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It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the first real day of summer after a long rainy spring, and the wide concrete path that hugged the Chicago lakefront was packed with people enjoying the warm, sunny weather. Joggers, walkers, bikers, and rollerbladers, all fighting for position on the same crowded path, but everyone was in a good mood and having fun, including me. I was one of the rollerbladers, and not a very experienced one. After watching bladers shoot by me day after day while I was jogging, as if mocking my tortoise-like pace, I had finally gone ahead and bought a pair of the damn things, and now that I was getting the hang of it I had to admit it was a lot more fun than pounding the pavement.

This was actually only my second time on rollerblades, so I had taken it easy at first, just gliding along making sure I could keep my balance. But I'm pretty athletic, and in great shape, and it wasn't long before I was weaving in and out of the pedestrian traffic, scaring the hell out of people and making a nuisance of myself like an expert. I managed to get in a good workout despite the congested conditions, and now I was just gliding along taking in the scenery as I headed back towards my car.

By scenery I mean babes, of course, and there were plenty of them to look at. The two words that best describe the current trend in workout fashions are "tight" and "skimpy," which is fine with me. Most of the women were wearing lycra bra-tops and tight spandex shorts, and I was thoroughly enjoying the view. I'm not averse to showing a little skin myself, and I had noticed more than a few appreciative glances at my own well-muscled torso. It had been a long, cold, heavily-clothed winter, and I was looking forward to a hot summer. Last fall, shortly after moving to a new apartment near lake Michigan, I had discovered that this path along the lakefront was a great place to pick up. Unfortunately, this discovery had come only about two weeks before the snow had started to fly, and I had been waiting anxiously for the warm weather to return ever since.

I had just come to the top of a small rise leading into a sharp left turn, when I heard a commotion behind me. Then — Wham! Someone slammed into me from behind, knocking me off balance. I couldn't turn to follow the path, so I ended up doing a sort of tuck and roll off to the side into a patch of gravel. As I fell, I heard the unmistakable sound of a bicycle crashing to the ground, and when I sat up, somewhat stunned but unhurt, a girl was sitting right next to me on the gravel looking equally dazed.

"Nice riding," I said sarcastically. My heart was still pounding with the sudden shock, and I wasn't feeling too charitable.

"I'm really sorry," she said. "Some guy on a bike cut me off and I couldn't get out of the way. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I think I am, actually." I took a closer look at her, and liked what I saw. Early twenties, which made her a few years younger than me, and a great little bod. She had long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a sexy, heart-shaped face. Something about her seemed vaguely exotic — maybe it was her smooth, evenly-tanned skin. Needless to say, I was more than ready to forgive her.

"How about you?" I asked, in a friendlier tone of voice. "You took sort of a nasty tumble, are you hurt?"

"I think I'm OK. My leg kind of hurts though." She straightened her right leg out, and we both noticed the patch of raw skin on the side of her thigh.

"Looks like you got some road rash there," I said. I found my water bottle, which had gone flying into a hedge, and poured a little water on the scrape. "You better let me clean this out right away so it doesn't get infected."

I gently picked the dirt and gravel out of her leg, using the opportunity to take a closer look at her. My first impression had been correct — she was very hot — and I started thinking that this might have been my lucky wipeout. Like I said, this is a great place to meet people.

"I'm Dave, by the way."

She smiled at me, revealing even, white teeth. "I'm Jennifer — it's nice to meet you, Dave. I'm really sorry I ran you over."

"That's OK, from what you said it wasn't even your fault." I finished tending to her tan, shapely leg and stood up. "Do you want to try to get up and see if you can walk?"

She took my hand and I pulled her to her feet, managing not to fall over on my rollerblades, and she gingerly took a few steps. Her ass, which was the only thing I hadn't checked out yet, was quite up to expectations — nice and round, but not too big.

"Thanks ... I think I'm going to be fine. Oh damn — my bike!" The rim on the front wheel of her mountain bike had been dented when it hit the cement curb, and several of the spokes were badly bent. She picked up the bike and tried to roll it, but the front wheel wouldn't even turn.

