Blind Date

I open the door, and the light from the hallway intrudes on the darkness of my apartment. My hand is reaching around the door for you, but you do not see it and ask me where it is. I can see yours pushing through and I take it to guide you in.

Your hand is dry and smooth and I feel safe now. The reality of physical contact begins to diffuse the anxiety that had grown within me from many days of anticipating this moment. Our eyes close now as you step inside, shut the door, and we are sealed in blackness. We embrace and your jacket feels cold on my arms. I push my face against you to relish the scent with which you have filled the room, and I think, "I will always remember this." You smell of leather, incense, spice and blood.

My dress is cut low across my shoulders, and as you hold me, you kiss my bare neck and inhale deeply. What do I smell like to you? You tell me how good I feel, and I think that I like the way your hands feel against the small of my back. I then reach around for your hand again to take you into the next room.

Your eyes are still adjusting and you are completely blind as I walk you through the long entryway into the living-room. My vision is still vague and minimal, but I have been in the dark for nearly half an hour now, and the shadows have become somewhat familiar to me. I have been practicing walking back and forth in this stretch of my apartment for many minutes. I know where the dresser is, how cold the plaster will feel as we run our hands along the side of the wall to keep our balance and direction, and where exactly the ladder that I store there will protrude into our path.

As we step through the doorway, you are totally in my lead, and I guide you to the couch, where you will be safe. "Stay here," I tell you, and I go to open the champagne you have brought for us. The bottle is easy to open, because I have opened so many before. I simply unwind the wire, revealing the cork, and it pops into my hand as I twist it firmly.

Pouring is more difficult. I touch the mouth of the champagne to the crystal, but as I begin to pour, I quickly feel foam swelling over the sides of the glass and spilling onto the table. I laugh and curse and you tell me to save some for drinking. I lift the glass and can vaguely see the level of the champagne rise against the dim glow of the sheet-covered window as I pour gently into the tilted flute. Then I fill the other and walk carefully back to you. My hands are sticky now, and I lick my fingers.

I can see the outline of your knee against the couch, and I know where to sit. My left leg now touches yours, and I cross my right one over to rest across your lap. I take a small handful of the side of your shirt and pull myself closer to you as we touch glasses and toast our first meeting.

We drink quickly, and the alcohol affects me immediately because I have been unable to eat all day. I walk across the room again and bring back more champagne and some grapes. I put our glasses on the ground and you pull me towards you from the couch. I climb forwards onto your lap and lift my dress. It rips and we laugh. You apologize and I lean into your chest for you to unzip it and pull it over my head. We are now separated by your clothes and my full-body stocking.

I feel your solid legs beneath mine as I straddle you and you find my face with your hand, to kiss me for the first time. You guide me closer and I think your hands feel good against my skin. I want to know how your lips will feel against mine and what you will taste like. You are delicious.

My left hand is still filled with grapes. I put one in my mouth, lean over and split the grape with my teeth as I push half into your mouth. It is ripe and sweet and mixes well with the champagne and mint taste of your tongue. I would like to spend many hours here, just tasting you.

My fingers peruse you in the darkness, exploring your arms, your shoulders, your chest and your face. What does your face look like? It is too dark to tell.