The Blind Girl in the Rain: part 1

The Blind Girl in the Rain: part 1.
A romance.


“Hey, stud,” said the girl to my left, “How about sharing some of that big old cock of yours with this empty pussy of mine?”

I looked across to her at the end of another deep thrust between the sweet thighs of the mewling fuck beneath me as I pounded her well-stretched snatch into the mattress. Instinctively, the younger woman clasped me tighter to her as her long black stockinged legs wrapped themselves around my splayed thighs and pounding buttocks. I was on auto-pilot. Doing the same old same on another Friday night with two hot bitches from the typing pool eager to discover if the rumors were true.

I stopped for a moment buried deep in hot wet clasping female sex as I frowned in the low light bathing the room in a pale yellowish glow. Who was I fucking and who was asking to be fucked? I gave my head a shake. Their names. What were their names again? Christ, dude, are you that far gone?

The girl wanting to be fucked slipped closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she pressed her lips against the side of my face and licked my left ear.

“Save some for me, lover,” she breathed as she ran her right hand through my thick brown hair, “You’ve already sent Suzie around the moon twice.”

Ah. Suzie. Eager little sexpot Suzie. And she was Diane. Diane of the huge balloons, insatiable asshole, and awkward hemorrhoid. Now we were on the same page. A page that had begun with a few suggested drinks after work and a means to an end to cross numbers 18 and 19 off my fuck bucket list. Twenty-two in the pool so only another three to go. Those three were the hardcore. Those women who knew the type of man I was and who knew how to play my game. The absolutely un-fuckables as Jimmy had called them. Still, this had been a good run. Nearly six solid months of sweet talking all 19 out of their panties each Friday night to satisfy the vanity within me. As the saying goes: have big cock will fuck any time in any place in any hole.

Suzie gave a hiss of disappointment as I suddenly exited her sopping slot and rolled over and onto the black haired temptress that was Diane and her impressive melons. She gasped a wide-eyed, “Oh, you big son of a bitch,” as I fed her my pride and joy as we set off Apollo-like on a round trip around the cosmos. The fuck was as familiar as a comfortable sweater and just as hot as I fell into the cut and thrust of maintaining my reputation as an expert cocksman and smiled as the glazed eyes of number 18 rolled back into her head as she cried out her first orgasm of several before I made them both kneel at my feet and let them both taste the fruits of our labors.

It was just a damned shame that neither of them meant anything.

Anything at all.

*



Monday morning rolled around in the blink of an eye.

The concrete jungle of lower Manhatten lay glistening and steaming under the steady rainfall that fell from leaden skies as the working week got underway. As usual, everywhere you looked there was wall to wall traffic as I sat in my Lambo idly tapping my fingers on the wheel waiting for the lights ahead of me to change. To my left was a well worn yellow taxi with the driver looking as resigned as I felt as the minutes passed and no fucker moved an inch.

All around us the great mass of the rush hour made their ways to wherever they were going that helped pay the bills, put food on the table, and keep the wolf from the door. A grumbling tide of huddled humanity working for the man so he could buy another yacht and send his two point four kids to Harvard. At least in stocks, I had room to breathe. Room to be a sex-obsessed resolutely single thirty-year-old asshole with no one to care about other than self. Look after number one. Life was much simpler that way. The only fate that matters is the fate you make for yourself.

Finally, the traffic began to move.

Little did I know that fate had other plans for me.

*

The light glowed a deep red in the gloom as I pulled to a stop at the pedestrian crossing and watched with a frustrated sigh as everyone began to stream across. It was raining hard now with the sound of the storm thundering on the roof of the car along with the swooshing sound of my wipers flicking back and forth. The sooner I was in that underground car park the better I mused as I suddenly glanced to my right as something caught my attention.

It was then I saw her.

Not so much her as the bright white stick she was holding out in front of her. She had stopped and was tap tapping the space in front of her. She was completely hidden under a raincoat that looked two sizes too big for her. I couldn’t see her face but it was obvious that she was either partially sighted or maybe even totally blind. I sat watching her as she seemed to gather herself before stepping out onto the crossing.

The stick was sweeping a short arc as she carefully made her way as people swirled around her. I suddenly felt myself tensing up as I stared at her with a kind of surreal fascination and admiration at what she was doing. Was she going to work? Shopping? Whatever it was, she had guts. There she was. Just her, her oversized raincoat, black knee-length skirt, black stockings and sensible shoes against the world.

And then that world changed.

There is always THAT asshole. The asshole in a rush not giving a shit. I felt myself sit forward suddenly as I saw him running towards her. Everything happened in slow motion. She was about two-thirds of the way across when he hit her. It was a glancing blow on the shoulder but it was enough to throw her out of the loop and the girl spun around for a split second before falling to the ground with her losing grip of her stick. She fell face down and lay there as people glanced at her but no one stopped. The asshole looked over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd.

I could see her hand reaching out patting the ground around her. She had drawn herself in with her legs beneath her as if trying to protect her body as the rain began to ease. I just stared. Like an idiot. What the hell are you doing? Do something. Go help her.

*

“Is she alright?”

I looked up to see the yellow taxi driver standing over us as I knelt down beside the girl who was still laid there all curled up in a huddle. Behind us, the lights had changed and the air was filled with honking horns and irate drivers. I shook my head and leaned down closer to her. Her hood was pulled down across her face and I carefully took her hand. As soon as I touched her skin she gave a little jerk of surprise.

“Miss,” I said to her softly, “Miss, are you okay?”

I saw her nod. “I think so. My stick.” Her voice was clear and pure. It had a sing-song lilt to it with a hint of Irishness.

The taxi driver glanced around. “Over there. We need to get her off this crossing to where she will be safe. Do you want me to…”

“No,” I said firmly, “I’ll do it. You get the stick.” I frowned at myself for I had this resolute determination to be the one to do this, “Miss, I’m going to reach under you and carry you to the pavement, okay?”

She didn’t say anything but twisted slightly so I could lift her up and she gave a slight grunt of pain as I held her against me with my left arm under her knees and my right supporting her upper body. In a moment, I was standing on the sidewalk with the taxi driver fussing around her.

“It’s alright,” she said suddenly, “You can put me down now.”

What? I blinked and realized I still held her in my arms. Slightly embarrassed, I let her down gently and stepped back as she checked her clothing. What was I doing? She was fine. No harm was done. Let the lady get on with her day. I felt strange. Really strange and I had no idea why. I had this overwhelming urge to protect her. I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure. Jesus H. Christ. What a way to start a Monday.

“Sorry,” I muttered, watching as she brushed down her raincoat and took her stick from the taxi driver, “I um just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It was then everything changed.

She turned at the sound of my voice, lifted her face towards me and smiled.

*

“Morning, Mr. Sloane,” said Debbie as I walked through reception and approached the girl behind the main desk, “Good weekend?” she asked, giving me that all too familiar ‘Don’t you know that ALL girls talk’ knowing look.

Usually, I’d play their little game. But not today.

“Any messages?” I asked bluntly, “News?”

The receptionist frowned at me for a second before checking the post and general department email server. “Um, just the legal proofs from Millhouse you were expecting.” She tapped away on her keyboard, “Nothing major email wise. A few department heads want to set up meetings on the floor sometime this week.