In the Dark

“Hey there.”
Isis turned her head, searching for the source of the sound. Water droplets dripped from her hair as she stood shivering in the lobby--she was never dressed appropriately for the Seattle weather.
“Over here.” A familiar deep voice. Jordan. Her neighbor.
Isis just moved into the Capital Hill condo two months ago, after leaving the School for the Arts for the Blind where she’d studied classical piano for four years. It was time to end the sheltered life she’d led as a child. Isis was ready to live life on her own.
Isis had no real family. They’d all been killed in Croatia, while working as missionaries, during the bomb blast that took her sight. A United States citizen from Anchorage, Alaska, who had been living abroad for the summer, she was sent back to America to be raised in a strict orphanage.
Isis had turned fourteen that summer. Already a gifted pianist, her scholarship to the School for the Arts was a given. She’d spent the last four years there, living in a dormitory, kept in line by the humorless Resident Assistant. It didn’t matter anyway as Isis never had much of a social life. Not since the accident anyway. Her blindness was like a force field, keeping people at bay.
She worked as a pianist in an upscale department store and managed to support herself between doing that and her Alaska Permanent Fund dividend. She’d had an easy day and a quick transport ride home. It was now approaching four o’clock and, Jordan, who worked from home as a journalist, was coming in at the same time she was.
Isis heard the ding of the elevator.
“After you,” Jordan said. Isis moved into the empty box. Something changed in the atmosphere when Jordan was around and Isis found herself looking for him whenever she returned home, like today. Of course, she couldn’t see him, but she sensed him--always feeling his presence above all others.
Furthermore, Isis felt herself blush when he spoke to her. She didn’t want him to notice this so she kept her eyes downcast when talking with him. Luckily for her, she had a socially acceptable reason to avoid eye contact.
At first she’d tried to avoid him. She’d say “Hi” and hurry away. But Jordan was persistent. He kept talking to her. Until she finally started talking back and found she enjoyed conversing with him.
As a result, she’d come to look forward to the times when she’d run into him on the way to or from work.
Sometimes, she found herself thinking of him when she was alone, wondering what he looked like. Her mind still formed visual pictures and she imagined him in different ways. She could tell his basic height from her interactions with him, but the rest was a mystery. She imagined him fat and thin and in between. Blonde, Hispanic, red-headed. Green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes. She’d spun many mental variations of him. Isis didn’t have a favorite look nailed down.
There was so much she didn’t know about him. How did he dress? Was he a jeans and t-shirt guy or more formal? Did he wear baseball caps all the time? Was he pierced? Tattooed?
As the elevator’s chime announced they’d reached the fourth floor, Isis had an idea. Why not ask him?
“After you,“ Jordan said, ushering her out. She stepped into the hall and turned around.
“Jordan?” she’d skip the formalities and get right to it.
“Yes?” he said, closer now. Good.
“What color are your eyes?”
He laughed. “No one has ever asked me that before,” he said. “They’re brown.” Ah, brown. Hers were blue.
“What color is your hair?”
“I shave my head, but my hair would be brown. Why?”
“Because I don’t know,” Isis said, trying to explain and frustrated by it. She should have known he wouldn’t understand. Isis ran a hand through her own brown curls before crossing her arms over her chest.
“Sorry. I forget you’re blind sometimes. That was insensitive of me.”
What? “No!” Isis’ heart began to pound. She hadn’t considered that he might not see her first and foremost as someone flawed and to be pitied. “I’m glad you forgot. It makes me feel like you see me as whole.”
“You are,” he said, closer still, his voice a caress, his breath warm on her cheek.
Wow. Isis shivered, a delicious and foreign tingle traveling her body. “Maybe that’s what I like about you. You don’t treat me as handicapped.”
She felt his fingers touch her face lightly, moving along her jaw until he cupped her chin in his hand. “I hope that’s not all that you like.”
Oh boy. Isis knew that she was pretty--or that she used to be. Her willowy body was kept in tip-top shape by ballet, an activity that caused her to move gracefully. Her brown curls hung well past her shoulders. Her features were petite except for her wide blue eyes--she had a gamine face.
