Blind Seduction (Team Red)

by Hammond, T.

  “Ken's gay,” I countered absently. “Gay men prefer to be intimate with other men.” At my comment, Ken stopped where he was standing. His stillness was reminiscent of the proverbial deer caught in headlights, and I felt heaviness in his silence. My face turned in his direction, my brain processing Red’s running commentary intermingled with my own new ideas.

  “I'm not really sure what you mean by 'intimate with other men,’ but Ken definitely likes Janey's scent.”

  “What?” Janey demanded, clearly confused by the silence.

  “Busted,” I replied, turning to face Janey. “It appears Ken isn't batting for the other team after all.”

  “Crap,” Ken cursed, under his breath.

  ****************

  “Are you really 24?” Janey asked, carelessly acknowledging to the room, her priorities were seriously screwed up.

  “Focus, Janey,” I interrupted, forcefully. “I'm more interested in the fact this manly-man has seen me naked.”

  “Arrrgggg!” Ken interjected to the conversation. “Is it any wonder why I lied? I had been trying to get a job for months before you offered me the position. Everyone seemed to discount me because, stereotypically, personal assistants are women. I have a gay brother who came up with the idea of pretending to be homosexual so I could secure this job. More importantly, you needed some possible medical care, and I do have a degree in nursing, so I was a better fit for you.”

  His voice took on a cajoling lilt, “Except for misrepresenting my sexual preference, I’ve never lied to you. I would never disrespect you and, don't take this the wrong way, but you aren't my type. Yes, I am 24, and sure, I've seen you in various states of undress. But Teresa, you're my boss. I'm not interested in you that way—no matter what the dog may or may not have said.” In a rush, he concluded, “I really like this job. I'm good at it, and I think we get along very well together. I want to continue working for you.”

  “Actually, Red seems to believe you and Janey have the hots for each other. Did you really sniff her hair when you poured her coffee?” I asked with a knowing grin. Janey cleared her throat, but there was no other noise from her side of table. I was forced to imagine the eye contact and nonverbal communication going on. Deviously, I made a mental note to ask Red later. Red’s potential cast a new twist on my previously dark reality. A full smile, feeling much like a sunrise, dawned across my face.

  “Since you’re no longer one of the girls, it may mean we re-work some of the ground rules, but I think this relationship works for us, Ken. I can't imagine opening my home to anyone else.” I paused to think about our situation, “I will tell you though, the idea you helped me pick out my bras is freaking me out a bit.”

  New house rules were pretty simple and consisted of: knock and wait for “Come in,” before entering rooms with a closed-door. Once the new rule was in place, we discussed taking Red to get a shampoo while Ken went shopping for pet supplies.

  Ken gathered up the coffee cups and told us we needed to get going. Subtle? Not.

  While I glared daggers at his retreating form (I was pretty sure there had still been a swallow or two of coffee remaining in my mug), Janey ran down the day’s itinerary which consisted of dropping Red at the groomer's, dropping me off at her house while she stopped by her pharmacy and the library. Then she would come back to her place and we would make lunch together.

  Optimistic, I got up to grab my coat. Maybe we could stop for coffee while we were en route?

  Chapter Three

  I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket before I hung my jacket on the peg in the entryway, casually tossing my purse and Janey's house keys on the small table by the front door. Doing my usual zombie imitation, I shuffled my way to the living room, and placed my cell phone and sunglasses on the coffee table, before reclining into Janey's couch. I rested against the back, leaning my face sideways enjoying the butter-soft fabric.

  We had shopped together for the couch set, and I smiled at the remembrance of her dragging me from store to store to find the exact shade of chocolate-brown she envisioned. Janey took the shopping experience very seriously, insisting that, with every piece, we snuggle back to test the height of the couches for comfort. Then we bounced on cushions to make sure they weren't too hard or too soft—you might imagine the teasing Goldilocks jokes I came up with.

