Meeting the Parents
A ‘To See or Not to See’ story
Part One of Two
Tallula. Is it not just the most ridiculous name? What kind of deranged mother would inflict such a name upon her child? Is it some sort of misguided psychology to give a child a name that will force her to grow up tough as she fends off all the ridicule she will suffer at school? Or maybe it’s just that it was a cool and fashionable name thirty-odd years ago. I rather doubt that. Well I suppose I will have to make sure I keep my opinions on stupid names under wraps, because today I’m going to meet a woman who named her daughter with exactly the name Tallula. And in fact that daughter and unfortunate bearer of said name is sitting right beside me in the car now as we head west out of London along the M4 motorway which Tallula says always seems to go on forever, but she forgets that until six months ago I was living in Arizona where the roads really do go on forever and this little trip to Devon seems like just a quick jaunt to the next town to me.
As I’ve done many times before on this trip I take my eyes off the road ahead and steal a look at the Tallula seated next to me. And every time I do this that name suddenly seems to take on a rather different feel. It conjures up images of a glamorous gangster’s moll or a lady of dubious morals who plies her trade in a wild-west saloon. Perhaps it’s the lady herself rather than the name that conjures up those images. I’ve only known her for three months but I have no doubt whatsoever that she is ‘The One’ for me, and I guess today’s meeting of her parents is one of those milestones on the road to happily ever after.
Tallula is no fallen wild-west woman and I am no gangster, so she’s not really a moll either. In real life she is Tallula the rising hot-shot lawyer, defender of the innocent and the unjustly accused, and also the not so unjustly accused. So perhaps her morals are slightly dubious after all. This beautiful woman is also a crack shot at archery and target shooting, a dedicated follower of all the latest fashions, and an enthusiastic practitioner of the curious new art of Restraint.
I can take as many long looks at her as basic road safety will allow as we drive along. I’m tempted to put the car into autodrive so I can just stare at her the whole way to Devon. It seems like my eyes are addicted to the sight of her and as soon as I look away the craving to look back again begins. And I don’t need to feel awkward or embarrassed at staring at her because she has no idea what I’m looking at. She can’t see me staring at her because she’s wearing a blindfold.
She’s a woman in a car which is moving along a road and therefore her strange legal obligation to wear a blindfold while undertaking a journey must obviously apply, but unlike many of her sex, Tallula does not object to this seemingly bizarre and unfair restriction forced upon her by the law of the land. Rather the opposite in fact, she seems to revel in the whole idea of Restraint. To her a blindfold is not an austere symbol of oppression, it is a statement that the wearer is participating in a grand new social experiment, one where everyone is equally important and valued, but where men can be gentlemen and women can be ladies and where chivalry and politeness can replace the rivalry and conflict of the past. High ideals indeed, but if they’re not enough then there is also the fashion accessory aspect. I honestly don’t know how many blindfolds Tallula owns and I doubt that she does either. One for every outfit I suspect, just like shoes. And have fashionable women’s shoes not always been a little like blindfolds? They too make it challenging for the wearer to get about, but somehow they bring joy to both the feet restrained within them and to those whose gaze falls upon them.
Those who champion the new Restraint laws claim that they have been carefully devised to minimise the impact upon women’s freedom. They have no effect in a woman’s home, in that of her friend’s, at her workplace, in the shops, nor anywhere else that she may be undertaking some activity. It is only while travelling in any form of journey that Restraint applies, and this is because travelling, by definition takes someone out into public spaces where they will come into contact with other people. And if that someone happens to be at a disadvantage to the norm, for example because they are very old, or disabled, or heavily pregnant, or restrained in a blindfold, then there will be opportunities for courteous interaction, opportunities for strangers to assist and be assisted by each other, opportunities to foster an atmosphere of mutual respect and understanding. All very clever in theory I suppose, but I have to say I’m glad I’m not one of those who has to wear a blindfold. I can’t imagine anything worse, and neither it seems can the feminist part of the female population who don’t really have to imagine because they actually have to do it. An increasing number though are like Tallula. They are embracing it all, turning their backs on feminism and welcoming the new, chivalrous society. And quite possibly getting a little bit horny on it too, although you’ll never hear any of them admit to that. Tallula says it appeals to something deep down inside her, and I have to confess that something deep inside me, some sort of caveman thing is aroused and satisfied when I see her in a blindfold. She is not just depriving herself of her sight, she is demonstrating her trust in me and her willingness to be looked after by me. And I must accept that trust and step up to the challenge, and our relationship flourishes as a result. Are we not at our most at our most contented when we indulge our basic caveman and cavewoman instincts, and at our most conflicted when we go against them?