Before the explosion, she had gotten a lot of attention from boys but she ignored them. Since the accident she shut herself off. Men brave enough the get past her frosty façade sometimes asked her out. Isis figured they were simply doing a good deed and shot them all down. None of them mattered, anyway. None of them affected her. Except Jordan.
Isis stepped back, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy of his touch.
“Sorry,” Jordan said.
“No, it’s just . . .” she said, trailing off.
“What?”
How could she explain this to him? These feelings he stirred deep inside her. The fear of them consuming her if she indulged them. The terror that once he really knew her, he would reject her. Isis didn’t understand these things herself. All she knew was that she craved his nearness. And she really enjoyed his touch.
“Cat got your tongue?” Jordan said, a teasing tone to his voice.
“Yeah,” she said, forcing a laugh, trying to break the spell.
He wasn’t going to let her get away with it. He followed her to her door, moving into her personal space, the heat of him reaching her.
Isis fumbled with the key in the lock, not because she couldn’t open the door, but because her hand was trembling. She felt Jordan’s breath on the back of her neck as he covered her small hand with his large one and opened the door.
For reasons Isis couldn’t explain, instead of moving inside, she slumped back against him, leaning against his chest. He felt strong and solid against her back. Definitely not fat. Or skinny for that matter. Just male. Just right. Intrigued, she turned to face him, bracing her hands on his shoulders for balance.
Jordan took her hands in his and pushed her gently backward into her modern one-bedroom condo. He closed the door behind him and led her into the living room.
Isis was nervous again--she’d never had a man in her home before and here he was making himself at home. “Come on in,” she said, going for levity.
Again, Jordan wasn’t buying it. “You always look down when you’re nervous,” he said, moving toward her and pushing a stray tendril of hair from her forehead. “Do you notice that?”
Blood rushed to her face and she turned away from him. She felt vulnerable, exposed. He could see her and all her reactions. She only saw blackness. The unfairness of it all hit her resulting in fury. She balled up her fists and spun back around. “Go,” she said, voice tight, close to tears. This was so freaking unfair.
“No,” he said, his voice soft, gentle. “I won’t leave you like this.” He took her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest. He was wearing a sweater and Isis enjoyed the feeling of the soft cotton against her cheek. He was so warm. Her body relaxed as he calmed her. She felt as if she could simply melt right into him, blend with him.
But it could be an illusion. Part of Isis also felt like a wild kitten being offered food from a stranger, not knowing whether to trust in the comfort or hiss and run away. If she accepted the bait would she be cuddled and loved or skinned alive?
She stood there, still, moving neither closer nor away. She inhaled deeply, taking in his scent--he smelled faintly of soap and rain. Both scents were ones she loved. Curiosity bubbled in her again and she lifted her head, reaching up to touch his face. She trailed her fingers softly over his stubbly jaw--he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Isis traced a path up the sides of his wide face toward his scalp. She rubbed her hand over his head, true to his word it was smooth.
Coming back down, she traced his thick eyebrows with her thumbs, developing a mental image of his face as she explored him. She smoothed her fingers over his closed eyelids, his lashes tickling her fingertips. He pulled her with him, down onto the leather sofa, positioning her in his lap.
She continued her exploration, trailing her fingers over his nose, as if molding him, memorizing his shape. His mouth was full and wide and she traced his lips with her thumb. Jordan parted his lips, taking her thumb into the softness of his mouth.
Wow, again. Isis didn’t expect that and marveled at the velvety warm sensation she felt as he gently sucked her thumb. She leaned toward him, pressing the tips of her breasts against his chest, wanting to be closer. He turned her to so that she straddled him, sliding his hands down to her butt, pulling her hips into his.
Whoa. His hard length was pressing against her, right where she wanted him. Isis had never experienced anything like this before. She never wanted to stop touching him. Impatiently, she reached for the hem of his sweater and tugged it upward. Jordan helped her pull it over his head. Her fingers went immediately to his chest, moving across his pecs, grazing his nipples, and down his stomach to the fly of his jeans, where she stopped dead in her tracks. Isis took a shuddery breath and moved back up to his shoulders--safer terrain.