I took a closer look and saw that the front brakes had been knocked out of alignment and were pressing on the rim. I managed to pry the brake calipers back into alignment with my fingers, and the front wheel turned easily. "There. Now you can walk it along, but you'll have to replace the front wheel before you can ride it."

She didn't look too pleased with this news. "OK. It's kind of a long way back to my apartment, though."

Perfect — and just when I was starting to wonder how I was going to keep the conversation going. "That's no problem. My car is parked just a little ways further — I can put your bike in the back and give you a ride home," I said magnanimously.

"Um, OK," she said after a few seconds. Not the grateful thanks I had expected; maybe she was shy.

We started along the path back to my car, she pushing her bike and me sort of half-walking, half-rolling next to her, and we continued to talk. I purposely set a slow pace so we would have time to get to know each other. She seemed to be a little shy, which was unusual in such a beautiful girl, but she was a good listener and I ended up doing most of the talking. Right off the bat, we discovered that we lived only a few blocks from each other in Lincoln Park, which seemed like a good omen.

By the time we reached the parking lot, I made sure she knew that I had gone to top schools back East and that I had a great job with a well-known brokerage firm in the city, and that I was single. I didn't learn much about her, but she seemed interested in me and everything seemed to be going pretty well. I figured my gleaming new four-wheel drive truck (complete with leather seats) would clinch the deal, and that I would have the chance to get to know her better over dinner.

"See, there's plenty of room in the back for your bike," I said, popping open the back glass with the remote-entry key. She had stopped a few feet away, and she had an odd, nervous look on her face.

"Listen, it's really nice of you to offer, Dave, but I don't want to be any more trouble."

This was taking politeness a bit far, I thought. "It's no trouble, really — it's not even out of my way. Besides, it would take you an hour to walk from here." I moved to take her bike, but she pulled it protectively towards her.

"No, really, I'll be OK — I'll call a taxi. It was nice meeting you."

I couldn't believe it — she was actually going to turn down my offer of a ride. I felt a surge of anger — what was I, an ax-murderer?

"OK, suit yourself," I said coldly, and got in my car. I saw my cell phone sitting on the passenger seat, and for some reason I decided to make a final gesture.

"Here, you can call a taxi from my cell phone. I don't think there are any pay phones around here." She had already started to walk away, and for a second I thought she was going to turn this offer down too. But she finally turned around and came back.

"Thanks," she said quietly, taking the phone. She dug around in the little carry bag behind her bike seat and pulled out a card, and then she started to dial. After a few digits she stopped, and I figured she didn't know how to use the cell phone.

"Hit the green power button first and then just..."

She was biting her lip, and tears were rolling down her face. I had never seen anyone look so sad, and I felt my anger melt away.

"What's the matter, Jennifer, is your leg hurting?" Somehow I knew that wasn't the problem, but I didn't know what else to say.

She took a deep breath and wiped her arm across her eyes. "I'm really sorry ... you are being so nice, and..." She started crying again, and I waited patiently.

"I haven't told very many people, but you deserve an explanation," she said finally. Her voice was quavering, but she seemed to have stopped the tears. "I was raped about two months ago, and I'm still getting over it. It's hard for me to talk to people, to trust anyone."

"Oh God, Jennifer, I'm so sorry." I was secretly relieved that it wasn't just that she didn't like me. "I'm glad you told me — now I understand about the ride."

"I know how ridiculous it is to turn down your ride," she said, still sniffling a bit. "That's what being raped does to you. I used to be outgoing, and now I'm terrified of everything. You're actually the first strange guy, I mean male stranger, that I've talked to since it happened."

"Well, I'm flattered to hear that," I said stupidly. This was very awkward for some reason. I wanted to ask her about the rape, but I thought that might be too personal. "I really enjoyed talking to you — I hope you don't give up on men completely."

This seemed to have been the right thing to say. She gave me a beautiful smile that made my heart flutter, and said "Oh, I haven't — it just will take a little time." She paused for a few seconds. "Listen Dave, maybe I will take you up on the ride after all — is that OK?"

