Double Blind Date

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

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All of my writing is fiction, and the stories and characters are all products of my imagination. They were created for my fun and, hopefully, your enjoyment. Some of the events in the stories are not particularly condoned nor encouraged by the author but are there to create and enhance the story of the imaginary characters and their lives. Comments are always encouraged and carefully reviewed. All characters within the story that need to be are 18 years of age or older. I hope you enjoy it! And take a second to vote and comment.

I had no idea why Brock Benedict asked me for a date.

I'm Springer Mitchell, and no Brock Benedicts, Sam Smiths, or whoever asked me for dates. My best friend, Nicole, kept telling me I had to get used to the way I looked now, so different from high school, and guys would be hitting on me. Hitting on me? It was a concept, like Einstein's theory, that I couldn't fully grasp. I suppose she's right, but I'm not used to it yet, even with Brock asking me out.

My parents were rock-solid midwesterners, so conservative they could have posed for that picture of the man with the pitchfork standing with his wife. That had caused a few problems in my young life. In high school, all the girls had long hair and ponytails. My hair was short and curly because it looked "nice." My mid-calf length skirts contrasted with the skirts other girls wore, none below their knees. Again, because I looked "nice," not "slutty" like those other girls. Consequently, I wasn't the most popular girl in high school.

I had graduated from both high school and college on schedule and, at age twenty-five, was happily ensconced as a design engineer at a local manufacturing company. I had my own apartment, much to my mother's horror as she was dreading to hear that I had been raped and left for dead. I bought my own clothes, looking like a "tramp" in Mother's opinion, but at least I matched my contemporaries.

All of the history gathered in my mind caused me to wonder why Brock, who could have been a cover-boy on any surfing magazine, had asked me for the date. But he had, and I had accepted, questioning myself about the decision ... but we were headed to dinner.

I had worked hard to make myself "Brockishly acceptable," short skirt, snug blouse, heels to tone my legs a bit. I hadn't had time to lose the five pounds, maybe eight, that would have made me more appealing. For once, the mirror and I hadn't argued — I was satisfied with how I looked.

Dinner was fine, and afterward, I found what Brock had planned for the rest of the evening. He drove to a very deserted spot on a small road that was so out-of-the-way and secluded he had to have been there before. You'd never find it by accident. He tried to kiss me, and I resisted as best I could, not quite ready for kissing after two hours of dating. I'm not very big, and he was. Never-the-less, I was able to fend him off.

"Come on, Springer. Why the hell are you fighting me? We might as well have a little fun," Brock said, still struggling to get hold of my lips.

Even though I wanted to, I wasn't going to ask him what "fun" was to him. Probably very different from what I was thinking.; Then, he got right to the point.

"Don't play hard to get, Springer. You know you want to fuck me, like all the other girls at work."

Before I even thought about it, I slapped him across the face as hard as I could. His expression told me he wasn't used to that — neither was I. Then his eyes narrowed, and I began to tremble. I needed to strike somehow before he did.

"You touch me one more time, and I'm going straight to HR, Brock."

"This is outside the company, Springer, in case you haven't noticed." His look was smug and confident.

I curled my upper lip defiantly. "Might be, but you asked me for the date on company time. Plus, when I tell the WHOLE story, you get that, the WHOLE story, I think they'll listen carefully."

His expression was changing.

"You wouldn't fucking lie, would you?"

"You wouldn't fucking ask me for a date just so you could have sex with me, would you?"

He didn't verbalize that was why, but his face was saying it very clearly.

"Why don't you just take me home before you get in more trouble?" To show him I was serious, I climbed out the front door and into the back seat, seriously happy that he didn't 't drive away when I was out of the car.

He started the car and pulled away. I could see him checking on me in the rearview mirror.

"So, you're not going to say anything to HR then? I don't need any hassle."

"I'm not home yet."

"You're a bitch, Springer."

That's exactly what I was hoping I was at that moment. I grabbed the phone out of my purse and took a quick snapshot of where he had taken me.

"Evidence," I said with a giggle. "So, you don't think I should report this?"

"Listen, I apologize. I guess I just misread you."

I wasn't sure he sounded very sincere, but he was working hard to save his butt. Misread me, the poor, lonely, virgin female engineer. If he'd known that, I wonder what he'd have done?