We’ve been on the go for nearly three hours now and as a sign proclaims that Membury services are one mile ahead I decide it’s time for a break. I could of course just put the car in autodrive for a while but I like to drive manually. It’s a man thing. I slip off the motorway and pull up in the car park. I get out and as any gentleman should, I cross to the passenger side of the car and open the door for the lady in my charge. A pair of shiny black stiletto heeled shoes emerges from the car, closely followed by a pair of legs, sexily sheathed in a tight, calf-length skirt. Tallula offers her arm and I take it and help her out, making sure she doesn’t bump her head on the door frame. As she straightens up and uses her hands to smooth any creases from her outfit I take a step back to admire the sight she makes.
Her long, shapely legs are further lengthened by the considerable height of the shoes’ heels, and the tightness of the skirt draws attention to the curves of the legs and bum within it. Above the deep pink, satin-like skirt a matching high-collared and long-sleeved top snugly hugs her torso. The top has several slits cut into it revealing tantalising glimpses of flesh across her shoulders and below her neck, one of which plunges dangerously low between her breasts. A wide black belt defines her slender waist and matching gloves conceal her hands. Tallula’s amazing mane changes colour as often as the calendar and today it’s black, to match her shoes.
And then of course there is that blindfold. No simple strip of black cloth this. For a start it is created, on the outside at least, from the same deep pink coloured satin as her skirt and top. Behind its edges runs a strip of porous but completely opaque foam that conforms perfectly to the shape of her face allowing air to circulate while ensuring that not even the faintest glimmer of light can find its way beneath. And behind the brightly coloured satin sit a pair of shaped plastic discs that gently bulge the fabric away from the wearer’s eyes and allow immaculately applied eye-shadow and perfect mascara to emerge unspoilt when the blindfold is removed at journey’s end. The blindfold hugs Tallula’s face, seemingly held in place by some invisible force but in reality held by an elasticated strap that hides itself beneath her hair which waves and curls without hindrance. A lesser woman’s hair would be squashed under her blindfold strap, but not my Tallula’s.
I’m not sure how she judges, but now seemingly satisfied that her outfit is unblemished by wrinkles caused by three hours of sitting in the car, Tallula offers me her arm. Apparently she’s intending to remain blindfolded while we go for coffee. I take her offered arm in mine and we set off across the tarmac towards the services building. Her skirt begins to make its alluring ‘ffup-ffup’ sound as it pulls tight around her legs while she walks. At the end of the car park the tarmac gives way to concrete paving and the soft sound of the skirt is joined by a hard ‘cop-cop’ from her heels. The soundtrack of a sexy woman walking is complete.
“Can’t you take your blindfold off?” I ask her. “We’re not travelling at the moment.”
“No, not really,” she replies in her slightly gravelly voice with a hint of a West Country accent. “Our destination is my mum’s house in Devon and until we arrive there the law considers me to be travelling.”
“But couldn’t we say that this service station is our destination and we have arrived, and then we’re going to do a separate journey from here to your mum’s.”
“Well possibly, but the law uses the phrase ‘reasonable destination’ and so we’d have to consider whether this service station is a ‘reasonable destination’ in its own right. If there was some unique attraction here or if we were coming here to meet someone or something like that then sure, we could say we’d arrived at our destination and I could take off my blindfold, but if there’s no reason for me to be here other than as a stop ‘en-route’ then I’m still travelling and so my blindfold must stay on. I’m assuming you can’t see anything that might count as a unique attraction that we came here especially for.”
“Not really. Bog standard motorway services as far as I can see. Perhaps they do world famous roasted veal sweetbreads in the café that we’ve come here especially to sample.”
“Roasted veal sweetbreads? At motorway services?”
Tallula pulls a little on my arm and draws herself tightly up against me as we walk.
“It’s fine,” she says. “I doubt there’s much here that I would enjoy looking at, but I will enjoy being snuggled up to you while you guide me along.”
Perhaps Tallula’s comment gives me a hint of understanding as to why she likes to be blindfolded. If she were unrestrained right now and could see, the two of us would be walking independently. We might hold hands I suppose, but we would just walk in, get a couple of coffees and then walk out again. Nothing special or remarkable about that. But with Tallula in her blindfold things are very different. We’re miles from home in a totally unfamiliar place and she can’t see anything. She is completely reliant upon me and she must trust me completely to look after her, and that must satisfy some desire deep inside her, but it also satisfies me. I am her man and I will accept her trust and bear the responsibility it brings. An otherwise boring and unremarkable coffee break becomes a romantic and erotic adventure for us both. It draws us together and cements our relationship.