"You got it." I lowered the tailgate and lifted her bike into the back, and then opened the passenger door for her. I figured my plans of wining, dining, and sixty-nining her tonight were pretty much shot, but it was still nice not to have been blown off completely.

Telling me her secret seemed to have taken a load off her mind, and she was a lot more talkative in the car than she had been earlier. By the time we got to her building I knew that she was a nurse, that she was even newer to Chicago than I was, that she was half-Filipino, which explained her slightly exotic looks, and, most importantly, that she was single. She would have been perfect if it wasn't for the whole rape thing; I wasn't too sanguine about my chances of sleeping with a girl who was barely able to work up the courage to ride in a car with me. Then again, she had loosened up considerably since the crying scene, smiling at me and laughing at my lame jokes, and I figured it was still worth a shot.

I unloaded her bike from the back, and since it wasn't an elevator building I carried it up the three flights of stairs for her. She was quiet on the way up, and when we reached her front door I could tell she was nervous again. It would be an obvious courtesy for her to invite me in, but since I had already come across as a caring, sensitive guy, I decided to stick with that approach and let her off the hook.

"Listen, Jennifer," I said, giving her a sheepish smile. "I would really like to see you again. My original plan was to try to get invited into your apartment for a cold drink, and then to ask you out to dinner at a nice restaurant. But considering the circumstances, I suppose you wouldn't be comfortable with that right now."

I let that hang in the air, hoping to be contradicted. "Actually, my therapy group has been encouraging me to start dating again," she said, blushing a little and looking down.

"Therapy group?"

"It's an informal support group for rape victims. The goal is to overcome our fear of men so we can get back into the social scene, and there is sort of a 10-step program we are supposed to follow. I only have a few more steps left before I 'graduate, ' but I don't know if I'm ready."

"Well, that sounds terrific," I said. "I'm sure you're ready — you've made a lot of progress today already, haven't you?"

"You have been so nice to me," she said with a smile. "It's only fair to warn you that you might not enjoy a date with someone who is going through this program."

There was that modesty again; it was as if she didn't even know how hot she was. Hell, it would be a boost to my ego to be seen with her in public, even if all I got out of it was a peck on the cheek at the end of the night.

"OK, I'll consider myself forewarned," I said, smiling back at her. "But I think I'll take that chance. What do you say we go out for drinks a little later? I know a nice place not far from here — kind of an Irish pub with a nice atmosphere; they have food too."

She gave me a long, searching look, and then nodded. "OK, Dave — that sounds great."

"Great! I'll pick you up here at six then."

Things had turned out pretty well, and I had a spring in my step as I went back down the stairs to my car. I figured maybe tonight was the night Jennifer would get over her fear of men. I would get a few drinks into her, continue to play the part of the sensitive male, and then make my move. If I could get her back to my place I would be in good shape — my apartment was a carefully designed babe lair.

It was about 2 hours later when I buzzed her apartment. I had showered and shaved, and dressed in expensive casual clothes, including a jacket. Most guys make the mistake of underdressing for a date, but women love to get dressed up and they appreciate it if the guy does too. Believe me, if you show up in jeans and she has on a party dress, you aren't getting anywhere that night.

"Be down in a second," she said through the intercom. It was actually a good five minutes, but it was worth the wait. I had already known she was hot, but now she looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing a black skirt which was short, but not excessively short, and except for the bandage above her knee her legs were perfect. A low-cut white top set off her smooth, tan complexion and showed just a hint of cleavage. She wore her thick, dark hair loose, and it cascaded down past her shoulders, framing her face with gentle waves.

"Sorry to keep you waiting..." I could tell from her voice that she was nervous again, but that was normal on a first date, of course. The secret to first dates is to keep talking, to avoid those awkward silences at all costs, even if you can't think of anything witty or deep to say.

"You look great, Jennifer. I really love your hair." One of my old college buddies swore that the best thing you can do on a date (except maybe for licking your eyebrows) is to compliment her hair. Maybe it was coincidental, but he got laid a lot.

