For a few years now, he’s been one of my go-to boys for threesomes. We were comparing notes about unmet fantasies when he offered one of his own. He had once blindfolded his girlfriend and had a friend of his come over to fuck her. Afterward, the friend left; she never saw his face or knew his name. He wondered: what must it be like to be in her position?
I offered to help him find out. I have a girlfriend he had never met. I told him he would get no photos or descriptions of her in advance of the blindfold date.
For good measure, I also declined to give her photos or descriptions of him. In fact, I neglected to tell her would be expecting a guest.
When he rang, my girlfriend expressed surprise. “My, who could that be?” I wondered.
“Oh, we’re playing that game, huh?” She jumped from the bed. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”
He undressed on arrival, per usual. I blindfolded him. My girlfriend came into the room, already nude. For the next few hours, we three went at it.
Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms. He remained blindfolded, as he would until leaving; he never saw her or learned her name. We asked him how the experience felt.
“For one thing,” he said. “I couldn’t tell your hands apart.” He sat up, clumsily. “Here, both of you: take my fingers and put them in your palms. Your left palms.” We did as he asked. He moved his fingerpads in a slow circle. “See, I can’t tell you apart.” He moved his fingers to explore our hands. “Okay, so this is Jefferson, obviously,” he said, lifting my hand. “His are bigger.”
“But just as soft?” she asked.
“Well, that hand has an advantage,” I said. “I jerk off with my left hand, so it has enjoyed a lifetime of lotion.”
He reached toward us. “Hey, can I touch your hair, um . . . female person?”
“Sure.” She guided his hand to her head.
He ran his fingers through her hair. “Hmmm, your hair is fine . . . not too curly . . . so you’re blond. Maybe redhead.”
She looked at me, smiling. “Yeah? What else can you tell about me?”
He ran a finger down her torso. “Your skin is really soft, so you’re not Russian . . .”
We laughed. “Are you really trying to guess her nationality by the texture of her skin?” I asked. “Do no Russian women have soft skin?”
“Well, you know Russian literature,” he said. “You’d expect coarse skin.”
“From working in the potato fields,” she nodded.
“Peasant stock,” I concurred. “The literature is definitive.”
“And here,” his fingers reached her mons pubis. “I felt your pubic hair earlier and thought, ‘she’s not Jewish . . .’”
“I’m not?” she laughed.
“Are you?” He wrinkled his brow. “I had a Jewish girlfriend and her pubic hair was very curly. Yours isn’t.”
“I’m going to question the depth of your research on that observation,” I challenged.
“Am I right at all?” he asked her.
“I have fine hair,” she smiled. “And soft skin and straight pubic hair. I’m not saying more than that.”
“I guess I’d never recognize you on the street,” he grinned, lowering his nose to nuzzle her breast.
“No, but I’d know you,” she answered. “So don’t be surprised if a blond stranger tells you you’ve got a hot body.” He moaned in her nipple. I prepared another condom to roll onto his cock.
Later, I helped him to dress and walked him to the door. He removed the blindfold. “Maybe next time, we can blindfold her,” he suggested.
“We’ll see,” I replied. “I may have to do some casting to match your vision of the woman you just fucked.”
I took a few photos. Here’s a blurry one of the confused boy in the blindfold.