The concrete is colder than I thought it’d be. More abrasive. Like sandpaper and those small, painfully annoying pebbles that squirm their way into your shoes back when you’re a kid drunk off sugared drinks and running like a bat outta hell around the playground.

Worry free.

Innocent. Happy.

The fucking good old days of pop tarts, staying up late eating jellybeans and watching Power Rangers. Fighting over Monica Lewis’ affections during recess. Scholastic book fares and the Harry Potter craze… years gone in a blur of time.

I suck down a deep breath and take an awkward step forward and up, arms spread out like a high wire artist. Philippe Petit reborn. Waiting for the blood-curdling scream of horror and anger from family members bursting through the roof’s locked door. Startled surprise and splat goes the buck ass naked teenager wearing a polka dot hospital gown like a cape.

“Huh… well this interesting and yet… par for the course,” a velvet smooth voice purrs with lazy disinterest. “Unless you can fly of course. That’d be a new one. Fallers and jumpers are so passé, ya know? You wait and wait for the course correction. Peter Pan fairy dust. Nope. Nada. Just crunch and splat. All that blood makes me queasy and damn do we have a lot of it in us. You’d be surprised, let me tell you. Like a drunkard’s piss, it just keeps flowing.” A little bell like giggle spills into the cool evening air; as if this stranger just said the most amusing thing heard all day.

I blow out the breath I’d holding slowly and step down, stumble, and fall back, right into the pillowed chest of the giggling stranger.

The scent of cherry cola, vanilla, and gummy bears has my mouth watering.

“Happy to meet me, huh?” the stranger sighs into my ear, hand brushing against my thigh, “or you packing heat for the double tap just in case you don’t survive the Peter Pan dive?”

The mystery girl runs a hand down my leg and into the pocket containing rolled up comic books. She slides them out, intent on every so slightly brushing my inner thigh with her knuckles.

“Ooooh. Daredevil, huh? Big comic nerd? You seen the show? Charlie Cox has the cutest ass.” She let’s loose another musical giggle that has the hair rising on the back of my neck.

Somewhat more sullen than intended I say, “More like heard than seen. Same for the comics.”

“How’s that work?”

I wave a hand in front of my face. “Little brother thought I might like it. These are his favorite issues. That treasure collection tick everyone gets as a kid. For him, its comics. I think he’s hoping I’m more like Murdock now than… well… me.”

“You?”

I turn around so she can see what I can’t. “Blind.”

“Chemical splash?”

I chuckle dryly. “Cancer.”

“Fuuuuck. Like Deadpool at least? That’s another cute ass I’d love to sink my teeth into.”

“Unfortunately not. Or maybe fortunately. Still got that baby smooth skin rather than the topographic map of lepers.”

That brings out another laugh. I wink, point to a spot at my temples. “Tumors right here. Benign. So far. But they wrecked havoc on my eyes. No more movies. No video games.”

“No more full moons and ocean waves.”

“No football.”

“No porn.”

“I’ve never,” I say indignantly.

She presses a hand on my chest. “Hot blooded teenager like you? Calling bullshit on that one.”

“Whatever,” I shrug, turning my head out of habit to avoid sightless eye contact.

“Pity you can’t see my ass. I’d love to have those baby blues trained on it.”

I roll my sightless eyes and feel her pull close again, picture her looking me over with Sherlockian interest.

“You really aren’t fucking with me though, are you? No hidden ninja skills and super heightened senses? Or a badass foreign chick with knives?”

“No more than the average boost the blind get. And I think they’re Sais.”

A finger presses against my nose. “Whatever, nerd.”

I stab out blindly to pluck the comics back from her and slide them back into my pocket.

“Planning on reading those?” she teases.

I shrug. “Only if you let me have your eyes. I know a surgeon.”

“I bet you do.”

“Anyway, comics aren’t exactly accessible to the blind, you know. Mostly artwork. No brail. Not being able to see the art kinda ruins the experience.”