"Thanks! You look nice too."

The recent improvement in the weather and the scrape on her leg — a little sore, but not too bad — carried the conversation until we got to Flanagan's Tavern, an upscale yuppie hangout that was my home away from home. It was crowded already, but I had called Kurt, the owner and a good buddy of mine, and I knew we would get a nice, quiet table and good service.

"Hey Dave, good to see you." Kurt was behind the bar, mixing up a pitcher of something pink. "How are those rollerblades working out?"

"So far, so good," I said, giving him a wink. "This is Jennifer, by the way. Jennifer, this is Kurt, the assistant bartender."

"Thanks a lot, pal" he said, giving me a mock-dirty look. "I'm the owner of this here establishment," he said, addressing Jennifer. "If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know." At least three other people were trying to get Kurt's attention to order drinks, but he was looking right into Jennifer's eyes and she was smiling back at him, obviously enjoying the attention. Kurt was a dashing fellow with a goatee and an earring, and we had a friendly rivalry going when it came to chasing women.

"How about a table where we can have a little privacy," I said meaningfully.

Kurt laughed. "Go ahead and grab that table over there," he said, indicating a cozy booth towards the back. "I'll send Shelly right over."

I took Jennifer's hand and we threaded our way through the crowd around the bar, receiving a few sour looks from people who were no doubt waiting for a table to open up.

"I guess you must be a regular here," she said as we slid into the leather-seated booth across from each other. "It's a nice place."

"Yep, Kurt and I go way back. I helped him arrange the financing to buy this place a few years back." A slight exaggeration, but I had given him some advice.

Our waitress appeared. "Hi, what can I get you? Oh, Hi Dave."

"Hi Shelly, how's it going?" Shelly was a good looking Irish lass with blond hair and an impressive set of tits, just the right type of gal for an Irish tavern. I had nailed her a couple of times, taking her back to my place after closing time for a quickie, and that could have made this awkward, but fortunately she wasn't the possessive type.

Jennifer and I both ordered a pint of Harps, and Shelly brought them right away. I gratefully downed about half my beer in one gulp, and when I came up for air I saw that she had done the same.

"I guess we were thirsty," she said, her teeth flashing white in the dim light as she smiled at me. I was glad to see that she looked relaxed and comfortable

"I know I was," I said. "I must have rollerbladed for two hours this afternoon."

The conversation flowed freely as we talked about our workout schedules, our jobs, our favorite restaurants — standard, safe topics. We ordered some dinner and another round of beers, and after a little more pleasant small talk I decided to try to move the conversation to a more personal level.

"So is this really your first date since ... in two months?"

"Since I was raped. It's OK to say it. Yes, it's my first real date with someone new. I haven't had any problem hanging out with guys who were already my friends, the tough thing is being with someone I didn't know from before."

"That makes sense," I said, and then I observed "You don't seem to be uncomfortable right now."

"No, I'm not — in fact, I'm having a very good time," she said, looking into my eyes, and I felt a surge of desire for her. Damn, she was hot. "I don't have any problem meeting someone in a bar and talking to them, like we're doing now," she explained. "It's being alone with a man that's the problem." She looked down, turning her beer glass in her hands, and then she continued in a quieter voice, "I guess what I mean to say is that I don't know if I'm ever going to be ready to have sex again."

I had been hoping that sex would come up in the conversation, but this wasn't the exactly the most promising context. Then again, if she really had no intention of having sex with me she wouldn't have brought it up.

"I'm sure you will," I said. "I hope so, anyway. It would be a terrible loss for mankind if you never had sex again." She smiled appreciatively at this, but didn't reply. I took a sip of beer to give myself time to think; this was obviously a critical moment. I don't know if it was the two beers I had polished off in the last hour or the way she was looking at me, but I decided to try a bold approach.

"I know sex isn't something people usually talk about after knowing each other for a couple of hours, but maybe it should be," I said. "I don't see why it has to be such a forbidden topic."

"People do it before they talk about it — it seems a little backwards," she agreed. She didn't seem to mind the subject, in fact, she seemed eager to continue, and I felt my cock give a little twitch.