In front of the service building is a flight of several steps. Steps can be an awkward and time consuming hurdle to guide a blindfolded lady over, but in this case there is an alternative. A long ramp with a hairpin bend in the middle has been provided for wheelchair access. So I have to make a decision, detour for the ramp or take the direct route up the steps. And of course the lady in my care is relying on me to make the right decision for her. I assess the steps. There are only five of them and they’re not particularly high but Tallula’s skirt is tightening around her legs just walking on the flat. I don’t know if she can walk straight up the steps. Perhaps her skirt will stretch a bit, but the sound of it pulling tight doesn’t imply that it’s stretchy. I know she can climb steps in a funny sideways manner if her skirt is too tight for them, or as a last resort she can pull her skirt up above her knees, but she’ll never forgive me if I lead her into such an undignified situation. The ramp is a safer option, and one that has already been selected by another man who is leading a blindfolded lady up it. I choose the ramp.
Inside the services is the usual collection of shops and eateries. We’re just wanting coffee so we head for Costa. It has the now almost universal touchscreen order stations and I lead Tallula over to one.
“You want to do the order?” I ask facetiously.
“Funny,” she replies dryly. “Gingerbread laté please.”
I do the order and guide Tallula to a table, and then collect our coffees from the counter. When I return to her Tallula is working her fingers out of her snug-fitting gloves. I place her cup on the table and she carefully finds it with her now bare hands. I watch as she lifts the cup to her mouth and finds its edge with her tongue before taking a sip. It is quite ridiculous that she does all this wearing a blindfold, but it is undeniably extremely sexy to watch.
“So is there really no way you can remove your blindfold while we’re stopped here?” I ask as we drink our coffees.
“Well it all hangs on that phrase ‘reasonable destination’. The word ‘reasonable’ appears a lot in law and we lawyers make a lot of money arguing about what it means. Let’s say we are travelling along the motorway and we suddenly get an irresistible urge to drink coffee, and so we amend our travel plan and make this service station our new destination. We arrive here and I take my blindfold off. Am I guilty of an offence? Well if this country used statute law like most European countries then it’s all a bit uncertain. We could make our case and if the judge is in a good mood we might get off with it, and if he’s got toothache and is in a bad mood then I might end up in a hood for five years. Statute law provides flexibility for the magistrate to use their judgement but that means there is no consistency on how the law is applied and you just have to take your chance. But in England we have common law, and that means application of the law is common to all cases. Legal grey areas are dealt with by precedent and once a precedent is set it informs all subsequent cases. So, Crown verses Walken, 2031. Miss Julia Walken is travelling alone in an autodrive car along a motorway and she needs the toilet. She instructs her car to stop at the next services, which it does. Her phone then informs her that it is almost 200m from where the car has parked itself to the service building and as it is raining, Miss Walken doesn’t want to walk that far. So she takes off her blindfold and manually drives her car around the car park to find a space closer to the building. And she drives past a couple of traffic cops taking a tea break in their car. She’s busted and charged. In court her defence argues that her need to use a toilet caused a change in her travel plans and made the service station a ‘reasonable destination’, and that once inside the car park she had arrived on the premises and was therefore entitled to remove her blindfold. The magistrate, Justice Henry Booth takes a rather different view. He says that in order to decide if a destination is reasonable it is necessary to consider the journey that precedes it. He asks if it is really reasonable for Miss Walken to drive ninety three miles from her home just to use the toilet in a motorway service station, also considering that she had passed no less than six effectively identical stations on the way. He finds Miss Walken guilty of breaching the Restraint act of 2030, but he accepts that she had no malicious intent and lets her off with a 28 day extended blindfold order and three months’ probation. Feminist campaigners place huge pressure on Miss Walken to appeal in order to prevent a precedent from being set, but she decides she has had enough of courts and has got off lightly. She declines to appeal and the judgement stands, the precedent is set, and I can say with absolute certainty that our desire for coffee does not make this a ‘reasonable destination’ and right now I am still engaged in travelling. Blindfold must stay on.”
“Wow. Good thing my girlfriend is a lawyer. And here was me thinking you were just keeping it on to be sexy.”
“Well of course there is that as well. So tell me, is there anything here that I’m really missing out on by not seeing it?”
“Not really.”
“Well there you are then. I’m missing out on nothing much and gaining being sexy and having a sexy experience with you. The law is cool.”
“And what if they had a motel here and we stayed the night. Would you have to stay blindfolded all night?”
