My First Day of Freedom

My life changed forever on an unseasonably warm day in May, at the bank of all places. At 26 years old I was opening my first ever bank account. I know how that sounds, and you'd be right to assume this is cause for some alarm.

I grew up in a tiny town in Nebraska with a father that wanted three sons and got one daughter and a mother who drank to escape the boredom and loneliness closing in on her. She'd sometimes leave my father and often took me with her, but as soon as we ran out of money or into trouble we'd go home and they'd briefly make up. On my 18th birthday I left without saying goodbye, moving in with a friend's older sister in Omaha, who'd gotten me a job bussing tables at a hotel restaurant.

In my first week I met a charming businessman who flirted with me shamelessly. He was in town on business and said he'd like to see me again. The next time he was in town he took me out for dinner, and I lost my virginity to him in his hotel room. We saw each other several more times, and he asked me to come to New York to see him. New York was unimaginably spectacular to me, and while there he asked me to marry him. Less than a year later we were married. I was 19, he was 27.

Everything about my life in New York was incredible to me at the time. He said it was common for wives not to work and wanted me to stay home. I wanted to go to college but he said there was no point. I was disappointed, but the life I was living was beyond anything I could have imagined.

Things were great for a few years, but I genuinely wanted to have at least one thing I could do for myself and be proud of. I made suggestions all the time to my husband of things I could get involved with or study, but he always turned them down. Finally when he was in a good mood I suggested I could become a yoga instructor and he said yes, I was absolutely thrilled.

I became a yoga instructor and started teaching at a women's gym (at my husband's insistence) and volunteered teaching at a women's refugee centre. For a few years I was very content, my relationship admittedly had become more stifling and less fun, but I finally had something I enjoyed.

Everything changed when a new yoga instructor started. Her name was Anna and she was a lesbian from Michigan, and she was the exact opposite of the women I usually hung out with: she was "exceptionally liberal" by her own admission, cared passionately about the environment and female orgasms, and only washed her hair once a week.

I suspected my husband wouldn't approve of me spending time with her, but I was also starting to realize his control over who I spent time with wasn't exactly normal, so for the first time I started lying to him about where I was when I hung out with her and her girlfriend, Jol. Jol was from Nigeria, she was getting her PhD in art history and I found her absolutely enchanting. She'd been engaged at a young age, but her aunt had helped her move to America.

I was fascinated by them, and they were always shocked at the things I didn't know, and more than happy to teach me. Like when I admitted after a few drinks that I had never owned any sex toys, Anna had practically screamed at the bartender for our bill and dragged us out to the nearest sex shop.

I became much more aware of the world around me, how important sustainability was, women's rights, buying local and organic foods. We started going to and then even organizing climate change strikes or demonstrations about plastic in our oceans.

I thought my husband would be annoyed but the truth was he was paying less and less attention to me, and I was beginning to suspect he was seeing someone else. What surprised me even more was that I didn't care, not even a little. In fact we had a pretty good system, I made sure all the chores were done and showed up looking sexy to company events or networking dinners and he didn't care how else I spent my time.

I never talked much about my relationship with my friends, and they didn't push the matter much. Some things came to light, however, one afternoon in a coffee shop when I told them our seven year anniversary was coming up. They looked at each other and Anna asked, "Wait, aren't you only 26?" I nodded, realizing my mistake. When I'd first moved to the city my husband told me if anyone asked to say I was 23 and I'd been fine with that at the time, but no one in his circle had asked in a while so I'd forgotten about the lie.

They started asking about our relationship, surprised we'd married so young. I knew things weren't great between us, but he was the only man I'd been with and a lot of things I thought were normal, like him making me change if he didn't like the outfit I wore or freezing my credit card when he was mad at me. Jol tried to be helpful but Anna was horrified, insisting I was in an abusive relationship. This I was shocked to hear, my mother was in an abusive relationship and I was nothing like her, I assured them.

"There is more than one type of abuse, Lucy," Jol said and Anna nodded in agreement.

"Tell us this: do you have your own bank account?" Anna asked, genuine concern on her face.

