Blindfolded Innocence

by Alessandra Torre

  "Look, for you sex might be a sexual release, but I don't function the same way. Sex for me is more of an emotional thing, not anything that I NEED."

  "Bullshit. Everyone needs sex."

  "That is a man talking. You have a need to release your…. stuff. We don't operate that way, or at least I don't. Like I said - it's emotional, not physical."

  "You make love, not fuck." The explicative sounded dangerous and incredible sexy in his voice.

  "No. I fuck. I just do it more for the control aspect rather than the physical." This was the most honest conversation I had ever had with anyone. There was a certain freedom with knowing that this was the last time I would see him, and that anything I said couldn't be used against me.

  His eyes narrowed. "You've never had an orgasm."

  "What?!"

  "Orgasm. Have you ever had one?"

  I didn't really know how to answer the question, and it wasn't because I was being evasive. I rolled my paper towel on the table until it formed a straw-like shape. "I don't think so. Sex feels good, but the way I hear orgasms described, it seems to be this earth-shattering experience, and I feel like that is something I wouldn't be unsure of having." I shrugged nonchalantly. "Some woman can't orgasm. Like fifteen percent of the population. My gyno says not to worry about it. Sex can still be enjoyable, and it is."

  He chuckled to himself and then placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward, looking at me. "You can orgasm."

  "Oh, because you know so much about the inner workings of my body in the 45 minutes you've spent with me."

  "All women can orgasm. Your gynecologist and whatever women's magazine you got that ridiculous statistic from doesn't know what they are talking about."

  "You are so bullheaded! You don't know everything about everything!"

  He leveled me with a confident stare. "I know everything about sex, and pleasing a women." I'll bet you do.

  "I'm sure you don't. Maybe your conquests were faking."

  "They weren't faking."

  "How would you know?"

  He sighed, exasperated. "I don't need to try and convince you of something that I could easily show you, if you weren't so obtuse on the whole idea."

  "Whatever. My turn, you just had like nine questions." I pushed the pizza box away from me, worried that I would keep eating it if I stayed in close proximity. I reached over and grabbed Brad's can, feeling its weight, and got up to get us both fresh Dr Peppers. I mulled over my next question as I bent over the mini fridge, reaching in to get our drinks. Feeling eyes on my ass, I quickly glanced over my shoulder, and caught him staring. A normal individual would avert their eyes and play it off, but he let his eyes linger, smiling slightly and letting me see his appreciation. Pig.

  "Has anyone ever sued you for sexual harassment?"

  He was offended. "That would assume that harassment had occurred. I assure you, I don't make advances unless they are clearly receptive."

  I stalked back to the table with the sodas and set/slammed them down on the table. "Do I seem CLEARLY receptive?"

  He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. "I figure you are a work in progress."

  "Uh-huh. Would you allow that to fly in court?"

  "Point for the prosecution." His teasing tone was back.

  He was the kind of man who, when talking with you, made you feel like you were the most important thing in his world. He put off this ridiculous magnetism that I couldn't stay away from. For the first time this evening, I wondered if this was the last time that I would be seeing him. I didn't entirely trust myself to stay away.

  "So, why does Broward hate you so bad?"

  "I think a better question is why does Broward want to protect you so much?"

  "Evasive."

  He sighed and opened the can. I cringed, wondering if my dramatic slam of the soda earlier would cause it to foam or explode, but it opened with little fanfare.

  "I hate to use the whole "everyone hates me because they are jealous" bit, but I think Broward looks at my life and compares it to his. He buries himself in work to, I suspect, avoid his home life with his sweet and intelligent, but incredibly boring wife. He chose a dull focus, corporate law, and I think he is burnt out. He sees my wing as "not real work." We play as hard as we work, and I think that irks him. He also has access to the billing and payroll system. My income dwarfs his, and considering we are equal partners and I work half the hours he does… the dislike is understandable."

  "Do you envy yourself?"

  He looked at me quizzically, but I knew he knew exactly what I was referring to. "I live the life, Julia. The life I choose for myself. The women, the parties, the power, the money. It is everything I always wanted."

  "Is that why you are sitting here eating cold pizza and talking to me? You could be elbow deep in pussy at the Silver Nugget."

  He chuckled. "It's the Gold Nugget. And you are a conquest. It is part of me mixing it up." His honest and offensive answer should have angered me, but it didn't. I knew what he wanted. I was just beginning to worry that I wanted it too.

  "Would you ever remarry?"

  "No. I have needs that one woman can't fulfill. I fooled myself when I was younger, but I know better now. It's not fair for me to promise happy ever after to a women that I would be unfaithful to."

  "Why? Are you a sex addict?"

  "That's a bullshit clinical term. I love sex. I don't believe in restricting myself in order to conform to society's standards."

  "Sheila thinks you're a sex addict."

