Love Is Never Blind
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2017 by John Stewart

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A story of two young lovers who are scarred by life but who find love with each other.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Petting   Safe Sex  

ADV ENG LIT, 11:00 – 12:00, MWF, ANDREWS HALL, DR WILSON

I hurriedly surveyed the classroom. Two-person tables with two chairs behind each. Back rows almost full, front row almost empty. A beautiful blonde girl at a desk near the wall. An empty space between her and the wall. I chose quickly, picked the seat where my left side would be next to the wall, and squeezed in. I wrestled my back pack off, put it on the desk, sat down, and pulled out my notebook.

I quickly glanced at the girl next to me. She had a recording device on the table in front of her and her right hand was on it. She moved her left hand and knocked a small brush off the table. It landed between our chairs. I waited for her to pick it up. She didn’t. I wondered why. I leaned over to her side and picked it up. I saw why. Under the desk there was a brief case and a folding white cane on the floor beside it.

I held the brush in front of her. She didn’t see it. I leaned over, touched her on her arm, and whispered that she had dropped her brush. She held out her hand in front of her and I put the brush in it.

“I’m Michael Rossi,” I whispered.

Dr. Wilson walked up behind the podium and I turned to look straight ahead.

The girl looked straight ahead and whispered back, “I’m Alexandra Andreas.”

“Our ancestors were almost neighbors,” I whispered. She turned her head toward me and grinned. She probably knew I was referring to our countries of ancestry.

Dr. Wilson looked around the room and I saw her smile when she saw Alexandra. That told me she knew her. I turned my face to look directly at the teacher and her smile disappeared. I knew why. That was the usual reaction when people saw my face.

During class, I kept sneaking glances at Alexandra and then paying attention to Dr. Wilson. Alexandra was a stunningly beautiful young woman. Her hair was very light brown with blond streaks, neatly parted and combed, just barely down to her neck, and not much longer than mine. Her nose was absolute perfection with a cute little curve at the end. Her lips were full and kissable and I couldn’t see any lipstick. Her neck was long and slim. Her breasts were small and her slight waist flared out into womanly hips. She was probably as beautiful as any woman I’d ever seen. I guessed her age at about nineteen, the same as mine.

She was dressed in dark blue shorts and a white blouse with a yellow sweater thrown over her shoulders. The blue shorts came down almost to her knees. Her legs were smooth and hairless and beautiful. How does a blind woman shave her legs? Cute blue and yellow striped socks with white sneakers. How does a blind woman color coordinate her outfit? If she can’t see, does she know how beautiful she is?

When class was over, Alexandra reached down for her briefcase, opened it, and put the recorder in it. I saw a lunch box. She picked up her cane, let it unfold, and waited until almost everyone else had left before she stood up. I stood up and slung my backpack, with my lunch box inside, on my back. On impulse I took a chance and touched her arm.

“Alexandra, would you have lunch with me? I bring my lunch too. I’m going to the tables in the outdoor area near the library. That’s where I usually eat. It’s in the shade and not many people use it. Since Dr. Wilson took a seating chart, it looks like we’ll be sitting next to each other for the summer.”

She hesitated just a few seconds. “Yes, Michael. May I hold your arm and would you carry my briefcase? I won’t be so slow if you will.”

“Yes, you may, and yes, I will,” I said.

“Have you ever walked with a blind person before, Michael?”

“No.”

“Would you mind if I train you a little? There’s an art to helping someone who can’t see. You will be my eyes while we walk.”

I blurted out something. “You have beautiful blue eyes, Alexandra.”

“What color are yours, Michael?”

“Brown, just plain old brown. My hair is brown too.”

I took her briefcase in my right hand and offered my left arm to her. When she just stood there, I nudged her with my forearm. She put her hand on my forearm, moved down to my hand, examined it carefully, moved back up to my forearm, felt it, moved up to my shoulder and squeezed, and then moved to my bicep and squeezed again. Then she hooked her arm over mine and fumbled for my hand. We managed to get our fingers interlaced and for the first time I held her soft girl hand in mine.

We walked through the usual crowds to the library with her arm hooked over mine and with her holding my hand. I whispered to her as we walked, telling her when I saw anything she might trip over on the sidewalk. She found each bump with her cane and hardly relied on it unless I said something. I hoped I was doing it right. I liked the way I felt with her holding on to me.