"I... well we have a shared account. But it's under his name." Anna and Jol looked at each other and Anna finally said, "Look, it's your life, we won't tell you what to do, but please just do this one thing for me, open a bank account, tomorrow. Tell Jess to start depositing some of your paycheck into the new account. Tell your husband you're teaching fewer classes if he asks. Ok?" I nodded meekly. She got up to pay the tab and Jol took my hand, looking me right in the eyes.

"I'm from a small town too, Lucy. I know what it's like to want to escape so badly that anything is better than staying there. But the life you are living is not your only option, trust me."

I thought this all through as I went home and decided two things: I was going to go open my bank account, and I was going to look however the fuck I wanted when I did it. My husband was out of town as he often was so I had the perfect opportunity. I went to my favorite vintage shop and bought a pale yellow romper covered in different colored flowers.

On my way home I passed by a pharmacy and a stand of nail polish caught my eye. My husband hated bright colors and insisted I wear dark or desaturated colors. I'd convinced myself I preferred this too, but a bright almost fire-engine red polish was just calling to me, so I bought it gleefully.

The next day I had early yoga classes, then came home and got ready. I wore a new romper, which was flowey and short on the bottom and buttoned up the front on the top half, cinched at the waist with a vintage leather belt, and strappy heels. I admired myself in the mirror, I looked amazing, and my husband would NEVER let me leave the condo wearing something this short or this bright. I loved it.

At the bank I tried to ignore people staring at me, but actually I liked it. I enjoyed thinking about what they thought of me, a young, independent woman in control of her destiny. Finally! My thoughts were interrupted by an exceptionally loud noise, followed by screams. Someone had fired a gun, it sounded like, and suddenly someone was shouting, "Everyone down on the floor!" I looked around confused but a middle-ages man near me grabbed me and pushed me down onto the floor, lying down next to me.

This was a robbery, I assumed. I was terrified but it would be over soon I hoped. But we'd been on the floor for what seemed like nearly half an hour and nothing had happened except all the windows and doors had been locked down. The men in charge were wearing all black and had on those masks that cover everything but your eyes and mouth. Finally they told us that they'd be moving us upstairs, and to get into a line. There were about 15 of us, and we were led into a large boardroom and sat down along the outside wall.

I was terrified, my breath coming in quick, ragged gasps and my pulse pounding in my ears. Surely this was a sign, I was being punished for even thinking about leaving my husband. I shook my head to rid myself of the thought, and noticed one of the men in masks staring at me. The men were coming around to tie everyone's hands with zipties and blindfold them with a strip of black fabric.

One of them got a call and left the room, leaving only the man who'd been staring at me. I realized I was the last person left who hadn't been tied and blindfolded, I was next. But instead of coming over to me he first put his hands on the boardroom table and leaned over it for a few seconds, like he was catching his breath. He scratched at the back of his neck and then pulled the mask off entirely, tucking it into his back pocket.

I could just see his profile, he was tall-ish with black curly hair, some of which was stuck to the sweat on his forehead. He turned to look at me and I met his gaze. He was sexy in a rugged sort of way, more like the seasonal migrant workers back home than the slick, clean-shaven white men I knew. He had dark skin and a black beard to match his jet-black curly hair. I jumped slightly as he started to walk towards me, shifting uncomfortably as he stood over me and looked down, studying me.

Finally he put out a hand and made a "get up" gesture. I took his hand and he pulled me roughly to my feet, making me gasp. Again he stared at me, and I felt myself blush. It wasn't a leer exactly, more like a mixture between curiosity and lust that was making me both uncomfortable and very intrigued. Was he going to do something or just keep gawking at me?

To break the tension I put my hands up in front of me so he could bind my wrists like the others, trying to avoid looking into his eyes. He took a ziptie out of his pocket and bound my wrists, watching my face the whole time. His eyes moved down, not to my body but my hands, which were balled into fists, and he gently pried my index and middle finger free and looked at the bright red nails.