"What is it exactly that you are afraid of — being raped again? Or are you afraid if you had sex it would remind you of being raped and you wouldn't enjoy it?"

She thought about it for a few seconds. "No, it's more like a fear of losing control. Rape is the ultimate loss of control over your own body, and after it happens it's hard to give up that control again. The thought of putting myself in a position where a man has control over my body is what scares me."

I was a little confused at this point, and I wasn't sure what to say. The truth is, I was getting mixed signals. Her body language, the way she was looking at me, was giving me the impression that she wanted me, but from what she was saying she still had serious hangups over sex. I guess I wasn't paying close enough attention.

"So what would help you get over that fear?" I asked. I was bracing myself for something depressing like 'getting to know a guy really well so I can trust him.' I'm not really the patient type.

"Well, in my therapy program they tell us that it's unhealthy to avoid sex after being raped. We're encouraged to return to our, uh, normal activities as soon as possible. They have sort of an unusual approach to the whole issue of getting over the fear, though."

Maybe if I hadn't been so elated about the first part of what she said I would have noticed the stress she put on the phrase 'unusual approach.' As it was, I was unprepared for the bizarre and unpredictable turn the conversation took.

"Dave, have you ever tried bondage?" She was blushing furiously and looking down at the table.

"Bondage... ?" Like I said, I was unprepared. Shocked was more like it.

"It's part of the therapy program," she explained, still blushing. "We're supposed to arrange for the guy to be tied up the first time we have sex. That way we're in control of what goes on, and it will empower us to get over our negative feelings about sex."

My mind was racing. The whole situation had undergone an unsettling shift, and what had been a relaxed, flirtatious atmosphere just a few moments ago now seemed tinged with tension and danger.

"I'm sorry if I shocked you," she said, sounding embarrassed. "Isn't that the craziest thing you ever heard? I don't know if I could do something kinky like that, therapeutic or not..."

"No, it isn't crazy, it actually sort of makes sense. It did catch me a little off guard, though," I said with a laugh. To put it mildly. "To answer your question, I have tried bondage in the past," I lied.

She looked up at me with surprised interest. "Really? What sort of bondage? I mean, if you don't mind talking about it."

I didn't mind at all, although it would require making something up. Fortunately, a friend of mine had once told me about his adventures in this area, so I wasn't at a complete loss. "Well, it was a few years ago, with my girlfriend at the time. She brought it up one day as something she had always wanted to try, and I thought it sounded interesting. We ended up doing it quite a lot, actually — it's kind of addictive."

At that moment Shelly came back with our food, and we both sat back with startled, guilty looks on our faces when she set the first plate down. Shelly gave me a knowing, amused looked, and said "Sorry to bother you — enjoy your food."

We ate for a few minutes in silence, and then Jennifer leaned forward across the small booth and said "I was really looking forward to hearing more about what you and your ex-girlfriend did." Her low-cut blouse had fallen open a bit, and I could see the smooth, tan curves of her cleavage and the edge of her lacy, white bra cups.

It has always been my opinion that women know exactly how much they are revealing in situations like this, and my cock twitched again and began to grow. I had been able to gather my thoughts while we were eating, and I now saw clearly how much potential this situation had. If I played my cards right, I would be fucking her by the end of the night. And the first card I had to play was the story I had started to tell.

"OK, like I was saying, she brought it up one night after we had been drinking a bit. It didn't really surprise me because she was always into experimenting, trying new things. We talked about it for a while, and it turned out that she was into the idea of being in complete control of a guy, sort of like what your therapy group told you, I guess. I was kind of turned on by the idea too, and I told her I would do it as long as I got to do the same thing to her. Fair's fair, right?" I paused for a sip of beer. I was warming to the story, and Jennifer was hanging on my every word.

"We agreed that we would each get to tie the other one up on a different night. I let her tie me up first, since it was her idea. We didn't have any handcuffs or anything, so we just used regular rope. It took some experimenting, getting the knots right and all that, but the whole process of getting me tied up was kind of a turn on in itself. Finally, I was bound hand and foot on the bed, naked and helpless. It was quite a feeling, I must say."

