Of all the girls in my high school, Laurie was my favorite.
She was petite, brunette, athletic, smart, friendly — and utterly unobtainable, at least for me.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like me; she did, at least in a platonic way.
Some background: Due to quirks of birth dates and school calendars, I was by far the youngest kid in my senior class. Most of the others were 17 to 18 when they graduated. I was 16, and even more immature than one might expect even for someone so young.
The girls in my class, Laurie included, were perfectly willing to be “just friends,” but they’d rather be seen on the arm of some scabrous leper than to be seen on a date with me. On those rare occasions when I was fortunate enough to secure a date, it was usually with a sophomore or a freshman.
But then, just a few weeks before graduation, Laurie not only showed a modicum of interest in me, she allowed me to take a few…how shall I put this?…liberties.
The school held an assembly to honor us graduating seniors, and before it began we were hanging out backstage of the assembly hall, goofing around in ways soon-to-be-liberated-from-school teenagers are wont to do.
I was talking sports with a couple of basketball teammates when something in the wings caught my eye — Laurie and one of our classmates, Rex, sitting on the steps chatting. He sat on the next higher step, and she leaned back against one of his legs as they talked.
They clearly weren’t aware that anyone was watching, because Rex eventually sneaked his right hand around Laurie’s side and began fondling her right breast. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she smiled a bit when he did, and they continued talking as he felt her up.
The assembly began a few minutes later, but I made a mental note of what I had seen and resolved to try to duplicate Rex’s second-base score.
I thought I would get my chance on “Senior Sneak Day,” when the powers-that-be “allowed” us to skip school and have one last good time as a group. We packed picnic lunches and went to a local swimming pool.
We swam, we dove, we ate, and in the time-honored tradition of rambunctious teens everywhere, we engaged in plenty of boy-girl horseplay. During some of the horsing around, I pulled Laurie to one side and, with my left arm wrapped around her waist, clumsily started sliding my right hand toward her right breast. She slapped my hand away.
I recoiled. “Hey! You didn’t seem to mind when Rex did it.”
“Things are different now. I just started going steady with Aaron Johnson, and if I let you do that I’d feel like I was cheating.”
She paused for a moment, and a mischievous look came over her face. “Of course, if my hands were tied behind my back there’s no way I could keep you from doing whatever you wanted to do.”
“Are you serious?”
She smiled. “Try me.”
I started looking around for something to bind her with. She frowned. “Not now, dummy. Saturday morning, at my house.”
“What about your parents and your sister?”
“They’re going shopping. Aaron’s supposed to pick me up early in the afternoon. If you get there early enough, we can have a little fun and you can be out of there well before he’s supposed to arrive.”
The next three days crawled by more slowly than I ever imagined days could. The girl of my post-pubescent dreams not only wanted me to play with her boobs, she wanted me to tie her hands!
I mean, what would the odds have been? For more than seven years, every girl in my class had treated me like The Invisible Man. Now here was the one I’d always had a secret crush on, seemingly willing and eager to engage in some surreptitious (and bondage related!) hanky-panky.
So, on Saturday morning, I showed up on Laurie’s doorstep with a hank of thin sash cord in my pocket. “Come on in,” she said, flashing a coy smile.
As soon as I stepped through the door, she turned away and crossed her wrists behind her back. A true gentleman would have asked her if she were sure she really wanted to go through with the experience, and offer to leave if she had misgivings. Fortunately for me, I didn’t become a gentleman until much later in life. I pulled the cord from my pocket and went to work.
I looped the cord around her crossed wrists, wrapped them horizontally and vertically three times each, cinched the wraps with a couple of turns and knotted the tie above the windings, away from her fingers.
“Too tight?” I asked.
“Maybe a little, but it should be OK,” she said. “Now here are the rules: You can unbutton the top two buttons on my blouse, but don’t put your hands inside my bra. Don’t touch below my waist, and if you try to kiss me I’ll kick your nuts into next Tuesday.”
Well, that was clear enough! I promised to play nicely.
I sat on the living-room sofa and asked her to sit on the floor with her back to me. Reaching around her, I undid the top two buttons on her yellow cotton blouse and, peering over her right shoulder, took in the view.
Laurie’s breasts weren’t overly large, but they stretched the fabric of her bra quite nicely. I rubbed her neck and shoulders for a few moments and she leaned her head back against my thigh. As my right hand slid over her collarbone and moved slowly downward, she twisted her bound hands — first to one side and then to the other. As cheerleader-flexible as she was, she couldn’t get her hands more than halfway around her torso.
“See? There’s nothing I can do to stop you now,” she said, smiling.
The Lycra of her bra felt silky-smooth as I gently massaged her breasts. Her breaths came slow and deep, and as I explored her luscious topography I felt her nipples harden.
We sat there, making small talk as my hands roamed her chest, for — gosh — I have no idea how long. Certainly more than a half hour, but probably less than an hour. At some point she said her fingers had begun to tingle, so I released her and helped massage the rope marks from her wrists.
“That was fun,” she said, smiling and buttoning her blouse. She hugged me — a platonic hug, but one that pressed her firm, pert mammaries firmly against my chest — and walked me toward the door.
“Not a word to anyone about this, OK?” she pleaded.
“No one would believe me anyway,” I replied, grinning. “Have fun on your date with Aaron.”
We graduated a week later. I spent the summer working and then headed off to college. I never saw Laurie again. She ended up marrying Aaron, and as far as I know they’re married still.
To this day I don’t know quite what to make of that long-ago rope-and-grope encounter. Maybe it was just a lark on her part. Perhaps it was simply a sympathetic favor for her young, immature, socially awkward classmate and friend. It might even have been a little of both.
Whatever it was, it had an effect.
Thereafter, when I dated girls in college, I was considerably less shy than I had been. I realized that women harbored the same yearnings as men — for physical contact and, yes, even for bondage. It was a lesson that served me well through those exploratory years, and I savor the memories of those times as one would savor sips of fine wine.