It was the slightest touch, a tickle really, along his palm as he stood near the fountain at the mall. Alex turned his head, not to investigate –that was pointless –but to acknowledge whoever had touched him. "Yes?"
Nobody said anything. He waited a moment and then slid the backpack from his shoulder and tucked away the book he'd just purchased: Dante's "Divine Comedy". The bookstore here was a small independent shop and though it usually took several weeks, they were very good about bringing in special orders for him in Braille. He liked the atmosphere in the shop. The girls were always very friendly to him and he liked one in particular; she always touched his arm when she spoke to him.
He hefted his bag back to his shoulder and listened to the deep rumble of the mechanism that drove the indoor fountain and the cracking splash as the water being spit forward landed in the pool below. People passed by, snippets of conversation trailing behind them: a girl was worried her boyfriend was cheating on her; a woman told her child if he didn't behave, they would go home right now.
His brother was supposed to meet him here to go shopping for some new clothes. Suzie Quinn was throwing her annual Halloween party in a few weeks and after what happened at the last party he went to, he wanted to look his best. Just in case.
He felt a gentle tug at his sleeve and a brush of his forearm. He turned again, to the left this time.
"Danny?" He tightened his grip on the cane in his hand as he waited for a reply that did not come. It would be out of character, but not unthinkable, for his brother to play a prank like this. "Don't fuck around, man."
Then a slight tugging at his wrist urged him forward. It happened more than his friends would believe –well-intentioned people trying to 'help' him get around, without really knowing where he was headed.
"Thank you, I'm fine," he said.
Now the hand settled under his elbow, tugging far more insistently.
"I appreciate the gesture, but really, I'm –" He broke off as he smelled that all-too-distinct scent of a perfume he'd only smelled once before. Could she really be back? Nails raked gently down his bicep and when she tugged at his elbow again, he followed her.
"Is that you?" He smiled and added sarcastically, "Not Jane Swann."
Only a soft laugh answered him and his heartbeat doubled. No doubt, this was her: the mystery woman who had led him into a coat closet at Andrew's party and jerked him off without ever telling him who she was. Her hand snaked around his forearm, sliding forward until he had hold of her elbow and she guided him down a corridor he recognized as being where the public washrooms were.
He'd fantasized about running into her again, dreamed up clever things to say, ways to trick her into revealing her identity if she still refused to tell him her name. Every one of those imagined conversations escaped him now, left him mute and feeling helpless in her presence.
"Are you taking me into the toilets this time?" was the best he could manage.
She stopped and whispered in his ear. "I saw you out in the mall earlier, by the bookstore. I'm very hurt you didn't say hi to me."
"I didn't see you there."
"But I waved and everything."
"Very funny. Maybe if we exchanged names and phone numbers, you could call me and I'd know when you'd be around. I'd certainly say hello to you if –" He stopped short when she let go of his arm and moved away. He reached out to find some marker around him but she covered his hand with her own and placed it reassuringly back onto his cane.
"Wait," she said.
He heard the plastic clicking of a swipe card passing through a reader and a low buzzing hum. She pushed a door open and urged him forward again.
"Two steps, going down," she said.
"You know a lot about leading blind people for someone who picks on the disabled."
He followed her down the stairs as the door closed behind them with a heavy double thunk. The corridor was smaller, the click of her high heels echoing more sharply, her whispered voice carrying.
"You feel persecuted, do you?"
The smells of dampness and cigarettes were embedded in the walls. Muffled, but not too far off, was loud metallic banging and men shouting back and forth.
"Where are we today?"
"Shipping area is back there. This is where we come to smoke on our breaks in the winter, when it's too cold to go outside."
"You smoke?"
"Sometimes."
"I wouldn't have guessed that. You don't smell, or taste, like a smoker."
"Maybe you should taste me again, to be sure."
She slid her hands down his arms, leaning in closer and kissing him. Was this actually happening again? She shuffled her feet, leading him in a dance that had him backed up against the wall, the cinder block rough and cold through his shirt.
"You keep pushing me against walls."
"Figured you'd be more comfortable knowing what's behind you."
Alex sighed as her lips touched his neck. The heat of her hands crawled along his chest and stomach, making his skin ache for more substantial contact. She tugged at the collar of his shirt, her tongue lapping at the delicate junction of neck and collarbone. With precious memories of their last encounter fueling his excitement, his cock was already throbbing painfully.