"Nice color. Suits you." His voice, which I'd somehow imagined to be deep and gruff, was smooth and sexy, with a hint of an accent that could have been middle eastern maybe but I wasn't sure. I was surprised by his remark, and stared into his face. I suddenly thought about his hands on my body and shivered, feeling my face grow hot with embarrassment at the fantasy.

Quickly but gently he pulled my hands up and dipped his head down, putting my two fingers into his mouth and sucked on them. I gasped, more surprised than anything, but didn't pull away. His tongue massaged the pads of my fingers, and more than anything I was shocked at how good it felt. It's the type of thing if I'd seen in a movie I'd think "Yea right, no one actually does that, also that's just gross." But for whatever reason this was incredibly arousing to me, and I didn't want it to stop. But he gave my fingers a gentle nibble before letting go and straightening up to look at my face again. I could feel myself shaking, my lower lip was trembling uncontrollably.

He took a strip of fabric out of his pocket and tied it around my eyes. Suddenly I realized I didn't want this to end, I wanted him to touch me more, so I took two awkward steps forward and pressed my body against his, my head pressed against his chest and my hips touching his, my hands pinned between us. He hesitated for a second, and then wrapped one arm around my waist and with the other hand grabbed the back of my exposed thigh.

What the hell was I doing? I'm just scared probably, it's making me do crazy things, think wild thoughts in the face of possible death or... whatever. I had to stifle a moan as his hand moved up my leg inside the flowey leg of my romper and grabbed my ass cheek aggressively. I was keenly aware that there were other people in the room with us, even though they couldn't see what was happening, but for some reason this kind of turned me on, made our closeness even more bizarre and forbidden.

Suddenly we both heard a noise, he pulled away and I was left standing alone, somehow desperately missing his hands on me. I heard the door open and then close, wondering if he'd left until I felt his hands on my waist again. I felt so vulnerable, not being able to see, not knowing where he's going to touch me.

He squeezed my waist and then suddenly I felt his lips on my neck, just below my ear. He flicks his tongue over the spot he'd kissed me, then kisses the spot again. I don't know why but it's almost unbearably arousing. I want him. Thinking the words in my head scares me, and thrills me. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, "You're lovely. Just stunning."

I opened my mouth to say something back, tell him how much I wanted him, but before I could he gently took my arms and pushed me down so I'm sitting on the floor where I was before and then he'd gone.

I spent the next half hour having increasingly graphic fantasies about this stranger. Why had these small gestures been so appealing to me? I had never been unfaithful to my husband, but I had certainly thought about it, especially as he did little to hide his infidelity. In fact by now I was convinced he didn't care at all if I found out, or even wanted me to as some kind of power play. So why should I be ashamed to be thinking dirty thoughts about someone?

Other people in the room started to whisper to each other. Why was this taking so long? What was going to happen to us? Was this a hostage situation? I was too preoccupied by this sexy stranger to care what happened to me, as crazy as that sounds. We all fell silent as we heard the door open and close.

I felt a hand on my arm and gasped but a voice quickly said, "It's ok, it's me." I was relieved but immediately nervous about what would happen next.

"Things are... taking longer than we thought. Do you have to use the bathroom?" I realized that I did and nodded. He gently took both my arms and picked me up to set me on my feet, then guided me out the door. Still blindfolded I was relying on him completely and not upset by it, in fact it's pretty sexy.

We went down a hallway and through a door and he gently tugged the blindfold down so it rested around my neck. I blinked for a few seconds while my eyes adjusted, then stared at this stranger again. He's beyond appealing to me at this point, I wanted something to happen but he gestured towards the bathroom stall and I remembered where we were. I took two steps towards the door and realized this wasn't going to work with my hands tied and what I was wearing.

"I... this is a romper." I say nervously, immediately aware that this is probably useless information for him.

"A what?" He responded gruffly.

"I mean, the bottom is shorts actually, not a skirt, so... well I won't be able to use the washroom unless the whole thing comes off." I started to blush furiously by the end of my silly explanation, it sounded like a cheesy come-on. But he seemed to get what I'm saying and walked towards me. I gasped and pulled away when he pulled a small folding knife out of his pocket but he gestured towards my hands and I understood, holding out my wrists so he could cut the ziptie.