“True. But… would you rather see a pair of ridiculously overly exaggerated, two-dimensional tits drawn by overweight virgins or cop a feel of the real thing?” There’s a long drawn out pause. A shoe taps the concrete to the jingle of Jeopardy.

I can’t control the obnoxious flush of embarrassment burning my face or the unfortunate rerouting of my body’s blood supply in a more… southerly direction.

“I used to read to kids at the library some weekends,” she continues. “I sprinkled a bit of fun voice acting into it to keep them coming back. Little shit-demons loved it.”

I nod along, head buzzing from the cherry cola and vanilla scents that have my brain on spin cycle so effectively I swear I can see a blurred image of her.

“I’d be willing to go the extra mile if there are any… promiscuous scenes,” she whispers in my ear, hip pressing into the dick I’m trying like hell to keep from bulging out of my thin hospital gown.

I gulp. “You don’t say.”

“Of course I say!” she sings, pushing away. “Now, if we’re going to do this, we’re doing it right.”

“I never agreed.”

She pats my ass. “You definitely have though. Now. Preparations and libations!” The sound of a metal cap unscrewing fills my ears, followed by a rather unladylike gulping of something liquid. Thirty seconds later, she’s pressing a cylindrical object into my hands. “Have a big swig of my take on an apple pie.”

“Really? Alcohol for the cancer patient?”

“Alcohol? Fuck no. Apple pie cannabis milkshake, my friend. Far worse of an idea. But the best ideas always are, aren’t they?”

“My mother will kill me if she finds out. Chemo potential already has her freaked.”

“I’ll bet that’s never stopped you from being naughty before though.” She pulls the back of my hand against her mouth so I can feel her soft lips curve into a wide smile.

“Guilty,” I grudgingly admit, taking the thermos from her and downing a concoction that starts mellowing me out almost immediately.

*

I thought she might have been having one off on me. Gentle teasing to talk me off the ledge. Maybe even one of mother’s hired goons to cheer me up. Not that I was ever considering a swan dive off the roof. I’m blind, not depressed.

And yet, she’s fully into it. So much so that I can almost visualize what she’s doing.

Jumping off ledges. Spinning. Twirling.

Shoes scraping the concrete she flows in and out of disturbingly impressive male voices of bourbon and cigarettes and the melodic notes of sultry purring females. She delivers each and every line and inner-monologue as if she’s reading Shakespeare: passion and pain and brooding.

And all of the mother fucking sound effects present in damn near every comic.

POW! BAM! ZWOOSH! CRUNCH! KABOOM! BZZZZ!

It’s got me laughing so hard I swear my ribs are going to crack and my lungs are going to burst out in a shower of red.

And then it’s over all too soon and I’m left wishing Trevor had given me longer issues. I don’t know if it’s the cannabis or her, but there’s a heat in me I haven’t felt since my vision started fading. It makes me feel… whole.

“ACT II is finito,” my stranger announces breathlessly.

I give her an awkward low clap as I try to hide my disappointment.

* * *

“What do you miss most?”

We’re sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling out into space. She’s pushed up right against me and I can feel her warmth radiating into me. I think for a moment, savoring her presence and the soft leather jacket under my naked ass.

“Can’t be sandpapering that cute little butt, can we?” she’d said.

I shrug. “Doubt I have an answer that isn’t cliché as fuck.”

She bumps her shoulder into mine. “I don’t doubt it. But this isn’t a literature class with a persnickety professor, dude. What’s the first thing that pops into your head?”

“I don’t know… stories I guess? Daydreaming?”

“Stories?”

“I mean visualizing stories. Brail does well enough. That’s not the issue. I can still read, just by touch instead of sight.”

“And?”

“But the longer you go without sight, the more you… forget.

“Ah. I could be a playboy model for all you know. Or I could be a genetic freak with four eyes and a unibrow. Or a dude with a dick hot after your puckered, lilywhite ass.”