“Not in the actual hotel room, as long as it’s a private room with no access for other members of the public. That would count as an exempted location and I could take off my blindfold. Same thing will apply in the toilets here, which I’m going to visit after this coffee, assuming of course that you would be good enough to guide me to them.”
“Well of course I will. But what would you do if you were alone?”
“Well I suppose I could ask my phone if it can direct me, or I’d just have to ask for help.”
“Ah. ‘Lady needs assistance’.”
“Something like that. Someone would step up and help.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I’ve never asked for assistance and not got it.”
“Well looking the way you do, I’m not surprised at that.”
“And that’s why it’s important for a lady to always look her best. Remember that next time I’m taking too long to get ready.”
We finish our coffees and I lead Tallula over to where the toilets are located. I know she doesn’t have to wear her blindfold in the toilets, but removing it without spoiling her hair can be a rather delicate operation. The elastic strap is joined behind her head by several curved, needle-like fasteners that have to be carefully slid under her hair like hatpins and hooked together. This allows even the most flamboyant of hairdos to be unrestricted and unsquashed by the blindfold strap, and it is usually my heavy responsibility to fit Tallula’s blindfold without upsetting her hair. Since I met her I have become very aware of the different ways in which women apply their blindfolds and it gives an insight as to the attitude of the wearer to their Restraint. Some women, like Tallula have embraced their blindfolds. They lavish the utmost care and attention on them, enjoy the experience and use their Restraint to their advantage. Others obviously hate the whole thing. A cheap looking eye cover, uncoordinated with the rest of the outfit, hurriedly pulled over the head with its strap squashing the hair so it can be quickly removed and adding nothing to the overall appearance, shows that the wearer is just complying with the law and nothing else. Women like this often appear frustrated or grumpy. They rarely ask for assistance and often walk into things or trip over, whereas women like Tallula seem to float along confidently, requesting and receiving help whenever they need it, at ease with themselves and the unseen world around them.
“How do we do this?” I ask as we approach the toilets. “I can’t exactly go in there with you to help with your blindfold.”
“Oh I‘ll be fine,” she replies. “Just point me at the doorway and I’ll sort myself out once I’m inside. I won’t take the blindfold off, just push it up a little so I can see what I’m doing. Just be sure to be here for me when I come out.”
“Oh, of course.”
After Tallula returns from her toilet break we walk back towards the car. Outside the door those same steps are still there, as is the ramp to one side. I choose the ramp again of course. As we cross the car park I marvel at how confidently she walks, guided only by her hold on my arm. There could be kerbs, potholes, drain covers, even moving cars in her way but she trusts me completely to guide her clear of such obstacles. I wonder how hard it is to learn to trust like that, to hand your well-being completely over to someone else. It must be a woman thing. I couldn’t do it.
Tallula’s skirt is making its ‘ffup ffup’ noise as it pulls tight around her legs with every step she takes. I would imagine it must be really annoying to have something like that restricting your legs but she seems to like it. There’s no law that forces her to wear such a skirt, it is purely a fashion thing and it’s a fashion that is seriously in vogue with ladies of style these days. And long may it continue I say. You just can’t beat the sight and sound of a lady walking in a tight skirt and heels.
“Your skirt sounds sexy.”
“It does doesn’t it. Apparently it’s got strips of Kevlar sewn into the fabric to eliminate any stretch and give that nice crisp sound. Stretchy skirts don’t sound nearly so sexy.”
“Perhaps not, but surely you could walk more freely in a stretchy skirt.”
“But the whole point of a tight skirt is that it’s tight. That’s what makes it sexy. Stretchy skirts might look tight but they don’t feel tight, so they don’t feel sexy, at least not to me. I like to feel that sharp tug at my legs as I walk. Don’t know why, I just do.”
“But isn’t a blindfold enough restraint? Do you really need to be restrained by your skirt as well?”
“Well what’s the point in being able to run about if you can’t see where you’re going? It’s more useful to be sexy so you can get help whenever you need it. And I like being sexy.”
“I suppose that makes sense in a strange sort of way. Well I like you being sexy too.”
“So there you are. Tight skirts are a win-win situation. And they don’t make your feet ache, unlike stilettos which do, but you can’t have tight skirts without heels.”
“Why not?”
“Coz it looks stupid dummy. You wouldn’t put tractor wheels on a sports car would you?”
“I might if I were going off-roading with it.”
“Well when we’re going off-roading I’ll wear my trainers. For civilisation I’ll keep my heels.”
“You’re an incredibly sexy woman Tallula. You know that don’t you.”
