I saw the blind girl slowly making her way down the length of the Echelon Mall's food court, tapping along with her white cane, and kind of dancing from foot to foot. Every few tables, she had to ask directions, and she wasn't getting much help, because of the Pre-Christmas Sale rush of bad-tempered shoppers.
Brunette, with short brown hair, she was wearing a t-shirt and somehow not-quite-matching jeans, with a big belt, and also not-quite-matching boots.
I guessed, based on experience, that she was doing the 'I-just-gotta-take-a-piss-and-I-gotta-go-RIGHT-NOW' dance. Been there, done that.
Coming up behind her, I just quietly said, "Miss, can I help get you where you want to go?"
She started, then calmed, and said, "Can you get me to the ladies' room, please?"
"OK," I answered. "Take hold of my forearm, here on your left side. That leaves your cane free on the right. We can both hold your shopping bags."
She did, and we started. I signaled changes in direction with my forearm, her hand cool and with a light touch on top. But, when we approached the bathrooms, I could see that there was a long line of other women, waiting outside, and I knew my chance-met charge wouldn't make it, standing there, in a group of snarling-mad females.
"Uh, miss," I said, as I explained what I saw, "there's an alternative, but you'd have to trust me, and we've never met. I'm Tom Cattus—yes, I know what that means—but I could give you references, except that I don't have them with me and they're not in Braille. I'm trying to say that you could make your blindness work for you, and use the men's room, if I go along and run interference, so to speak."
Her grip tightened a little, and I heard her stifle a giggle, as she said, "Sure, let's go."
So, I guided her into the entrance to the men's restroom, braving catcalls from the other women of 'slut,' and 'whore.' As we passed the corner, I called out, "Hey, guys, I'm bringing a lady in here. She's blind. She can't see a thing. But, she really needs to go, real bad. Is there a stall open?"
We turned the corner, and about a dozen men were there, using the urinals or washing up. To a man, they all went dead quiet, turned to look, and then one man smiled, saying, "The handicapped stall's open. Guide her in there."
Acting on it, I directed my new charge through the door, and over to the seat, flipping the seat down (guys never do that). I said, as she started to undo her jeans, "The paper is to your right. I'll just leave your packages here, and step out ... ."
Interrupting me, she firmly said, "No. Stay here. Put the packages down and then help me with this belt."
Jaw dropping, I carefully placed her packages on the baby-changing table in the stall, and then gingerly bent to unfastened the complex clasp on her belt. As I freed it, her jeans flipped open and slid down to her knees, and I found myself looking at a nearly transparent Brazilian tanga (thong), just barely not covering her totally shaved pussy. She pulled down the tanga and sat, starting to piss with a vengeance, long and almost loud, as she sighed.
Then I heard her giggle again, as she said, "I hope you liked what you saw, 'cause I liked showing it to you."
I gulped, and finally found my voice, suddenly gone dry, saying, "Well, yeah, I did, that is, I ..."
She giggled again, and said, "I almost never get a chance to tease a guy, and I liked it."
Reaching to her right, she got out a wad of paper, and wiped herself, spreading her thighs wide to do so, cocking her ear over to get a better chance of my gasping, as I stared at her shaven pussy. She stood, and made quite a show about replacing her thong (what there was of it) and pulling up her jeans. She even made me help do up her belt clasp again.
Then, after exiting the stall, she had me direct her to the wash area, and washed her hands. Starting toward the entrance, with my help, she turned, and called out, "Hey, guys!" In one quick motion, she pulled up her t-shirt top, exposing her pretty bare boobs. She held that pose, slowly turning in a complete circle, in dead silence. Then she turned again, dropped her top, and we both left the men's restroom, giggling and laughing.
Not wanting this encounter to end, I asked, "Where to now, pretty girl?"
She answered, "Some place to eat, but not in the food court. Know any place like that?"
I said, "Yes, but you'd have to trust me, again, to take you there, and ride in a sidecar rig, attached to a motorbike."
"Let's go, Mr. Tomcat," she laughed aloud.
A little belatedly, I asked, "By the way, uh, what's your name?"
Giggling, she said, "You've seen my thong, my pussy and looked at my bare, braless tits, and NOW you're asking for my name. It's Danni-with-an-'i'."
I walked Danni-with-an-i out into the parking lot, using the same forearm-guide as before, and directed her how to get in to the sidecar. She belted herself in, collapsed her cane, and called out, "Let's roll!"
About 10 minutes later, we were at a small Thai restaurant. Another half hour later, we were eating fire-hot Thai food, complete from soup & appetizer to entrée, desert and Thai iced coffee.
Weeks before, I'd snagged some straws from a fast food place, and I showed her how to drink the Tom Kha Gai soup through it, getting the bits of vegetables and chicken only at the end. I told her to use her spoon instead of a fork and use a piece of a roll as a 'pusher'.
With her OK, I arranged the plates of food in front of her in a 'clock' patters (iced coffee at 10 o'clock, plate at 6 o'clock, and spring rolls at 2 o'clock).
During the lunch, I looked at her face, and, daring so, asked, "Glass eyes?"