  I was the one who spotted the pale golden brown cluster of furniture at the fourth store we visited, and instantly fell in love with it. The fabric was some type of soft microfiber which tempted me to run my hands over the high-backed recliner. Janey was mildly disappointed the set didn't come in the dark chocolate she had been imagining, but as soon as she sank into the couch’s plush embrace, she decided she could live with the lighter color.

  In my mind's eye, I was able to see the matching loveseat arranged directly across from me, on the other side of a low coffee table, and the rocker-recliner sat in the corner of the room, by the fireplace, under the graceful arch of a Tiffany floor lamp. It was a beautiful room; my favorite space in Janey's house.

  It only took a small roll of my head and I was basking in the warmth of the sun streaming through one of the living room’s large-paned windows. Inhaling deeply before a content sigh, I detected the lemon scent of furniture polish, and a light undertone of sandalwood against my cheek. I grinned; Janey was caught up in the aromatherapy craze. She was always spritzing her bed sheets with fragrances which, she insisted, would promote better sleep. Therefore, it came as no surprise she had begun spraying the furniture with scents too. It was a nice aroma, with maybe a hint of lime, and some spice I didn't recognize. Refreshing. Nothing like the cloying floral scents carried in most chain stores.

  I drew in a deeper breath—nope, still didn't recognize it, but the fragrance was pleasant and I decided I would like to get some for spraying on my window seat cushions. I could think of nothing better than having the soothing scent of lime and fragrant woods, encompassing me in my haven, as I listened to an evening storm.

  A light brush against my foot was my first indication I was not alone in the large room. The touch was closely followed by a rumbling purr and the weight of a small body hopping up on the couch next to me. “Hey, Cat,” I greeted. Yep, her name was Cat. Never let it be said Janey wasted precious time naming her pets—it was a habit I hoped wouldn’t persist when she had children. I can hear it now—“I'd like to introduce you to my son, Boy.” Poor kid.

  Purrs grew louder as the furball jumped onto the back of the couch to run her face against my cheek before she settled herself next to my head, pinning me down by my hair. Silly cat. “And, where’d you come from? I would have thought you’d already claimed in this spot, absorbing rays.” As I ruffled her fur amiably, her spine lifted into my touch.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on the quiet of the room, disturbed only by the rumble of Cat’s mini-motor. Perhaps it was the absence of Red’s chatter in my head, but I was startled to realize how lonely I had become in the past year. Janey, Ken, and now Red, were the extent of my contact with sentient beings.

  “Hey Cat, wanna go bar hopping with me?” I smiled at my absurdity, but continued, “I’ve suddenly realized, I haven't been laid in almost three years now. I think it’s about time to find Lover Number Three. What are your thoughts on this matter?”

  The gentle head-butt reinforced my own opinion.

  “Yeah, maybe bar hopping is not the best option—it never was before the accident, and there's no reason being blind would improve the venture.” I ruffled her fur again to reward her sage advice.

  A random thought crossed my mind and I straightened suddenly swinging my feet to the floor, yanking my hair out from under Cat’s curled up body. The mini-motor cut abruptly, no doubt in ruffled protest. “Holy crap, Cat! My assistant is a man!” I could feel a flush of mortification heat my cheeks as I thought of the things he does for me daily. I buried my face in my hands for a moment. He has been puttering around in my house for over four months now, putting away my
clothes, and everything.

  “There are toys in the bottom drawer of my nightstand,” I confessed. Turning to look over my shoulder at Cat, I added emphasis in case she underestimated the importance of my words. “Yep, THOSE kinda toys.”

  I let my body fall backward so my head bounced on the couch back and screwed my eyes tightly shut as I rode the wave of humiliation. With a dejected sigh, I tilted my head in the direction of my new confidant, “So, you gotta be straight with me, Cat. Is it more pathetic I am just now remembering I have a drawer full of, most likely, dust-encrusted vibrators? Or that I am worried, my recently not-so-gay assistant, might have been in the drawer when he was learning where I keep my stuff?” I groaned as another scenario came to mind. “Or, there's the third option—he's helpfully left a package of batteries in the drawer.” Ah, man... the more I thought this through, the more embarrassed I got.