  "Sheila and I have had sexual tension for the last 5 years."

  I gaped at him and he started shaking with controlled laughter. "God, Julia. You're too easy."

  "From what I hear about your standards, it's not like Sheila is out of the question." I retorted.

  He stopped laughing and looked at me with a grin. "Go with me to Vegas."

  "No! This is supposed to be our last hurrah. My wild days are over. Starting tomorrow I am back to being a good girl." I slapped my hand on the table to emphasize my resolve. My sub-conscious was already packing a bag and choosing the proper shoes.

  He slapped the table back at me. "Start Monday. Have you ever been to Vegas?"

  "No. My parents preferred exciting locale such as Palms Springs and Bismarck, North Dakota."

  He reached across the table and grabbed my hand, pulling it to him. He looked solemnly in my eyes, and desire curled in my belly. "Come to Vegas with me. Please. I promise you won't regret it."

  I couldn't find anything to say and stared wordlessly into his eyes. I had so many conflicting thoughts running through my mind and didn't know what to listen to.

  “No.” I glared at him.

  CHAPTER 13

  "You're going to Vegas?!" Olivia's shocked expression increased my stress level.

  "Yes, I mean, I think so."

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow, after work. Our flight leaves at 6:45."

  We were in my living room, a bottle of wine open on the coffee table. When Olivia had seen my face, she had walked in straight past me, into the kitchen, and opened the fridge - grabbing the first bottle she had seen. We were now taking turns swigging from the bottle. I know. Super Classy.

  "What do you know about this guy? I mean, other than the dire warnings from all members of the CDB staff."

  "That's really about it. I looked him up in the State Bar directory. He is active, so he has no criminal history."

  "Yet! A rape, kidnapping, and murder charge might be added after this weekend!"

  I rolled my eyes at her. "I called you over to calm me down, Olivia. If I had wanted hysterics and gross exaggerations, I would have called Becca."

  "Did you Google him?"

  "Of course. But the first five pages were all news reports about big cases. I didn't want to look through eight million google results."

  "Alright then, let's focus. If you're going, then we just need to make sure you do it right. Have you packed?"

 
I grinned at her. This was more what I had had in mind.

  ---

  One hour and another bottle of wine later, we were surrounded by sequins, leather, and pink. Over half of my closet was on the floor, more clothes were on my bed, and we had both come to the same conclusion. I had nothing to wear. My clothes fit one of three genres: business attire, college-bar dressy, and sorority theme party costume. Too bad we had never had a Vegas-themed social. Hey, that's an idea. Help me remember that at our next Chapter meeting.

  "Maybe I shouldn't go." I flopped down on the bed and promptly sank through three layers of girlyness.

  "Or maybe we should call in reinforcements."

  I looked at her in dread. "Becca?"

  She nodded firmly. "Becca."

  ---

  I may have mentioned earlier that Becca's family is just a few decimals places short of Rockefeller money? Well, her parent's generous monthly allowance supports two main things - alcohol and clothes. Becca lives in a two-bedroom apartment, and one bedroom is solely dedicated to clothes and shoes. We took a brief appraisal of our intoxicated states, and then called a taxi. We planned on showing up unannounced, with a large suitcase and a bottle of cheap wine, the only thing left in the fridge.

  It was a Wednesday night, and one in the morning, so we didn't have to wait long for a cab. By 1:15 we were ringing Becca's bell. She answered the door with music blaring in the background, and a phone pressed to her ear. Her gaze traveled from our pajamas to my suitcase to the bottle. "Jen, I gotta go." She snapped the phone shut and threw the door open.

  It took about five minutes to fill Becca in on the situation and I was surprised to see that she was in full support of the trip. I should have known that stupid impulse decisions would resonate as logical to her.

  We walked into the magic of her closet a few minutes later. Becca and I have fairly similar body types; but I was a lot taller than her. That was no problem, since pants weren't a big Vegas fashion statement.

  Becca is by far the most traveled of our group. Having been to Vegas countless times, she kept up a running monologue as we shifted through her cedar-lined racks. She listed more restaurants, shows, and stores than I could have possibly remembered, especially given the fuzzy state of my mind. I had pretty much tuned her out when I realized there was an expectant silence in the room. I turned to find them both staring at me.

  "I'm sorry - what was the question?"

  "Sex. Are you planning on having sex with him?" Becca said slowly, as one might to a child.

  "No!" I said scornfully, while somewhere inside of me a little woman jumped up and down and screamed, "Yes!"

  "He is flying you up there," Olivia said carefully. "Spending a lot of money on you. You might want to clue him in to that fact."

  "What, that she's a tease?" Becca put both hands on her silk clad hips. "Yeah Jules. You know, some guys don't respond to that very well. You've gotten lucky so far, but one day a guy isn't going to stop when you tell him to."