“I’m a virgin,” she said into his ear and heard his sharp intake of breath.
Isis traced from Jordan’s neck, across the width of his shoulders, down his arms, feeling his muscular biceps and forearms, then reached his hands. She laced her fingers through his, brushing the pad of her thumb in a seductive, circular motion against his palm. A groan of pleasure came from low in his throat, exciting her. She found her body moist and ready for him.
Still, she wasn’t finished with her journey and she slid her palms over his back working her way upward. He was taut but not bulky and she enjoyed the feel of his smooth skin.
Jordan stayed mostly still, instinctively seeming to know that Isis needed to do this, needed to feel in control for her first time being with a man.
She was back to his pants again, fascinated by this area. She tugged his zipper gently downward and he helped her slide his jeans over his hips and off. While she was up, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her own sweater off. She shimmied out of her jeans, bra and panties, tossing them all to the floor behind her.
Isis stood in front of Jordan, naked and aroused. Never in her life had she been so exposed around anyone before. She wished she could see his expression, see what he thought of her body. Her breasts were small but firm, her belly was flat and her legs were long--the agile body of a dancer. She held her breath, waiting.
Then Jordan was pulling her down on him, “Isis,” he said into her hair, moving his lips down the side of the face before capturing her mouth in a kiss that made her breath stop. His lips were warm and wet on hers, his mouth tasting faintly of coffee. Isis parted her lips allowing Jordan better access and he deepened the kiss, his tongue touching hers.
Isis reached down, taking his cock in her hand, marveling at how warm and smooth and hard it was. She stroked him gently, taking his moan as a sign she was doing it right. Her thumb circled the head of his penis, gliding over a drop of moisture, rubbing it into his skin. She had never felt anything like this and she liked it.
“Isis, you have to stop that,” Jordan said, taking hold of her wrist.
“Why?” she asked. Was she doing something wrong?
“Because I’m going to come in about five seconds if you keep it up.”
She laughed. “Isn’t that kind of the point?”
“Yeah. I mean no. Not yet, it isn’t.”
Jordan pulled her hips down toward him, centering her over his dick. “I hope you like quickies,” he said and pushed into her.
It took a few tries for him to penetrate her and Isis cried out, biting her lip, and clutching his shoulders.
“Are you ok?” Jordan said.
“Oh, yes,” Isis said. Now he was moving inside her. She was slick with wanting him and the sensation of him thrusting in and out was driving her wild. She moved her hips in response, grinding her pelvis into his, getting the friction where she wanted it most.
“I wasn’t kidding, Isis. This isn’t going to last long.” he said, a warning.
“I’m ready,” Isis said, and she was. An indescribable pleasure was building in her, her eyes were closing, her legs were trembling and then she was coming and coming and feeling like she was going to come apart, melting and shaking and oh my God, this was incredible.
Jordan grabbed her ass and pumped into her one last time before crying out and biting her neck and then he was coming, she could feel it, his warmth, and her muscles spasming around him. Everything was a blur, so good, fucking perfect, unimaginable pleasure. Isis rotated her hips, extending it and then coming back, back to earth, back to her sofa, back to Jordan under her and in her and loving her.
She slumped onto him, exhausted, and he twined his fingers through her hair, his heart hammering against her, his lips on her temple. They stayed that way, silently holding each other, for what could have been an eternity or a minute. Isis didn’t know.
She sighed, content. Happier than she had ever felt, loving the feeling of letting go.
“You’re beautiful, Isis. This was heaven,” Jordan was saying.
And, for once, Isis didn’t need to hear that. She knew she was beautiful, felt it in the act they just experienced together. It was clear to her now. She’d been shutting down people’s attempts at getting close to her, due to her own feelings of insecurity about being blind. The only person who had pitied her was, well, her.
This moment, this clarity brought with it a feeling of pure elation. Something shimmery and warm. A new sense of what Isis could really be. She smiled, a Cheshire cat grin, and tilted her face up to Jordan’s. “I think I like quickies. Let’s do it again.”

THE END