I told her we were at the tables and she tapped the table and the seat with her cane and then carefully sat down, good posture, body straight, head held high. I put her briefcase in front of her, my backpack in front of me, and we ate. We both had brought sandwiches and fruit. I cut my orange into slices the way I like it, offered her a slice, and she accepted it. She asked me to core her apple and cut it into quarters. She offered me a quarter and I accepted it.

I found it hard to believe she was blind. She managed everything well and seemed to keep her eyes on my face most of the time. She had brought a drink bottle and she seemed to know where it was every time she reached for it.

We talked a little, mainly about the English class and our assignments in it. I told her I liked to read and she said she couldn’t read but she liked to listen to books on her tablet or on her computer. She said she had some small in-ear blue tooth headphones that she used when she was listening to books and some over-the-ear ones for music when the sound quality mattered. She said she loved Broadway musicals and classical music and enjoyed music when she was helping clean the house.

I kept my eyes on her face most of the time, most, because I looked at her breasts a little, and I felt like I could look at her forever. She was the epitome of a beautiful young woman, a tall slim blonde. I wondered what she would say if she could see my face.

All too quickly she pressed something on her watch and it told her the time, and she said she had to go to her next class. Again, hand in hand, fingers interlaced, I walked her to the classroom building and led her to the front door. She walked confidently, hardly using her cane, and trusting me to lead her. A guy opened the door for her, I told her, and she went inside. I stood there watching her as long as I could. I felt good helping her and I hated to let her go by herself.

On Wednesday, we followed the same routine. After class, she grasped my arm when I bumped her, found my hand, held her cane up not even touching the ground, and we went to the tables again.

She told me her friends called her Alex. I told her mine called me Mike. We talked about families while we ate. Her mother was a nurse who worked at the University health center. Her father was an Army officer in ROTC. She had sixteen-year-old identical-twin brothers, Anthony and Zorba, and when she or her parents wanted to talk to both of them their name was Azee. They were both pains in the ass but she loved them anyway.

“My brothers are really identical, Mike. I can tell them apart by their voices. Dad usually can’t. Mom usually knows the difference. They never got punished as kids. They would both stand there and point at each other, pretending to cry, and say the same thing at the same time: I didn’t do it, Dad; he did.”

I told her my mother was the culinary director at the University, in charge of all the dorm feeding sites. My father was a full professor in the math department. I had a sixteen year old sister named Gianna who was probably a bigger pain in the ass but I loved her too.

Then she asked, “May I see you, Mike?”

I was confused. “How... ?”

“Mike, I lost my vision from a head injury when I was twelve. Now, my hands are sometimes my eyes. May I touch you on your body so I can know what you look like?”

“It’s OK as long it’s not below the belt,” I said, smart-ass, to see how she would react.

“That’s OK. I don’t want to see you there,” she paused. “Not yet anyway.”

She giggled and smiled. I smiled back at her and wished she could see me smile. I liked her riposte.

She walked around the table, not using her cane, just trailing her fingertips over everything, until she was standing behind me. I carefully turned around to face her but I was glad she couldn’t really see my face. While I sat there, she looked at me, if that what it’s called, maybe saw me, with her hands.

First she touched my hair with both hands. I was proud of my thick head of dark brown hair. In front I let it hang down almost to my eyebrows so it covered most of my forehead. On the side it covered my ears. In back, I let it curl up on my neck.

Then she put her left hand on my right cheek and used the right one to touch me all over my face, my closed eyes, my nose, my lips, my chin, my ear, and last back to my lips again. I squirmed a little. Something in my shorts wanted more room. I wondered why she smiled. Did she know the effect her touch had on me?

“Lift your right arm,” she said and I did.

With both hands she examined my hand, my forearm, my bicep, my shoulder, and then wrapped both hands around my bicep.

“Tighten your muscles,” she said and I did. I was proud of the body my father’s genes had given me. I had exercised for years to develop it. I wasn’t muscle-bound, just lean and hard. She tried to squeeze my tight bicep. I smiled when she couldn’t. She did too.

She touched me down my chest and belly all the way to my belt. I tightened my stomach muscles so she could feel my six-pack. Maybe she knew I was showing off. She smiled again. I caught her hand in mine, brought her fingers up to my mouth, and traced my lips from one corner to the other.

“You’re smiling,” she whispered.

“Yes, and I wanted you to know it,” I whispered back.

When she had seen enough, she rendered a verdict. “You’re beautiful, Michael: a full head of hair, no zits on your face, just soft smooth skin, a cute little boy’s nose, full lips, strong chin. You’re tall and lean and hard, maybe a little skinny. I like the way you look. Are you beautiful?”