"Well, lucky me. I got a free dinner." And, nothing about my body or my chastity had been disturbed.

No more conversation until he dropped me off at my place, not offering to walk me to the door. Just as he didn't need the hassle of being reported, neither did I, so he was safe for now.

.

Three weeks had passed since my debacle with Brock. Other than a couple of awkward meetings in the break room, I managed to avoid him, although, on one of those chance encounters, I had to watch him hit on a fresh face from the accounting department. She was all smiles. It was difficult to refrain from having a little chat with her - for her own good.

Of course, I had shared my Brock-woes with Nicole, who told me not to worry; she had a plan. We'd been friends since junior high school, but sometimes she worried me, acting like she was my surrogate mother, her good-hearted efforts not always turning out well. She had revealed her plan. My brain was urging me to tell her to ditch it, but something made me relent and go along, at least as a trial.

I had stopped by my old homestead for a quick visit that would include a grilling by Mom about my life without her supervision.

"Honey, how's the job going?" Mom was organized in her probing, moving from phase to phase of my life.

"Great, Mom. And the people I work with are super helpful." Phase one.

"Everything good at the apartment? I can't imagine you living alone." Interpret that as "I can't believe you're not dead yet."

"I'm loving it. I can do what I want and not have to worry." That was a little poke at her and Dad, who had pretty well controlled everything I did and every move I made when I lived with them, and I think she missed it. Anyway, phase two.

"Are you making enough money to get by okay? I worry about that." Dad had worked for a hardware store all his life, and Mom had stayed at home. His pride would never have let her work, which was fine with her as all she ever wanted was to raise me and take care of the house and him. Consequently, there was never an overabundance of money at our house, and Mother was careful about how she spent it.

"Yeah, I get along fine — no money problems at all." I didn't mention that the frugality that had been drummed into me all my life was still in effect and I had a good chunk of money stashed away in a savings account that earned pitifully little interest. Phase three.

Phase four was looming ahead.

"So, do you have a boyfriend yet? You are twenty-five, and your father and I want to be grandparents someday."

Not subtle at all, it was the standard question I'd heard many times, the only variation being the age she inserted. But did I want to tell her what was going to happen today? Nicole's plan. If I didn't, I'd hear about it later as she inevitably discovered every personal detail of my life.

"No boyfriend yet, but ... Nicole has arranged a ..." I paused and took a deep breath. "... blind date for me tonight."

"Oh, Springer, honey. You're not going to do it, are you?" she asked, an astonished look on her face.

"Why not, Mom?"

"Who knows what, whoever the boy is, might be like? He could be dangerous or, or something even worse." The look on her face was a combination of disbelief and fear. And she didn't even know about Brock.

"Do you think Nicole would fix me up with someone like that? Plus, I think it's a man and not a boy."

"I would hope not." Sometimes logic worked with her. "What do you know about him?"

"His name is Wilhelm."

"Is that all you know?" Sometimes she was unable to comprehend how the modern-day world functioned.

"I'll know more after the date and will let you know too. I probably won't be ready to marry him and have your grandchildren by tomorrow, though." I couldn't restrain the giggle at my sarcastic cleverness.

"Springer, don't be a smart alec with me," she scolded, very stern-faced now.

"Sorry, mom. But I'm looking forward to meeting Wilhelm. We'll see what happens."

A little more conversation, and I was headed home to make myself gorgeous, or at least presentable for my first ever blind date. I had been in the apartment for about five minutes when my cell phone rang. A number I didn't recognize.

"Hello," I said cautiously.

"Hello. Is this Springer?" asked a very fuzzy voice, slurring the words.

I almost hung up but hesitated. "Yes, it is."

"This is Willhelm."

Holy shit, my blind date was drunk, and it was still afternoon.

"Are you, um, okay?" A reasonable question under the circumstances.

"Not exactly. I fell off a ladder this morning ... broke my stupid leg. Just got back from re ... um, re ..." he stuttered awkwardly.

"Recovery?" I suggested.

"Yeah, that's it." More slurring. "So, can't go on the date."

"Hey, that's not a problem. I just hope you're okay." I was disappointed, but a broken leg.

"Thanks, and I will be soon, I guess. But, about the date, I've got it covered."

"Wait, what?" Covered? What did that mean?

"My friend, Zack, would love to take my place."

