blindfolded sex sexylittleideas
or The Dark Side of Sex

The last thing I see is the lamplight glinting yellow off her bronze body as the blindfold falls over my eyes.

I find her in the darkness. My fingertips whisper to me the softness of skin but they can’t tell me where they’ve landed. Lost in a jungle of skin on a foreign planet of skin. The only thing to do is to explore.

It’s a neck. Her neck. My fingers trace her jaw line up to her ear and then along her cheekbone where they tell me that her blindfold is also firmly in place. Eyes have been extinguished for the night.

Her hands on both sides of my head are pulling me to her. Her tongue searches for mine in the dark planet and my lips welcome it inside, speaking to me of its red strawberry wetness. Until now, I’d never known that the underbelly of her tongue was a riverbed of four distinct seams and that the corners of her lips tasted like rain. When you can’t memorize sights, you are more prone to memorizing tastes. And textures.

Her back turns to me and every ridge in the tips of my fingers embrace its smoothness and the elegant curve of her spine – curving into me, not away. An electric hum of gratification from her lips, like a teardrop of sound in an ocean of silence, invades the heightened awareness of my ears as I descend into her.

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed monster is king.

The entire length of my body feasts on the entire length of hers. My neck is Frenching her neck, my shoulders plant a fluttery Eskimo kiss on her shoulders, my chest tastes her back, and our hips are locked in a sloppy embrace. When the sense of sight is taken away from a species and a language that relies principally on it, mixed metaphors may result.

The threads of the sheets and the sinews of her skin begin to blur together as the velvet violence of our bodies sets the room on fire. I am clutching one or the other in my fists as pleasure creeps over me like chocolate over a cherry. Sparkles of purple and gold waltz through the black behind my eyelids.

The tide of war changes and her armies rush forward in a relentless assault on mine. Her sugary battlecries drip over my ears, and she invades me again and again. Or I invade her. Or she invades me to invade her. Over and over, black and dark like a soft, pounding warmth around me, immersing me unrelentingly in the punishment of pleasure.

I think I might have scratched her harder than I meant to.