I shudder. “I guess that’s another problem to add.”

“Meeting new people while blind is like a box of chocolates huh? Never know when you’ll get mystery cock.”

I groan.

“What?”

“Now that’s a clichéd reference society needs to ditch.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“You first.”

“Cheeky little shithead,” you laugh.

“Anyway. It’s worse when you’re trying to picture something you’ve read and you can’t. It’s like your brain forgets how to process shapes and colors. Frustrating as fuck.”

“I’ll bet.”

Neither of us says anything for the next several moments until she takes my hand in hers and pulls me up close to her until our noses press lightly against each other.

“You trust me?”

I arch an eyebrow. “You pulling an Aladdin on me? Now you’re really scraping the pop culture barrel.”

“Uh-huh. Fucking magic carpet ride, baby. You’re my Jasmine,” she whispers hotly into my ear while cupping my naked ass, “and I’m in the wish granting mood.”

“So now you’re Genie, huh?”

Her arms slide around my waist. “You gonna keep talking, or do I have to shut you up the old fashioned way?”

“Old fash…”

Warm lips merge with mine at the same time she pulls us over the ledge and into gravity. My heart leaps and my dick soars, out into nothing.

*

“Open your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“Open your eyes.”

“They ar… Oh.” Being blind, I sometimes forget when my eyes are open and when they’re closed. It’s why I like sunglasses so much. Makes interactions with people less awkward.

Slowly, my eyelids separate and, impossibly, light starts to filter in.

“I can’t give you back your eyesight. But… I can give you something else.”

“I don’t,” I mumble, confused. It’s like staring into a wall of white light.

“Give it a few moments. But in the mean time…” She pulls me in for another kiss and it’s not the tentative, first time variety either. It’s the kind with a singular purpose. Get a dick as hard as possible as fast as possible.

*

“You’ve closed them again,” you giggle.

“It’s kind of… hard not to,” I answer, my engorged dick jutting into her thigh for emphasis.

“Sorry not sorry,” you whisper. “Now open.”

Tentatively, I let them slide open.

And my heart launches into jumping jacks.

“Whatcha think?” you say, spinning around in a circle. “You’re one lucky bastard. Those playboy bitches wish they had a body like this.”

I’m stupefied. Dumbfounded. Confused. Not so much by the fact that I can see, or that we’re floating in a void of empty space, but by your shock of intricate silver hair and the highways of veins and arteries pumping neon blue blood just beneath sleek, obsidian skin.

“You… you.”

“Yes, me,” she grins. “In all my glory.”

“I don’t understand.”

She smirks with a set of pearl teeth. “Me either really. Woke up like this years ago. No rhyme or reason. Just a freaked out religious father who kicked me out of the house. Satan’s spawn and all that shit. Whore mother.” She shrugs. “Not that it matters.”

“I…”

She floats forward and reaches out to cup my face with cool hands. “Don’t think. It’ll just get in the way. As I said before, I can’t heal your eyes. What I can do is…” she pauses, smiling wider, “create a temporary world where you can. A place you can visit when you read. A different kind of seeing.” She taps my head. “Right here.”

“But…”

“Oh shut up and enjoy the catch, virgin.”

“Who said I was…” She cuts me off again with another searing kiss, one that feels like both fire and ice.

“You are wearing entirely too much,” she moans, hands ripping the hospital gown from my body.

*

We float weightlessly in the void, mouths melded together and tongues battling for dominance. It’s like a dream. Though, I guess it’s not so much like. It is. And yet, it’s far from it. It’s reality and dream welded together so perfectly you can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.

I latch hungrily onto an erect nipple that tastes like ice cream and cherry cobbler.

“Fuck,” she grunts, swiveling her hips back and forth against my abs and the tip of my erection.

Smirking, I slide a hand between us and spear my thumb into her gushing folds and my middle finger through the crinkled ring of your tight asshole. Her sleek form spasms and a shriek of pleasure tears from her lips.

