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I was bizarre when I matriculated, bizarre all through
college, and bizarre when I moved to the city. When people asked
my age I gave it in days and then laughed. Out loud. For like a
minute. I glared at questions like 'How are you?' or 'How do you
like Chicago?' I mean, what can such questions possibly mean?
What's so polite about demanding an answer to a question with no
logically coherent content?

You see what I mean. I was especially weird, even among
weird people as a class, in that I knew what I was and was
content with my fate. I mean, think of the alternative. So after
some bad years during my teens I came to accept and even be proud
of my role. But there was one side of the weirdness schtick that
I knew I would lose patience with and one day I did.

See, I was a virgin. I'm not shy exactly, but when I get
alone with a girl, even another techie, I just get weirder and
more wound up than ever. But as I said, I'm not shy, and the time
had come, so I made a plan. It was a little weird, of course, and
I wasn't sure how many women I'd have to ask to find one to agree
to it. I was willing to ask twenty if I had to, but not fifty. So
I looked for a woman I could use to probe the normal distribution
curve - somebody perfectly average in every way. I settled on a
customer service rep named Maxie. She laughed at stupid jokes.
She asked people how they were. She dressed out of the ads in the
first few pages of the newspaper. She was perfect.

I laid the whole thing out for her man-to-man, so to speak.
I said I thought the whole courtship fandango was phony through
and through. People wasted whole evenings racking their brains to
avoid talking about the one subject on their minds. Maybe there
was a reason for that, but it wasn't my way. I told Maxie my
problem, and I said if she could help me with it I'd do anything
she wanted. I said for example I'd heard that women liked a lot
of foreplay and didn't always get enough. I told her that
wouldn't be a problem here. She wanted sixty full minutes of
foreplay, no problem. She'd wanted to get licked all over, that'd
be fine. That was point one. Point two: I would remember her
forever. There's a small but real chance that I might be famous
someday. If I were, there would be one famous person at least who
would always return her phone calls.

To my surprise Maxie just asked me to keep my voice down
and then agreed, right off. She told me to give her a week to set
a few things up and then come to her apartment - she named a day
- early, at around seven.

I won't bore you with flowery metaphors about my state of
anticipation, which built steadily over the week, except to say
that on the morning of the day Maxie had named I was so excited I
ejaculated when I leaned against the sink to brush my teeth. I
managed to get through work and went straight to her apartment.

When I walked in the door Maxie was wearing casual evening
clothes, which was a little disappointing - I'd been hoping for
one of those lace and fishnet numbers - but she gave me a kiss
like nothing I had ever even imagined. "I had no idea the
auricle was so physiologically responsive," I said. Maxie just
smiled, handed me a bathrobe, and told me to get undressed and
take a shower. "Wash all over," she said mysteriously. What could
she have meant by that? While I was soaping myself in the shower
I ejaculated again.

When I came out I saw she had a ton of food ready. It
looked like she'd been cooking all week; maybe she had. We
wouldn't have to go out for a week! There were two tables, side
by side. (The two of them together nearly filled her apartment.
Probably she'd rented one for this evening.) One rectangular,
crammed with dishes, including what looked like a dinner setting
for about eight people, and a circular table that was empty,
except for what looked like a circular pad lying on its surface.

Maxie asked me to lie down on the circular table on my
back. I did, and to my surprise she started buckling strap
bracelets with D-rings on my wrists and ankles. "What's this?" I
said.

"This is part of it," she said ambiguously. It is? Part of
what? I knew I'd never read about this in Playboy.

Maxie then pulled straps up from under the table and ran
them through the D-rings, so I was spread-eagled. This may sound
absurd, but I was more curious than apprehensive. Maxie was so
matter-of-fact, as though this was something everybody did, and
I'd just been out of the room when the subject came up. Which was
possible, God knows. Besides, I'd given my word in the cafeteria.
What was going to happen was going to happen. Then Maxie pulled a
blindfold down over my face.

"Maxie?"

"I'm right here, sweetheart."

"What is this?"