So, my friend Nicole arranges a blind date with Willhelm, who arranges a blind date with Zack? Sounds about as far fetched as anything could get. Wilhelm had worked fast, particularly for a guy with a broken leg who could barely talk.

"I appreciate that, Willhelm, but I don't know." This was beginning to sound weird.

"Please," he pleaded fuzzily. "I was looking forward to it, and I bet you've already started getting ready."

He had me there. Hell, a blind date is a blind date. Zack instead of Wilhelm? Why not?

"If you're sure, okay."

"Great." He laughed groggily. "Zack is home getting ready. Thanks for being a good sport."

Good sport? Is that what I was for doing this? I wished Willhelm a speedy recovery again and hung up. Zack sounded like a confident sort, already home getting ready. And, just because my date guy had changed didn't mean my preparations would change. My phone buzzed—a text message.

<< This is Zack. Thanks. How about dinner and a movie?

Wow, that was quick. I replied equally quickly.

<< Ok. How should I dress for dinner?

I dreaded changing clothes but would if I had to, I guess.

<< However you're dressed right now will be perfect. We'll make it work. 30 minutes?

Thank goodness I wasn't still in bra and panties. I had to smile at that thought.

<< I'll be ready.

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it and found myself looking at someone just below where their shirt pocket would generally be. I laid my head back and looked up.

"How tall are you?" was my immediate question.

He laughed. "Six-nine, and I'm Zack."

"Come in, and watch your head."

"Used to that," he replied, ducking slightly as he came in.

Then he was looking at me, really looking at me.

"I need to thank Will again when I get a chance. You're way beyond what I was expecting for this blind date."

I think I blushed a little, but he was off to a good start, and I hoped he wasn't just full of bullshit. I had to smile. His voice sounded like it should be in the bass section of the Soviet Army Chorus. Its rumble seemed to echo through the apartment when he spoke, and I wondered if the walls were shaking.

"You look great," he added, stepping back and checking me from top to bottom. Then he laughed. "How tall are you?"

"I'm not saying. You may bug out if you knew."

"No way that's going to happen," he assured me. "Plus, I can see you, you know. I'd say, five-three."

I wasn't going to deny five-three. With the little heels I was wearing, I may have hit five-four. Still, he was a foot and a half taller than I was. A fascinating pair we were going to be for the evening.

"So, do you have an eating preference?" he asked pleasantly.

"You're in charge," I countered, not wanting to make the decision.

I was surprised at the icy look that came across his face, then faded to a big smile. That was odd and, I guess, unnerved me a tiny bit. It quickly passed.

"I came in at the tail end of this. You're at least one of the originals, so you should decide."

The look I was getting from him told me I'd better decide, almost an "if I knew what was good for me" look. It was puzzling, conflicting with the other looks I had gotten from him and what he was saying. If he wanted me to decide, I could do that. If I was deciding, I hoped he had more money than I was used to spending on a dinner.

"How about the Iron Chef," I suggested.

A puzzled look. "What's that. Don't think I'm familiar with it,"

"Japanese Steakhouse kind of thing. Fire, tossing spatulas, onion volcanos, things like that." I laughed. "Plus good food, cooked on the hot plate right in front of you."

"Ah, been to places like that. Sounds perfect. They can be lots of fun." He was back to genial Zack.

We left the apartment, Zack watching as I carefully locked the door, then went downstairs and outside. He took my arm and led me around the end of the building to ... holy shit; I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

"Wow," I said in amazement. "That's beautiful. Is it yours?" I felt silly asking that since he was leading me right toward the beautiful blue convertible with the Lexus logo on the front.

"Yeah, Dad got it for me for my birthday this year. I love it."

"Does it have a name, not that it'll mean anything to me?"

"It's a 2021 LC convertible, Inspiration Series. Some of these names are pretty corny. This one only comes in this color, which isn't my favorite, but Dad said it was some kind of a limited edition, and they only produced it in this special blue."

Everything he'd said so far I had translated into "lots of money."

He opened the door and helped me get in, not easy without exposing myself a little, sliding into the beautiful white bucket seats, leather, of course, the unique aroma reminding me of a leather shop we had browsed on vacation one year.

When Zack climbed in on his side, I almost had to turn around in my seat to see him, his seat being as far back as possible, his knees still barely fitting under the steering wheel.

