place
where the tie had been, and I stopped him, grabbing one of his hands. I couldn't see him, but finally, I had the freedom to really touch him.
I started with his hand, exploring it with my own.
He had long, thin fingers; rough knuckles; thick, strong wrists. I moved my hand slowly up his arm. Hair on his forearm, but not too much, and then my hand was blocked by his sleeve, which felt like silk. I moved my hand up higher. His upper arm was bulky and hard. I moved my hand up farther, exploring his shoulder. I'd always had the impression he was stockier than me, and feeling him now, I knew I'd been right. He was a bit shorter than me, but much broader. I moved my hand down to his chest. His shirt was open at the top, and I felt smooth skin over hard muscles.
Very little hair on his chest. Both nipples pierced with thin metal rings.
Slowly, I moved my hand back up, along the soft
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Marie
Sexton
skin of his neck. My fingers found a strange ridge, at the spot where his neck met his shoulder. I stopped to feel it.
"It's a scar," he said. "From the war. I nearly bled to death."
I knew more about that scar than he realized.
I moved my hand up further. His ear was pierced,
once with only a simple stud on his lobe, and again up higher with a hoop. I felt his hair against my fingertips. My thumb was on his temple, and I moved it back, along the side of his head. It wasn't shaved all the way to the skin, but the hair was short there. Higher up, it was longer, obviously ratted, sticking up and out. No wonder I'd been able to feel it on my cheeks as he kissed my neck. My fingers followed the mohawk down the back of his skull. The hair there hung several centimeters past the nape of his neck.
"What color is it?" I asked.
"Black." He laughed. "Mostly." He took my hand and guided it back to his temple. "Red here." He moved my hand to a spot behind his ear, almost at the nape of his neck. "Purple here." He laughed again, and I could tell he was embarrassed. "I'm a vain man, Tristan. I spend a ridiculous amount of time in front of the mirror before you arrive, even though I know you can't see me."
The confession made me smile. I moved my fingers
forward to carefully explore his face. It was strange. I'd
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Blind
Space
Marie
Sexton
never felt anybody else's features before, so I had no idea how to put everything I felt into an image. I stuck with what I could easily visualize: his eyebrows were thin, his cheeks were smooth, there was a tiny cleft in his chin. His lips…
I knew what they felt like.
I leaned in and kissed him. Always before, my
bound hands had been between us. Finally, I was able to feel his body against mine, and to put my arms around him.
He pulled me tight against him. It felt amazing, but it wasn't enough. There was so much of him I still didn't know.
I broke our kiss, falling to my knees in front of him.
I pulled his shirt open and felt his stomach. It was smooth and flat, yet not too hard. There was a tiny bit of softness there to hint at the relative luxury he lived in. I found the buttons on his pants and unhooked them.
"Tristan," he said, his voice thick with arousal.
"Shhh," I said. Whatever he wanted, it could wait. I pulled his pants open and used my hands to explore lower on his stomach.
Hair began just below his navel—not thick, but not
just a trail, either. Sparse hair across his lower abdomen, getting thicker as my hands slowly moved lower. My
fingers finally found his cock, thick and hard where it
121
Blind
Space
Marie
Sexton
emerged from his coarse hair, which I knew now had to be black.
"Oh gods, Tristan," he moaned as my fingers moved up his shaft to his tip.
A thick metal ring pierced the end of his cock. Not circumcised. Most men weren't, but occasionally one still encountered a man without his foreskin. I used my fingers to slide his back all the way. I felt his fingers clench in my hair, pulling me toward him. I opened my mouth and let
where the tie had been, and I stopped him, grabbing one of his hands. I couldn't see him, but finally, I had the freedom to really touch him.
I started with his hand, exploring it with my own.
He had long, thin fingers; rough knuckles; thick, strong wrists. I moved my hand slowly up his arm. Hair on his forearm, but not too much, and then my hand was blocked by his sleeve, which felt like silk. I moved my hand up higher. His upper arm was bulky and hard. I moved my hand up farther, exploring his shoulder. I'd always had the impression he was stockier than me, and feeling him now, I knew I'd been right. He was a bit shorter than me, but much broader. I moved my hand down to his chest. His shirt was open at the top, and I felt smooth skin over hard muscles.
Very little hair on his chest. Both nipples pierced with thin metal rings.
Slowly, I moved my hand back up, along the soft
119
Blind
Space
Marie
Sexton
skin of his neck. My fingers found a strange ridge, at the spot where his neck met his shoulder. I stopped to feel it.
"It's a scar," he said. "From the war. I nearly bled to death."
I knew more about that scar than he realized.
I moved my hand up further. His ear was pierced,
once with only a simple stud on his lobe, and again up higher with a hoop. I felt his hair against my fingertips. My thumb was on his temple, and I moved it back, along the side of his head. It wasn't shaved all the way to the skin, but the hair was short there. Higher up, it was longer, obviously ratted, sticking up and out. No wonder I'd been able to feel it on my cheeks as he kissed my neck. My fingers followed the mohawk down the back of his skull. The hair there hung several centimeters past the nape of his neck.
"What color is it?" I asked.
"Black." He laughed. "Mostly." He took my hand and guided it back to his temple. "Red here." He moved my hand to a spot behind his ear, almost at the nape of his neck. "Purple here." He laughed again, and I could tell he was embarrassed. "I'm a vain man, Tristan. I spend a ridiculous amount of time in front of the mirror before you arrive, even though I know you can't see me."
The confession made me smile. I moved my fingers
forward to carefully explore his face. It was strange. I'd
120
Blind
Space
Marie
Sexton
never felt anybody else's features before, so I had no idea how to put everything I felt into an image. I stuck with what I could easily visualize: his eyebrows were thin, his cheeks were smooth, there was a tiny cleft in his chin. His lips…
I knew what they felt like.
I leaned in and kissed him. Always before, my
bound hands had been between us. Finally, I was able to feel his body against mine, and to put my arms around him.
He pulled me tight against him. It felt amazing, but it wasn't enough. There was so much of him I still didn't know.
I broke our kiss, falling to my knees in front of him.
I pulled his shirt open and felt his stomach. It was smooth and flat, yet not too hard. There was a tiny bit of softness there to hint at the relative luxury he lived in. I found the buttons on his pants and unhooked them.
"Tristan," he said, his voice thick with arousal.
"Shhh," I said. Whatever he wanted, it could wait. I pulled his pants open and used my hands to explore lower on his stomach.
Hair began just below his navel—not thick, but not
just a trail, either. Sparse hair across his lower abdomen, getting thicker as my hands slowly moved lower. My
fingers finally found his cock, thick and hard where it
121
Blind
Space
Marie
Sexton
emerged from his coarse hair, which I knew now had to be black.
"Oh gods, Tristan," he moaned as my fingers moved up his shaft to his tip.
A thick metal ring pierced the end of his cock. Not circumcised. Most men weren't, but occasionally one still encountered a man without his foreskin. I used my fingers to slide his back all the way. I felt his fingers clench in my hair, pulling me toward him. I opened my mouth and let
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