"It's just part of it, honey. Don't worry. Now I'm going to
put on a little music and do some housework. You just relax."

"Housework?"

"Just relax."

"Maxie, I have to say this isn't anything like what I
anticipated."

"I know, baby, but believe me, everything's going to work
out fine. Now just relax."

It might seem absurd to anyone reading this, but I did
trust her. She certainly seemed totally relaxed herself. So I
just lay back and let my mind drift. I even lost my erection for
the first time that week. Meantime Maxie bustled back and forth
around the table. I could hear clinking. Then the doorbell rang.

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To my horror I heard her open the door. I heard somebody
come in.

It was a woman. For the first minute I was too shocked to
speak because she was there, in this small apartment, presumably
looking at this naked, blindfolded man spread-eagled on a table.
The second minute I was silent because neither she nor Maxie
showed any awareness I was there at all! They had sat down
somewhere and were chatting about some mutual friend's business.
I felt totally invisible. But by the third minute, I decided I
had to say something.

"Maxie?"

Silence.

"Maxie?"

Silence.

The third time I opened my mouth somebody shoved a gag into
it.

At this point I totally lost it. I arched myself against
the ties on the table and threw myself from side to side. I think
I peed, I was so panicked. But nothing gave. I had the feeling
that some of the ties were being drawn ~tighter~ as I struggled.
Finally I collapsed back, exhausted. And the doorbell rang again.

Over the next fifteen minutes it seemed like a dozen more
women streamed into Maxie's apartment, but after listening to
their voices for a while I counted only six. Not a one said a
word to Maxie about my presence. They acted as though they saw
naked men tied up on tables, gagged and blindfolded, ten times a
day. One by one they sat down around Maxie's little studio and
started to eat. They talked about families, work, doctors,
movies, everything except me.

Several of the voices sounded distressingly familiar.
Without doubt one of them was my boss' administrative assistant.
Did she know it was me here under the blindfold? Probably; it
didn't cover my lower face. Could she have guessed I recognized
her voice? The answer there was probably yes, too. Great.

After about half an hour somebody took my gag out. I
started to speak and instantly it was shoved back in. When it was
removed a second time fifteen minutes later, I stayed silent. The
evening wore on. The voices around me got louder and happier. I
could smell herb. Suddenly a hand touched the inside of my calf.

Aside from the gag, that was the first sign I had had that
anybody knew I was there. The hand ran up my calf, ran down, ran
up, crossed my knee, and began to walk, finger by finger, up my
thigh. My penis shot up in the air. Somebody giggled. Somebody
rolled a condom down the shaft. Somebody climbed on the table - I
felt it rock - and sat down on my penis. There was no underwear
there. In a second I was inside. I came in about ten seconds.
"Oh," I said.

Whoever it was climbed off and for maybe ten minutes
nothing happened. Then a couple of hands began to roam under my
ass. Boing! And a second (?) person sat on my lap. This time I
stayed hard a lot longer.

I have no idea how long I was on that table. Hours. Days.
Weeks. Again and again a pair of hands would work me over,
somebody would slip me inside her, or just rub my penis on skin.
Whenever I detumesced those hands would bring me back. Sometimes
I felt as though there were thousands of fingers probing and
stroking my skin. I fell into an erotic delirium. I could've been
flattened with a street grader and I never would have noticed.

Finally, in what seemed like years later, my blindfold came
off. Maxie was alone in the apartment. She untied me; I rolled
over, tried to get up, and fell on the floor. "Girls' night out,"
she said with a smile. I dragged myself into a cab, went home and
missed the next two days of work.

When I finally went to work nobody said a thing, and I
realized that the blindfolds and gags gave all the excuse anybody
needed to pretend not to have recognized each other. Sometimes I
even wondered if Maxie ever wanted to throw another party. But
she kept her distance and I sensed that if I said anything she'd
just smile and wander off.

And maybe that's just as well. Like I say, I've always
considered myself weird, but Maxie taught me I didn't know weird
from mashed potatoes.