I took another sip of beer, and she asked me "Had you set some ground rules for what you could do to the other person?"

"No, we talked about that but we decided we trusted each other not to do anything too outrageous. So anyway, there I was, competely at her mercy, and she spent the next two hours teasing me and enjoying herself at my expense. Do you want me to, uh, go into the details?"

She licked her lips and nodded. "If you don't mind. I'm really interested in hearing what happened — what do you mean by teasing?" I felt her foot brush against my leg under the table, as if by accident. Then the foot returned and settled on my ankle, and I realized she had slipped off her shoe. My cock, which had already been giving warning signs, went to full alert, and I had to surreptitiously adjust my pants.

"OK — just stop me if I get too explicit or if you feel uncomfortable," I said gallantly. That seemed unlikely, judging from the way she was stroking my ankle with her toes. "Well, for starters she had all her clothes on, which made me feel a little odd. But everything started out great — she went ahead and started sucking my ... uh, cock." I glanced at her, and she just nodded. "It was great — really different, somehow, being tied up while she was doing that to me. But then, just when I was really getting into it, she stopped. That's where the teasing came in. She said if I wanted her to keep going I had to beg for it. She made me tell her how great it felt, how good she was sucking cock and stuff like that, and I had to sound like I really meant it. Finally, she started sucking my cock again, but she stopped again as soon as I was close. That's the way it went for the rest of the night — I would have to keep doing things for her in order to get her to give me a little more head."

"For instance, she did a striptease and I had to keep telling her how hot she was and how badly I wanted to see her naked, and all that. Then after that I had to eat her pussy until she came. I would go down on her for like ten minutes straight, giving her a great orgasm, and then she would give me head for like thirty seconds, just enough to get my motor running. And then I would have to do her all over again. I must say, it felt great when she finally sucked me all the way off, but I was still kind of pissed at her for making me say all those things and for getting me so frustrated."

I was watching her carefully while I was talking, and I could see that she was getting almost as turned on as I was. I almost forgot that I had made the whole thing up — I could visualize it just as if it had really happened.

"So did you stay mad at her?" she asked.

"Oh no," I said, smiling at her. "It was my turn to tie her up the next night, and I did the same thing to her."

She laughed. "I don't blame you. I'm sure she expected it, after doing it to you first."

"Right. I don't think the sexual frustration thing works as well on women as it does on men, but it was still fun hearing her beg."

"Oh, I don't know. Women can get awfully frustrated when they don't have sex, believe me."

This was obviously more than just a general observation, and she looked a little embarrassed.

"So, do you think that what your therapy group told you might work?" I asked casually. Or at least I tried to sound casual.

"Well, now that I think about it I guess it might be worth a try. But where am I going to find a guy who would let me tie him up?" Her foot was stroking my calf now, and the sexual tension was almost unbearable.

"You already have," I said softly. "Let's get out of here."

"OK," she said. "Let's go back to my place."

I normally try to get women back to my apartment, but in this situation Jennifer would obviously be more comfortable in her own place. I was much too turned on to think clearly anyway. As we walked back through the bar area I put my arm around her waist, and Kurt gave me a discreet thumbs-up as we went by. I caught a glimpse of us in the big mirror behind the bar as we were leaving — I looked like the cat that swallowed the canary, a silly grin plastered on my face, while Jennifer looked calm and relaxed, like she was relieved to have finally made a tough decision.

We drove the short distance back to her place and I parked behind her building. It was a beautiful night, and as we walked towards the entrance we stopped to look at the stars.

"You look beautiful," I said. She smiled and looked up at me, and I put my hand on the side of her neck and leaned down to kiss her. She tilted her head up to meet mine, and we held the kiss for several seconds. I slid my hands down to her ass and pulled her up against me, and she responded eagerly, pushing her hips against my groin. I could tell that she was eager to have sex, and I figured we would end up skipping the bondage thing and just get right down to it.