  “He's the compulsively thorough type who would have diligently gone through the entire drawer and cataloged everything. Vibrator? Check. Back up vibrator? Insert evil chuckle. Check. Flavored lube? Probably unscrewed the cap and tasted it, the perv.” I grumbled in disgust. “Life-like 8-inch dildo? Imagine raised eyebrow. Check. Scarves and assorted 'body jewelry?’ Check, aaaaand check.” At least he didn’t know I’d named them. No, it wasn’t a lot of privacy, but I’m not sure I could have born the shame of explaining Ricky, Buzz, and Oh-Henry.

  “There are a few other things in that drawer you're too young to know about, Cat, and I don't want it to be known I corrupted you—so we won't discuss them.” Cat graced me with another head butt and revved up the purr again. “I can imagine the shit-eating grin on his face while he went through the drawer; he probably even tried on the nipple clamps.”

  I contemplated firing Ken.

  The one-sided conversation continued with a dramatic sigh. “Can't fire Ken, just because I will forever imagine him tasting my personal lubricant.” Note to self, toss the banana lube when I get home and get a bottle of Astro-Glide instead.

  “Drat! If I fire him, Janey would never forgive me.” At the momentary distraction from my angst, a bemused titter escaped. That's one dance which could only end up in bed. I thought it polite to warn Cat since we were bonding. “Ken is apparently not gay. Which means those two will probably be yowling away in the bedroom tonight, so don't be alarmed by all the heavy breathing and smoochy noises. They will probably try to get as much sex in as they can before Bas the Ass hits town.” Cat, predictably, had no comment, although the purr motor did subside respectfully.

  “Okay, so maybe Bastian isn't quite so bad, but let me tell you Cat, it took me three years—three loooong years—before I was able to gather enough courage to have sex after I saw the size of him. Can you imagine seeing a cock that large, being used with such vigor, when you’re a virgin? It was a huge deterrent,” I chuckled at my unintended pun. “Only time I ever got drunk? Liquid courage; worked up enough guts to do it for the first time with some college guy. Average-sized equipment, thank goodness.”

  A longer pause. A heavier sigh. “I'm lonely, Cat.” I pulled her off the couch and buried my nose in her soft fur. “Vibrators are fine and dandy if all I wanted was a quick orgasm. But, unwinding myself with an orgasm in a couple of minutes is no substitute for spending a quality hour or two with a man.”

  Feeling foolish for my emotional display, I placed Cat on the floor, and resumed my resting position against the couch, eyes closed, turned toward the heat from the window. Cat, being a cat, jumped right back up on the couch and began to scent-mark my shirt. I gave in and placed her on my lap.

  “I miss the intimacy. I miss the little shiver down my spine when hot breath touches that sensitive spot at the nape of my neck.” I reached up and touched the spot under discussion, teasing the fine hairs there, imagining a warm exhalation. A breathy hum escaped my lips; one that might have been a moan had the touch not been imagined.

  Cat meowed and arched her hindquarters up for a scratch. “Hussy,” I scolded with a fond smile as I obligingly tickled my nails over the base of her tail. The motor revved again as she turned and settled on the couch beside my thigh.

  It was obvious she was really getting into this bonding thing, so I confided further. “After we dated for a few months, I accidentally scratched Devon's back one night during sex. He was Lover Number Two, you know.” I paused in my story while I considered the ranking and title for a moment. “Well, he was the second person I had sex with anyway. If you only have sex with someone once, to get rid of a pesky virginity problem, are they really considered a Lover?” I shrugged, why split hairs?

  “For the sake of true confessions, we'll count him as the first, but we won't refer to him as Number One—that would be giving him too much credit.” Yes, that time it DID sound a bit snarky, even to me. “So, after three months with Devon, I had my first and only orgasm—with a man anyway.” Oh, yes, definitely sarcasm. Bitter? Me?