“You’re a very lucky man to have me and don’t you forget it.”
“I never will. I promise you that.”
We get back to the car and resume our journey. Along the M4 past Bristol and onto the M5 that heads to the West Country. It’s a rather boring drive and there’s not much in the way of scenery. Of course that doesn’t bother Tallula as she can’t see it anyway but she seems happy enough in her dark little world as we chat and motor onwards. I think she’s rather looking forward to seeing her mum. We’re passing Weston-Super-Mare when disaster strikes. We grind to a halt in a traffic jam. Just as we stop the satnav annoyingly starts warning us of congestion ahead and advises us to leave the motorway at the exit we’ve already passed. Traffic bulletins start appearing saying a lorry has hit a bridge up ahead and the motorway is closed. We’re stuck until either the road re-opens or we get turned round by the police, either way it looks like it’s going to be a while. We sit and chat and as the minutes turn into an hour Tallula phones her mum and explains that we’ll be late. Then a song comes on the radio that she apparently likes.
“Where’s the volume control?” she asks.
“Err, up in the middle of the dash. It’s on the touchscreen”
“Oh, sodding touchscreens. I bloody hate them.”
“Difficult to work in a blindfold I suppose.”
“Yeah. And even if you can see them, half the time they won’t respond if you’ve got gloves on.”
“You like your gloves don’t you.”
“They’re cool and smart. And sexy. Don’t you think?”
“Oh definitely. How loud do you want it?”
I turn the radio up loud and we sit and bop to some bit of fifty year old rock.
“How long do we have be stuck here before you can take your blindfold off?” I ask as the song finishes and the volume goes back down.
“Err, until the Earth ends, or until the law gets changed. Whichever comes sooner.”
“Really? Can’t we say our journey has ended because we can’t go any further? Our destination has been forced upon us or something like that?”
“I wouldn’t like to have to argue that one in court.”
“So what if you were on your own and you were stuck here all afternoon and started desperately needing the loo. What would you do?”
“Well if a lady got out of a nearby car and called for help, what would you do?”
“Go and see if I can help.”
“And she says she urgently needs the loo…”
“Err, well I suppose I’d try to find the most discreet place possible and then politely retire while she does what she needs to.”
“And then guide her back to her car?”
“Err, yes. Obviously.”
“Well there you are then.”
“It’s all a bit awkward though isn’t it?”
“Well it’s an awkward situation with or without a blindfold. But afterwards would you not feel good about yourself for helping the lady to deal with it? And would she not feel that she had been treated with kindness and respect?”
“I suppose.”
“Chivalry in action, brightening everyone’s day a little. And before Restraint came along the poor lady would have just had to manage on her own without a gentleman to guard her modesty.”
“But what if I were a pervert and wanted to watch her doing… you know?”
“Well who’s really the one with the problem there then?”
Eventually I see movement up ahead. The forest of cars is thinning. It seems like we’re off again after two and half hours. Our original plan was to go to Tallula’s parents’ house and then go out to a restaurant in the evening, but we’re now so late that after a phone discussion we decide to go directly to the restaurant and meet her parents there. After dinner we’ll go on to their house to stay the night. The satnav is duly programmed for a detour to The Collingwood Arms Pub and Restaurant, ten miles from Ilfracombe.
“So will you be allowed to remove your blindfold in the restaurant?” I ask Tallula as we leave the motorway for the A361 to North Devon.
“Of course,” she replies.
“But is the restaurant not now just a stop off on our journey to your mum’s house? Like the motorway services were?”
“Reasonable destination. Is the restaurant a reasonable destination in its own right? Well I would say it is, especially as we’re meeting someone there. So the journey will be finished when we arrive. And then we do a separate journey to Mum’s house afterwards.”
“For which you’ll have to be blindfolded again.”
“Indeed. And assuming you will have partaken of alcohol at dinner and the car will therefore be in autodrive, I might consent to being sexually molested on the way.”
“Ooh. How far from the restaurant to your mum’s house?”
“Only about ten miles. You might need to get us lost.”
“I see. Feeling horny are we?”
“I’ve been done up in this blindfold for what, seven hours now? So you bet I’m feeling horny. And by the time I’ve done the polite conversation dinner, drunk a gallon of wine and had you blindfold me again I reckon I’ll be a total slut in need of a severe ravishing.”
“So all this ‘Restraint repairs the relationship between men and women and is the saviour of polite society’ stuff is actually just a sideshow. The real reason you like being blindfolded is just because it makes you horny?”
“Just shut up and drive the car. Smartarse.”
Continued in