  "I don't think Brad's like that." I hung back the silver mini I had been considering and continuing flipping through the hangers, hoping that they would move to a different subject.

  "Really? College girls thought Ted Bundy was a pretty nice guy also." Becca said, a little too cheerfully for the subject matter.

  Maybe it was a topic I should broach. But didn't I communicate that to him last night? I don't have sex with people I'm not in love with. He knows that, just doesn't understand it.

  "Why are you such a prude anyway, Jules?"

  "She's not a prude, Becca. Just doesn't believe in giving it to every guy who buys her a mojito."

  Becca stuck out her tongue at Olivia in response. "At least suck his dick. That's the least you can do for the poor guy."

  "How about we leave me and my sexual future alone?" I suggested. "I promise you. I am a big girl, and I will make it through the weekend without being raped, tortured, or killed." I discreetly reached back in Becca's closet, and tapped on the cedar wall, hoping that I had not just jinxed myself.

  CHAPTER 14

  Rule 3: You may not know what will occur until you arrive. We reserve the right to change the events according to her desires.

  "Phone away sir." The meticulously manicured flight attendant shot Brad a stern look as she passed by. Her tone was softened by the lingering glance and hand she patted his shoulder with. I reached down in my bag and unlocked my phone, tripled checked that it was on plane mode, and then stuck it back in my bag. Brad, with a resigned sigh, paused and saved some sports game that he had been intently playing, then turned his phone off and set it on the armrest. I glanced at it.

  "You know, you don't have to turn it off. You can keep playing the game, just put it in plane mode."

  "What mode?"

  "Plane mode. As long as it's a game that doesn't use the internet - which from the looks of it it doesn't - you can put it in plane mode and continue playing."

  He looked at me star struck, like I had just discovered a cure for cancer. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. I am positive. Hence the name "plane mode"."

  "Why has no one mentioned this before!?" He grabbed the phone with gusto and turned it on, then began going through the menus, looking for the Settings.

  "Here. Let me do it. You won't find it before the stewardess comes back." He hesitated slightly, and then handed the phone over. I had it in plane mode and then back in his grasp within a minute. With a look of pure bliss on his face, he sat back and returned to his game. I pulled a piece of gum out, double checked my seat belt, and looked out the window. Thursday and Friday had passed quickly at work. Brad had stayed in his wing, and I in mine. I had accomplished all of the tasks that Broward had left for me, and looked forward to not thinking about work for the next two days. The first class stewardess walked back by, pausing by our seats. "Plane mode," I said, in response to her quizzical look at Brad's phone. He didn't look up from his game. She nodded. "Champagne?" she offered. "Yes please, " I replied. I elbowed Brad. "Sure," he muttered. I'm sure he had no idea of what he was agreeing to. I looked back out the window as she walked off.

  I had never been in first class before and felt ridiculously giddy about the experience. I took both the pillow and blanket the stewardess offered, then stretched out in my roomy seat, a glass of champagne in hand. Brad had taken the aisle seat, and his enormous frame made the spacious seat look tiny. I grabbed a Lisa Gardner thriller out of my bag and prepared for the flight. We had a short commuter flight, and then a long trek over to Vegas.

  CHAPTER 15

  Landing in Vegas was an experience in itself. Not the landing, but the walk through the airport. We had both packed for just carry-on, so we headed straight for the exit once we left the plane. The airport was crowded with cleavage, diamonds, and tourists, its walls covered with digital screens advertising different shows, casinos, and restaurants. We finally arrived at the exit and walked through, hitting the taxi and limo lines. It was chaos, with a long line for the taxis and all of the drivers shouting and waving. Brad spotted our driver first, an older black man in a tuxedo, with a printed sign reading "De Luca". He went over and shook his hand. "Hey Leonard," he said, pumping his hand enthusiastically.

  "Hey Mr. De Luca," the driver said, in a thick New York accent. "How ya been doing?"

  "Great, Leonard, just great. This is Julia," Brad said - holding out his arm and drawing me towards them. I shook Leonard's hand and smiled. Leonard was a large man, who looked like he might have been a bouncer in his younger days. He was missing a tooth but still managed to look dignified.

  "Hi Julia. It's a pleasure to meet you. That bag all you got?"

  "Yes sir, but its a heavy one."

  "Awww, it'll be no trouble to me. Besides, the big guy can always help me out," he said, clapping Brad on the back.

  "How's Jeanne?" Brad asked, following Leonard to a long white stretch limo. Leonard limped a little when he walked, so it was a slow trip. I lagged behind and watched them chat.
r />   "She good man, real good. She been playing with grandkids all day while schools out."

  "I bet she enjoys that."

  "She do - but I'm starting to want my house back! Those kids watch too much cartoons, not enough baseball." He chuckled good-naturedly as he swung our bags into the trunk.