Blind Seduction

Leslie stood in the foyer of her home, luggage by her side, wondering what her husband planned for the long weekend. She assumed they would go to Maine, where a number of late-summer indulgences would await. Leslie imagined lobster dinners, soaking up afternoon sun, shopping, and strolling the boardwalk. But when Phillip added a well-stuffed bag of toys to their luggage, she knew he had other plans. Their 10th anniversary was taking a different, atypical direction.

Wife and husband exchanged glances. “I guess boardwalk browsing is out?” Leslie asked as they strode to the car.

Phillip nodded. “I think you’ll like the alternative.”

Leslie climbed into the passenger seat of the car. After securing her seatbelt, Phillip handcuffed her left wrist to the gearshift of his car, then her right one to the footing of her seat. Leslie giggled.

“You’ve guessed we’re not heading to Maine,” Phillip said. “But I’m not going to spend this trip watching you guess where you are going.”

He drew a blue-cotton blindfold from the backseat and placed it over her eyes, drawing it tight around Leslie’s head. Then he reached across her and leaned her seat back. “Now lie back and just let everyone think you’re napping.”

With that, Phillip kissed her lightly on the check and started the car.

Blindfolded, Leslie grew sensitive to every little nuance of motion during the car ride. She tracked the direction they traveled, various speeds, the passage of time. Indeed, within several turns, Leslie knew they were accelerating up the entrance ramp of the nearest highway headed north.

But north to where? Twenty minutes later the car slowed, then stopped briefly. Phillip rolled his window down. She heard the click and whir of machinery, then his window went up and the car’s acceleration resumed. The Massachusetts Turnpike, Leslie realized. Now they headed due west. They had to be: To the east was Boston; and she was sure he had no intention of taking her into the city. That would be too routine a plan.

Phillip started up a CD Leslie was familiar with. She used the album to measure time. Within an hour and two songs into a second CD, Leslie realized they traversed a large part of the state. She grew attentive to nuances of the road: slight dips, potholes, hills, curves. She read a range of lateral motion, from swerves to lane changes. She tensed when she heard trucks approach alongside; their drags caught and pulled so strongly it felt as though Leslie and Phillip might be swept into their wakes and toward imminent wreckage.

Leslie’s sense of vulnerability grew with each passing hour. Phillip couldn’t entirely hide their direction from her, since occasional roadside breaks were necessary, but he did keep her distracted. Early in the trip, he unbuttoned Leslie’s blouse and exposed her breasts—to the whole world, she was sure—and countless times, he reached over to grope her. Once, a semi passed them on the right and, when it pulled ahead of them, Phillip laughed.

“He flashed us a thank you with his lights,” he claimed.
Seven hours into their trip, Phillip parked the car and turned off the engine. “Don’t go anywhere,” he quipped, and climbed out of the car.
He shut his door and a sharp click followed: Phillip had locked the doors remotely. Blindfolded, she could only wait and hope she was in a safe place. She trusted Phillip’s judgment, but that didn’t prevent a host of other reactions from welling up inside her. Wonder, fear, and anticipation made her quietly nervous.

All she could do was wait.