  “I have no idea how it happened, because I had always been so careful, but I dug too hard into his shoulders and I scratched him.” I looked down toward Cat. “I completely understood his anger—it must have stung—but I didn't do it on purpose. Did he take my spontaneous reaction as a compliment? No-oooooh. He threw a hissy fit. Accused me of marking him up to prevent him from being with other women.

  “Honestly, Cat? It never occurred to me, until that precise moment, we weren't exclusive. So, I ended my relationship with Devon. Thirty years old, and I have spent more quality time with Ricky, Buzz and Oh-Henry than I have with a real human.”

  I'm pretty sure I daydreamed there for longer than I realized before I gave myself a mental shake to snap out of it. “Damn! When I get home, I will have to get rid of Ken for half-an-hour so I can get reacquainted with Ricky and friends. Second order of business is to find myself a lover, Cat—I'm past due, don't ya think?” Time to move on with my life.

  My cell phone chirped, startling me so badly I dislodged Cat from beside me on the couch. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun: Janey's ring-tone. “Hey Girlfriend, got your errands done already?”

  “Yeah. It’s one of those days where all the traffic lights were green.” I grinned at her cheerful pleasure in a day which was running smoothly. She continued, “Meet me at the curb. Instead of cooking I'll take us to lunch before we pick up Red from the groomer.”

  “Sounds great! I'll be out front in two minutes. Ciao.” I half-heard her answering goodbye as I disconnected the call. Leaning forward, I swiped my hand across the coffee table to find my sunglasses and placed them on my nose. “Well Cat, it’s been nice chatting with you. I have to tell you, out of all of my friends, you're probably the best listener.” I smiled as I formulated a plan in my brain. “I'll take myself out to dinner tonight for some steak at Spencer's. Maybe I'll chat up the bartender or a sexy waiter.”

  I stood up and headed toward the hallway. “In the meantime, Cat, pull the covers over your head tonight. When Janey gets Ken home, you will not get an ounce of sleep, poor girl.” Pulling on my coat, I caught the faint, teasing scent of sandalwood again. I really needed to ask Janey about the name of the fragrance.

  Chapter Four

  The mysterious fragrance was a special blend Janey concocted at a custom shop in Idaho. The scent didn't have a name; only a recipe on a card under Janey's account—who knew you could have an account at a fragrance store? “I spritzed the cushions a couple weeks ago,” she clearly was pleased and praised my sense of smell. “I'll call the shop in Coeur d'Alene and have them mail me a couple of bottles.”

  Over a light lunch of salad and soup, Janey gave me her detailed plan for Operation Ken. The two of them had already made plans to go to Red Lobster for dinner tonight—which coincidentally worked well with my plans. Smiling, remembering my advice to Cat, I encouraged her to take Ken home and screw his brains out. Further, I didn't expect to see his mindless shell until after noon, tomorrow.

  After assuring me Red's training was sufficient enough to get him into a restaurant with m
e, I talked to her about the G-rated part of my evening plan which consisted of a nice dinner out—me and my faithful canine companion.

  Janey and I picked up a pleasant-smelling, handsomely-groomed Red, and then she dropped us off at my house. I explained my evening's objective to Red who pledged his nose to my cause. He especially liked the part about us going to a steakhouse for dinner. Dogs are so easy to please.

  Ken got Red “dressed” in his harness and I spent a few minutes adjusting to the handle height difference with the extra inches in the shoes I planned to wear. The heels put me over the six-foot mark, so we took a practice walk through the living room. I let Red steer me around furniture and, oddly, was confident in his assurances that imaginary protuberances had not sprung out from the walls to knock me senseless.

  I decided I would go without my cane, since Red and I seemed to do so well. His mental instructions were like a sarcastic monologue in my head. He had me laughing over his silly observations about my heels, the happy smell wafting off Ken (I had to take his word for it), his own joyous thoughts about going out for the night, and the exciting probability of steak take-out.