark,
Reading through the information you have so “thoughtfully” provided online, it has become obvious that you did not simply put all of this together just for me. What number am I on your list? To how many other women have you made this “wonderful offer”?
I have to admit you almost had me fooled into thinking that you were one of the good guys. I would wish you good luck with this pitiful approach of yours, but instead I’ll just wish you good riddance.
Summer
I turned away from the computer feeling foolish and a little angrier than was probably justified. It was going to be a simple meaningless sexual encounter with a virtual stranger. So why did I feel so betrayed?
I started to head to the kitchen to drown myself in more wine when my email program chimed at me. I stared at the screen and saw that Mark had responded almost immediately. I started to delete it without reading, but my curiosity got the better of me.
Summer,
One of the things that I admire most about you is your intelligence. I had no doubt that you would notice the test date and realize I put this information together before our meeting. You asked what number you were on my “list”. You are number one. THE ONLY ONE. I have been on a number of dates over the past year since my divorce, but you are the ONLY woman I have felt this connection with. And you are most definitely the only woman I went through the trouble of setting up a website for. And the only woman I gave all my background information or sent flowers to. Once again I must ask you to simply trust me.
Mark
P.S. – I hope you will allow me to prove to you that I AM one of the “good guys”.
6
I turned off the computer and climbed into bed. Mark’s explanation certainly made sense on the surface, but how could I know for sure? Not predisposed to a lot of introspection I nevertheless lay awake for awhile thinking about why I got angry and felt betrayed. Was it possible I felt more for Mark than attraction?
After the jolt to my system the previous evening, my intent was to make Mark twist in the wind a few days without any further response on my part. Sitting through yet another meeting where time seemed to stand still, I realized life was really too short to play games. Back in my office I closed the door and opened up Mark’s website. Part of me expected to see more fireworks when I clicked “Okay”, but instead the iconic dancing baby from the old Ally McBeal television show filled the screen. The baby danced around for a few moments then bent down and picked something up. When it straightened back up it was holding a sign that read “I thank you again for your trust.”
I was increasingly impressed with Mark’s technical computer skills. If nothing else came of this unusual dalliance, I was considering offering him a job in my IT department. The dancing baby dissolved and a word spun into view from the right of the screen, centering itself and growing larger until it dominated the screen:
CONTROL
The word shrunk until it no longer took up the entire screen. A definition appeared below the word.
(Control: to exercise restraint or direction over; dominate; command.)
The screen dissolved again and was replaced by the old fashioned scroll I had seen before. Ink splotches splattered the paper then resolved into text.
Summer,
I told you when we met that if you chose to move forward on this journey with me that you would do so with the full knowledge that I intend to take control. Control is an interesting concept. It has two distinct sides. In order for me to take control, you have to be willing to give it up. In my opinion, control is all about trust. You have to trust that I have our mutual best interests at heart.
Trust is also paramount to expanding your sexual experiences and exploring your boundaries. What I will offer you is simple. I want you to be able to explore your desires, fantasies and boundaries with no judgment, no expectations and no regrets. In order to do that, I think you need to feel safe and protected. In that vein, simply say the word “watermelon” at any point and I wil
l cease whatever we are doing. Do not use it lightly. Stretching one’s horizons should be a little uncomfortable after all.
I will post one last piece of the puzzle later today on the website. I only ask that you be open and honest with your replies as that will help me more effectively plan our time together. The questions I will ask may seem random or arbitrary, but they will give me a better idea about your sexual history, or lack thereof.
I very much look forward to seeing you soon.
Mark
A button at the bottom of the page read “Next”. I clicked and Mark’s latest note disappeared and was replaced by a clock counting down from four hours. My curiosity certainly was peaked to discover what Mark had planned next.
Two more fairly boring meetings, a salad from our cafeteria and some routine budget planning later, I closed the door to my office once again and returned to the website. The timer was ticking off the last few minutes of the four hour countdown. When it finally reached all zeroes the clock exploded into a thousand little pieces and was replaced by what appeared to be the beginnings of a questionnaire of some sort.
Summer’s Final Exam
1) When was the last time you had sex?
2) Last time you masturbated?
3) Do you use toys when you masturbate?
4) What is the kinkiest thing you have ever done?
5) Have you ever tried anal sex?
6) If yes to #5, did you enjoy it?
7) How many partners have you had in your past?
8) Ever been in or fantasized about a threesome?
9) If yes to #8, was it a MFM or FMF threesome?
10) Ever been with another woman before?
The questions continued on like that for several pages, some fairly simple, some shockingly explicit. I had to once again give Mark credit, he was very creative indeed. In between some of the questions, he had inserted pictures and short videos. One section compared various pictures and asked me to rate what I found more attractive. A picture of two topless women pressed up against one another kissing versus one of two men in a similar embrace. I found myself looking at that particular picture for quite awhile. One of the women bore a slight resemblance to my friend Julie, so it was hard at first to reconcile the truth behind finding that picture more attractive. I thought about it for awhile, but I quickly came to the conclusion that seeing two men together really did nothing for me, while it was much easier to objectively view the inherent beauty of the female form. Men’s bodies in general seemed to be hard (not necessarily a bad thing in some areas), angular and imposing, while women’s were curvy, soft and inviting.
Another section asked me to compare several video clips and judge on a scale of one to ten what was more arousing. One comparison was between a set of obvious porn stars, the man hung like something I’d last seen at the petting zoo, the woman’s giant breasts defying all laws of gravity and motion, and a couple of fairly normal looking amateurs. Even with the slight paunch on both of them, I found the normal looking couple much sexier overall. Perhaps it was because I could identify with the less than perfect body, or maybe it was just they seemed more “real” than their professional counterparts somehow.