We stared at each other for a few seconds and then slowly I unbuckled my belt and handed it to him. Next I unbuttoned the top buttons and slowly pushed the romper down stepping out of it as daintily as I could and handing it to him. We both knew there was absolutely no reason why I couldn't just pull it down in the stall, but something about my display was so... delightfully inappropriate.

I was immeasurably turned on stripping down in front of him, and I could tell by the almost ravenous way he was looking at me he felt the same. I turned and walked towards the stall, relieving myself and catching my breath at the same time.

When I came out I went to the sink and took care to bend slightly at the waist while I took my time washing my hands, happy to watch him in the mirror as he shamelessly admired my round ass and lean legs. I realized suddenly I was wearing a lovely matching bra and thong set my husband had bought me for our last anniversary. I wanted to feel guilty about this but instead I was thrilled. Here I was putting on a naughty show for a complete stranger wearing the lingerie my husband had bought me. The thought made me grin devilishly.

I took my time drying my hands, then finally turned to him. I reached for my clothes but he handed me only my belt, then knelt down on the floor in front of me, holding the legs of the romper open so I could step in. He slowly pulled them up my legs, at one point gently kissing my thigh. His beard tickled more than I expected and I let out a giggle, then clamped my hand on my mouth, hoping I hadn't discouraged him. I hadn't.

I reached out gingerly and ran my fingers through his dark curls, which were somehow thick but incredibly soft. As he continued up my body he kissed me again on my stomach, just to the left of my belly button, then on my right collar bone, then on my neck again, the exact same spot as before. As he did up the button I shifted towards him, putting a hand on his waist and feeling his hard body under his shirt. I wanted him so badly, I was shaking from a mixture of fear and barely controlled arousal. But I couldn't bring myself to make a move, I hadn't done anything wrong, not yet.

His voice startled me out of my indecisive thoughts. "Guess you picked a bad day to cash a check," He said lightly. I smiled, then realized he was wrong, I had picked the perfect day. Truth be told this was the most action I'd had in months, and my brief interactions with this man had opened up a passion I didn't even know I had, made me feel things I'd never felt with my husband, even at the beginning.

"Maybe," I said in my sexiest voice, and then, looking him directly in the eyes, "Maybe not."

He smiled, showing beautiful white teeth which contrasted marvelously with his dark features.

Suddenly I had an urge to tell him the truth, to finally say it out loud to someone, even if I never saw him again. "I'm not cashing a check, I'm opening a bank account. So I can leave my husband."

He studied me for a few seconds, then finished clasping my belt and took another ziptie out of his pocket and bound my wrists again. I winced as he pulled it tight, he noticed and asked, "Did I hurt you?"

"No." I didn't want this conversation, short though it was, to end any time soon so I said, "It's just all these zipties, they're just going to end up in our oceans. You should really find a more sustainable solution for your next heist." He laughed at this, and I started to giggle too. His laugh sounded like music, and I wanted to hear again.

"I keep telling them that."

"Yea?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Mmmhmm. But there really aren't that many companies that specialize in eco-friendly crime accessories."

I laughed loudly at this, surprised by my own outburst, he was too. We heard voices in the hall then and he quickly put my blindfold back on, waiting for the voices to pass. When they did he opened the door and started to guide me down the hall.

A few steps in I felt his grip tighten on his arm and he said something I didn't understand under his breath. A low whistle coming from the other end of the hall made me jump, leaning towards my captor instinctively.

A voice that sounded like it was coming towards us said, "That's a hot little piece, wouldn't mind taking her for a ride."

The curly haired man didn't say anything but held my arm even tighter. I struggled to catch my breath, panic building and as the steps came closer.

The new voice was so close I jumped, "Come on then, let me have a go at her, I'll have her back in no time." Suddenly a rough hand was on my other arm, pulling me away and I let out a shriek, I was on the floor before I realized what was happening and there are noises above me that sound like fighting, grunts and smacking sounds.