"Let me warn you," he began. You'll be hearing lots of, well, stupid questions tonight. 'How's the air up there? Who do you play basketball for? Do you have trouble with doorways?' I just laugh and keep moving."

With me only barely taller than his waist, I was sure there'd be more questions.

Perceptively he said, "With the difference in our heights, we'll get strange looks. Sorry about that."

"We could stop at the Dollar Store and check for stilts." I giggled at that.

"Or, I could call you Tiny Tim and sit you on my shoulder." More than a chuckle from him on that one as I tried to picture myself perched daintily on his shoulder.

I was short, but anything but tiny. 'Squishy' was the description one of my less-than-diplomatic prior dates had given me. Let's just say I'm not skinny, nor tiny ... and not fat either, in all fairness. Just short, ugh. I was content to leave it at that.

I directed Zack to the Iron Chef in Pickerington, where my parents lived and had lived since long before it had two high schools. I'd lived there too, all my life until I'd gotten my apartment. Going to the Iron Chef, I wondered if any of my high school friends would see me in the fantastic car we were arriving in and with the giant blind date who was escorting me to the door.

We were quickly seated at a table along with a large family, the big steel plate in the center ready to cook our dinner. Lending authenticity to the whole thing, our cook was Asian and amazed us all with his juggling of the cooking utensils. Lots more fire and other gimmicks kept us entertained while the grill heated. Wonton soup, a salad, and then the cooked things, fried rice, vegetables, shrimp, and steak, all delicious, and both of us were feeling stuffed. We waddled out and fell into the car.

"Movie?" He asked simply.

I pointed, and he followed my finger, picking out the movie plex at the end of the mall.

"Lots of choices," I suggested.

As he started the car, my curiosity got the best of me. "So, what does your father do for a living?"

"You mean that he can give me a car like this for my birthday?"

Zack seemed to be very adept at almost reading my mind.

"Well, that too," l said, trying to recover.

Zack laughed, thank goodness.

"He's a lawyer by trade and has a large practice. Years ago, he got involved with a developer, and he owns buildings and property everywhere now. So, he's got the big bucks, I guess. That, and a new wife."

I think my puzzled expression caused him to continue.

"My mom left a few years ago, and Dad waited a while and then started dating. Finally remarried a few months ago."

I was curious about the reason for this suddenly erupting into our conversation. But I guessed I should play along.

"I don't want to pry but are you good with that? A new mom?"

"Reasonable question," he answered. "How old are you, if you don't mind?"

"Twenty-five."

"So's she." He shook his head. "I'm twenty-three, and my mom is two years older than I am." A barrel laugh filled the car. "Hell of a looker, though. A trophy wife if there ever was one. We don't see each other a lot but get along fine." The grin that filled his face as he said that made me suspicious, but I dismissed it as the left-over puritan side of me coming out.

Lots of wise-cracks filled my mind too, but I was able to stifle them. I'm sure Zack sensed it as he kept looking at me and grinning.

The movie was anticlimactic after Zack's revelation ... actually revelations. When he took me home, he walked me to my apartment door and looked at me rather longingly, I thought. I wasn't sure I wanted a good night kiss, but his huge hand went behind my head and pulled my lips to his, not giving me much choice. His kiss was much more aggressive than I'd have liked but was over quickly. He bade me good night, said he'd call, and he left.

I pondered my reaction to Zack and compared it to Brock's with no satisfactory conclusion.

I'd never had a friend who was wealthy, let alone a boyfriend ... well, make that a blind date rather than a boyfriend. In my apartment, I looked up the car online. I could only stare at the screen. Beginning at $119,800, it said. It was just a number, but one I couldn't comprehend. I thought I was splurging when I bought my Honda Fit, starting at $16,190. Not quite a factor of ten, but, depending on his options, it could be.

He'd seemed nice, and it was fun if a little distracting to be looked at like I had been, we were, everywhere we went. I wasn't used to being looked at, particularly the way some of the guys looked at me when I was with Zack. It made me shiver a little since I knew they were ... well ... picturing us doing the deed and how awkward that might be with the height difference. I was disgusted at myself for thinking such things — I hadn't done that before. But, having my apartment, my computer, and the internet, I had forced myself to watch a few things so that I, well, might have some idea of ... Enough. It almost irritated me to see the changes that had taken place, were taking place in my life, even if they were only getting me to a place where most of my friends had arrived long ago.