A final section asked me to type out a short description of any fantasy I might have that had gone unfulfilled over the years of my marriage. I jotted down a quick fantasy of being tied up, something my ex-husband had shown no interest in, despite repeated hints. I think I had exerted such control over every other aspect of our lives, that maybe he had trouble believing this was one area where I wanted him to take charge once in awhile. This was nothing I would have ever vocalized to him however. Looking back I think I somehow expected him to just implicitly know what I wanted. And we wonder why men don’t understand us.
7
After I finished with the final “probing” question Mark had for me, another scrolled note appeared.
Summer,
One last item on our agenda. While I was fairly clear about fully intending to take control, I do so with a very healthy sense of humor and a heavy dose of reality. Having said that, which of the three following dates fit your schedule best? The three choices below will become clickable links by this time tomorrow. That will give me an opportunity to look through your answers and plan our first evening together accordingly. Your final instructions before we meet will be posted at that time.
Mark
Not too sure I really liked his use of the word “instructions” as if I were his servant, I nonetheless was still looking forward to seeing what he had in mind. My curiosity, and quite honestly, my libido, were running rampant at this point. Trying to put Mark out of my mind for now, I turned back to my work.
In all fairness and honesty I will have to admit to being a little worked up by the implications of Mark’s questions and the included pictures and videos. Alone in my empty bed that evening I managed to avoid major disruption in my study of the masturbatory arts by finding a spare pair of batteries floating around the nightstand junk drawer. I wondered idly as I drifted off to sleep if I should, in good faith, update my previous answer to Question #2.
After my usual morning routine of heavily self-medicating with caffeine, I managed to focus for a short time on shuffling some office paperwork through the system, with hardly a stray thought toward Mark’s website and my impending fate. Trying to not feel too foolish as I brought up the website and hit the refresh button ten times in a row, I was pleased to see the dates had been replaced by clickable links.
Giving up all pretense of trying to contain myself, I selected the closest date, the following Friday night, little more than a week away. As I clicked on the date, that familiar looking scroll appeared from the top of the screen.
Summer,
I was hoping you would choose the earliest date I listed. I am looking forward to seeing you as well. If I know you at all by now, you probably bristled at my use of the word “instructions” in my last note. Remember what I said previously about control and trust. This is where I take control.
8:00pm. Next Friday night. The Majestic Hilton hotel. Check this website after 5:00pm that evening and there will be a room number posted. When you arrive at the room at 8:00pm sharp, you will find a blindfold hanging from the doorknob. Put it over your lovely eyes and knock twice. I will handle everything else.
If you object to my “instructions” then this shall be our last communication and I’m truly sorry your journey ended even before it began. If you choose to embrace your sense of adventure, I will be there eagerly anticipating your knock.
Mark
And that is how I found myself standing in a virtual stranger’s hotel room, blindfolded, half-naked and more than a little aroused. For once in my life I had surrendered control and had no idea what to expect next. I never felt more alive.
Volume Two: Alphabetical Assignation
Prologue
Tonight was the night we selected together. It was either going to be the first step on an exciting journey or a big mistake. I would know soon enough.
As Friday afternoon slipped by, my technical staff started disappearing for the weekend. My assistant Melissa poked her head around my office door around 4:00pm and started some not so gentle probing about my weekend plans. Perhaps she was more perceptive than I had been giving her credit for. So far she had resisted her natural impulse to inquire further about the roses Mark sent two weeks ago even though they were still prominently displayed on my desk.
To be fair, she was probably a little puzzled by my reluctance to share details with her as I had previously been quite open with information about my dating life, or lack thereof. The whole office knew about the divorce and my husband leaving me. If I had taken a poll, the majority of them probably thought it was justified due to my fairly stern manner around the office. They definitely did not know what to make of my cheery manner the past week or so. The anticipation I felt about tonight seemed to be manifesting itself in a nervous laugh and an automatic smile.
&nbs
p; As 5:00pm finally arrived, I once again turned to the website Mark had set up for this most unusual venture. The old fashioned scroll I was so used to by now filled the screen.
8:00pm. The Majestic Hilton.
Room 1147.
Put on the blindfold and knock twice.
Take a deep breath and relax.
Trust me.
As I drove home I thought about what I was going to wear tonight, only for the hundredth time this week. I had a favorite little black dress that fit my curves so well it was probably illegal in several Bible belt states. I was thinking that perhaps I would wear the emerald green lace bra and matching sheer panties to bring out the green in my eyes.
I took a long hot shower and as I lathered myself I could not help but think about Mark’s hands and eyes travelling down those same curves later that evening. My nipples took immediate notice of that thought as they stood at attention despite the hot water cascading over me.
After quickly toweling off, I stood for a moment in front of my full length dressing mirror and examined myself critically. Standing about five foot seven in my bare feet, I thought I didn’t look too bad for being almost forty years old. I definitely was no longer the teenager that could bounce quarters off her taut stomach during all those bikini summers long ago, but I had not completely let myself go either. My long legs were in pretty good shape from years of early morning power walks around our neighborhood. My breasts were still one of my favorite features even if they weren’t quite as perky and proud as they once were. I suppose if I were to be completely honest there was a slight spread around the mid-section that could be directly attributed to my poor eating habits since the divorce. Burying myself in my work, I had taken to working late and grabbing something quick to eat on my way home. My selections were typically ones of expediency instead of healthy choices. Even though I was an excellent cook, I really had trouble generating any enthusiasm towards cooking for one.