“Maybe… not… a virgin,” she gasps.

“Porn,” I joke as we barrel roll through the void, finger and thumb slow pumping her to a non-existent beat.

“Eat me,” she demands, hips paired to the beat of my thrusts. “Now.”

“Mmhmm,” I tease, slowing the thrusts to a crawl. “Can that mind of yours make it taste like hot fudge and whipped cream?”

“Childish,” she pants, “but doable. Now get to work.” Her legs curl up and her feet find purchase on my shoulders to push my head down to her sopping cunt.

A patch of silver fur adorns her shiny obsidian crotch. I press my nose against her engorged clit, chuckling as she whimpers with need.

“Definitely smells like fudge,” I grin, nuzzling her wet steaming pussy. “Sure you aren’t the creation of a pervy comic book artist.”

“Shut up,” she hisses.

“You first.” I dive in, mouth sealing around my meal of hot fudge pussy and whipped cream arousal. I am not disappointed. Not even the most talented Belgian chocolatier could bring out this much flavor. It’s bittersweet with subtle hints of heat, like chili fudge.

“Fuck,” she grunts. “More. Deeper. FUUCK!”

Her legs squeeze around my head; I respond by burrowing my tongue in as deeply as possible to devour her steady gush of creamy fluids.

A warm electric buzz builds in me the more I swallow, like that childhood sugar rush set to explode in a burst of chaotic, destructive energy. My dick swells painfully, desperate for its own taste of talented pussy.

I push her legs up to her pillowed tits and stare for a moment, entranced again by the vibrant glow of her circulatory network pumping its blue glowing blood. I take a few more lazy licks of her saturated pussy, then dip lower to buzz my tongue over her crinkled star.

*

“Ready?” I ask, not even bothering to wait for an answer. I push slowly into her tight buttery cunt, savoring each ripple of her inner muscles around my throbbing cock. As soon as I bottom out, however, my dick seizes up and my body twitches painfully as if every muscle is cramping up at once.

“You sure you were,” she chirps languorously, halfway between a moan and a giggle.

“Fuck,” I bellow. My cock head splits and my balls unleash a cannon blast of boiling hot spunk.

I pull you tightly to my chest and we spin through the void like a rollercoaster in zero gravity, my cock spurting again and again and again until its bubbling out around the seal like a burst dam.

*

Her mouth finds mine when the spurts slow to a trickle. We battle lazily with tongue and nails and teeth until she pulls away, gasping.

“More,” you demand, hips grinding, pussy corkscrewing around my painfully over sensitized cock.

“More? I don’t think I have any left,” I wheeze.

“You forget,” she grins, tapping my head. “My creation. My rules.”

“Fuck me,” I groan, exasperated.

“I plan to.”

*

By the end of the tenth round, we’re both a tangled, inverted mess of flesh. A steady river of cum still leaks from both of her abused holes as well as the corner of her mouth. It’s in her hair. Rubbed into her body and mine like lotion.

I lap lazily at her messy cunt, her messier asshole, slurping up our combined fluids like an addict’s drug. Likewise, her mouth is sealed over the crown of my deflating erection, sucking down every last drop of my seed like it’s the last source of liquid on the planet.

*

“So, what now,” I ask, stroking her hair. She snuggles into the crook of my arm and sighs.

“You need to wake up.”

“Why?”

“You can’t stay here indefinitely, Sam.”

“What if I want to?”

“Not how it works. You’ll wither away.”

“This is it then?”

“I’m sorry.”

I blow out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“At least tell me your name.”

She grins into my shoulder and whispers a name that sounds like music.

*

Sometime later

I run my fingers over the brail lettering, desperate for my mind to bring the story to life. Frustrated that it isn’t working, I slam the book shut.

“You aren’t giving up that easily, are you?” a familiar voice asks.

“I thought…”

“Incorrectly,” she giggles, materializing before my sightless eyes.