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?”


“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.

She pushed the backpack from his shoulder, letting it fall with a weighted thud from the book he’d stuffed away earlier.

“What have you got in there?”

“My milk money,” he said, searching out her lips for another kiss.

“That’s a lot of milk.”

“Does a body good.”

“So I see,” her voice was soft, close to his ear; her warm breath followed by a soft tickle as she gently licked his earlobe. He gasped as her lips and tongue continued exploring, her hands back on his chest, working their way down his stomach, over his hips. He hissed.

He heard something large and metallic fall to the floor maybe fifty feet off –through a wall or door, by the muffled effect of the noise. A man shouted something Alex could not make out and more men laughed.

“What if somebody comes out of there?” he said, his voice straining with tension.

“There we’re caught,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Most likely you’ll be banned for life and I’ll lose my job. We might be charged with public indecency, have to go to court, possibly labeled as sex offenders and be put on one of those registries. If it’s a slow news day, we might even be publicly disgraced on television.”

“Well, since you put it that way,” he snickered.

“It’s like there’s practically no downside.”

This time he laughed loudly. She hushed him and pressed her mouth against his to silence him. He moaned against her lips, feeling her tongue press forward. She tasted of cinnamon candies.

“God,” he muttered. “Please tell me who you are.”

Her hands trailed down over his stomach again, tugging at the button fly of his jeans.

“I suppose you’re not interested in small talk, then,” he said.

She reached into his pants, covering his cock with the heat of her hand through his underwear. He exhaled loudly, turning his face towards her and breathing in the mildly floral scent of shampoo off her hair.

“Let me guess,” she said, pushing his pants low on his hips. “You’re an air traffic controller.”

“Close. I’m a neurosurgeon.”

“That’s pretty close to piano teacher.” Her fingers spider-walked up along his Y-fronts and curled around his dick, the delicious first contact of skin on skin.

Alex moaned, the naming of his occupation taking a second to register through the haze of sensory input.

“So we do know each other,” he said, finally feeling like he had gained some ground in this game of wits.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just asked somebody at Andrew’s party who that handsome guy on the sofa was.”

“And they said, ‘oh, that’s Danny.’”

“Yeah.” Her fist began to slide up and down over his heated skin. “But then I said, ‘no. The really cute one. Beside Danny.’”

“You think I’m better looking than Danny?”

“Definitely.” She paused a moment as her hand slowed, and then stopped. “Do you know what Danny looks like? Actually, do you know what you look like?”

“I did,” he said, now nearly able to breathe, and think clearly, again. “Up till I was nine. I imagine we’ve changed since then.”

“You could see till you were nine?”

“Yes. Car accident. Brain injury,” he paused, smiling, and thrust his hips forward, pushing his cock against her hand. “I also have terrible problems controlling my libido.”

“Is that so?” She circled her thumb lazily around the tip of his dick.

“For sure,” he sighed, fighting to stay cogent. “Perhaps you’ve hit your head as well.”

“No. I just like taking risks.”

“Ah. Lack of adequate risk assessment: symptom of brain injury.”

“You’re very smart.”

“I read a lot.”

“You’re too smart for a lot of girls, I imagine.”

“Here I thought I was just too blind for a lot of girls.”

“Well, hopefully you’re not too much of anything for me.”

“You should tell me your name then.”

“You want conversation, or you want fellatio? Because my mama told me it was rude to talk with my mouth full.”

“I’ll shut up.”


The heat of her body moved downwards in tandem with the swish of her shoes sliding on the floor as she dropped to her knees. The air was cool as she pulled his jockeys down. She traced a wet, tickling path over his cock and he leaned his head back, banging it lightly on the wall.

Her lips wrapped around his shaft, sucking and pulling gently at his skin, her teeth gently grazing along his length. She cupped his balls and thumbed at them lazily as she kissed his dick up and down.

Her tongue flicked and stroked a wet fire on his skin, teasing him by tracing the bell shaped corona of his cock-head. He stroked her hair as his fingers tightened around the cane in his other hand, his breath already coming faster. He fought the urge to tell her to hurry, torn between wanting to enjoy and savor this moment, and fearing being caught.

She alternated between swirling her tongue around the tip of his penis and taking it in between her lips. The slick sucking sounds and the easy glide of his knob into the heat of her mouth were already half driving him wild. The desire to prolong the moment was starting to be less about languishing in pleasure than not making a fool of himself by coming in less than two minutes.

Alex exhaled sharply as she finally slid her lips down his shaft, enveloping him in spit-slippery heat. Her tongue swiped at his skin as her lips covered and released his cock. He could feel her breath passing over his shaft in a warm mild tingle. His entire body felt liquid as he relaxed into the sensation, letting himself sink into contented enjoyment.

Her mouth swept back and forth, tongue dancing along his enflamed skin, teasing his nerve endings and making the muscles in his stomach tighten and quiver reflexively.

The heat in his belly built steadily as every pass of her lips threw more kindling on the fire. His breath was a ragged panting and he moaned helplessly as she pulled away to lap at the sensitive V-shaped ridge of his head with her soft wet tongue. Sucking him back into the heat of her mouth, her fingers massaging his balls, she hum-moaned against him, the subtle vibrations echoing through his cock, making every muscle in his body tense up.

That familiar premonitory shiver ran down his spine and straight through him to her mouth; his feet tingled. Her lips locked tighter around his dick, her head bobbing faster along his length. Fireworks exploded in his mind –one of the few times he saw color anymore –as his back arched and his muscles went into uncontrollable spasms. The indescribable pleasure and release of tension broke over him as he came.

As he settled and leaned back against the wall, she got to her feet and kissed his cheek.

“You’re not going to snowball me or something, are you?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” she whispered, running her finger idly over his softening cock.

“Of course not. Why would I be suspicious of a woman who anonymously molests me in dank corridors and coat closets?”

“It’s not that dank in here.”

“No, it’s dank.” He inhaled. “Smells like mold and cigarettes.”

She pulled his jeans up over his hips but left them unbuttoned, his jockeys still pushed low enough for her to fondle his balls.

A door banged open, he guessed about twenty feet away but the echo made it difficult to be sure. The hallway flooded with men’s voices and the grinding click of cigarette lighters. Alex reached for the front of his pants but she pushed his hands away.

“I’m wearing a long coat,” she said, shifting a bit to his side to block their view. “They can’t see anything. They think we’re just kissing or something.”

She pulled his underpants up, snapping the elastic band against his stomach.

“Ow. That wasn’t very nice.”

“Still better than snowballing you.”

One of the men called over, “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing,” Alex said, hurrying to button his jeans. “We’re just leaving.”

She helped him settle his backpack on his shoulder and led him back out toward the promenade.

“I suppose you’re going to walk away again without telling me your name.”

“Cinnamon Altoid?” She shook a small metal tin.

“No, thank you. Unless that is your name.”

“Would be odd.” The tin clicked shut, the rattle of loose candies muffled by being placed back in her pocket.

“This whole thing is odd,” he said as they stopped near the fountain where she’d found him.

“Yeah. But odd can be good.” She kissed him on the cheek again, the strong smell of cinnamon mixing with her perfume. “Odd can be sexy.”

He listened to the fading click of her heels until it was lost among the rest of the ambient noise in the mall and went back to waiting for Danny to take him shopping.

September 2018
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