“My Mom and Gianna say I am.”

“How tall are you? How much do you weigh?”

“I’m six three, one seventy-five.”

“I’m five ten, one twenty. Am I too skinny, Mike?”

“No, you’re perfect, Alex. You’re perfect and you’re beautiful.”

I wanted to tell her. She couldn’t see what others saw. How could she? How would she react?

“Alex, there’s something on my face you can’t see. Do you know what a port-wine stain is?”

“Yes, but I’ve never seen one,” she said, and held out her hand with one finger pointed. “Can you show me?”

I guided her finger into my hair a little and stopped.

“It’s a big one. It begins under my hair on the left side of my face and goes all the way down to my throat.”

I traced her finger down my forehead, around my eye, over my cheek almost to my nose, down to the corner of my mouth, down to my throat, and stopped. I tried to swallow but it was difficult. I didn’t want her to react like most girls when they saw my face. I wanted her to accept me the way I was.

“It covers most of the left side of my face and even down on my throat a little. It extends back over my cheek almost to my left ear. It’s dark red now. It was lighter when I was a kid.”

“Can’t you have it removed?”

“Maybe. Removal is a long hard process, expensive too, but my parent’s insurance would cover it. Sometimes the skin becomes hard and pebbly. Mine hasn’t. You couldn’t tell the difference; could you?”

She shook her head. “No. Why haven’t you had it removed?”

“It doesn’t bother me, Alex. I suppose I like having it. It’s me. It separates the wheat from the chaff.”

“What do you mean?”

“My family and my grandparents know me and love me anyway. It doesn’t bother them. I have lots of friends and they’re the same way. They accept me for what I am, Alex, not for how I look. There’re always some who can’t get past my red half to see the other side of me. They’re the chaff. My family and friends are the wheat.”

“I still think you’re beautiful, Michael. I hope you’ll let me be part of the wheat.”

“That’s not the only place where I’ve got a stain, Alex. There’s one below my belt.”

She grinned. “Where?”

“On my butt, on the left side. It’s shaped a little like Africa, about four inches long.”

“What did you say? What’s four inches long?” she asked and grinned.

I caught her hand in mine, moved it to my mouth, and showed her my smile again. She moved my hand to her mouth and let my fingertips trace her smile.

She stepped back, feeling for the table, and I stood up. Then she stepped forward and we collided. I quickly put my arms around her, held her tightly for a moment, and then released her. I didn’t want to scare her by holding her too tightly but she was evidently not frightened. She put her arms around me and we lightly held each other.

Her hair brushed my chin and I smelled something, perhaps shampoo, something fresh and clean and nice. I felt one soft breast against my chest and one thigh against mine and I didn’t want to let her go.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I thought you were going to fall.”

“I’m OK, Michael,” she whispered back. “Believe it or not, I rarely fall. I think my sense of balance is probably better than yours.”

“Well, anyway, it’s nice holding you.”

“Yes, it is but perhaps you’d better let me go ... in a minute or so.”

Gianna was waiting for me when I got home. I hugged her as usual, kissed her on the cheek, and held up my hand. She understood I needed to do something before I answered her questions. I dropped my backpack outside the bathroom door, had a much-needed piss, and went in the kitchen. She was waiting for me.

“Well, tell me.”

“Can you wait a while? I need to start dinner. Dad’s got a night MBA class this summer and he has to eat early. I want to have dinner ready by five so Dad can leave at six. Mom said she’d be home too. We’ll go for a walk after dinner.”

“What are you going to cook?”

“Pork chops. Stuffed pork chops braised in Marsala. Potatoes Rossi, you know, my concoction, with sour cream and bacon and my secret spices. You do the salad and bread. I took some ready-to-bake bread out of the freezer this morning. All you’ve got to do is bake it at 350. Do carrot and raisin and pineapple salad. Dad likes that. Make a pitcher of tea.”

“You should be a chef, Mikey.”

“Well, you should be one too, Gianna. You’re just as good a cook as I am.”

“Yeah, but I need somebody to tell me what to do. You don’t.”

After Dad left, Mom chased us out of the kitchen as usual. We left the dishes to her and went for a walk around the block.

“OK, tell me. What happened today? Did you have lunch with her again? Did she hold your arm while you walked to the library? Did she give you a hard-on?”

“Nothing, yes, yes, and no.”

“Aw, come on, Mikey, tell me,” she pleaded.

“OK, but you’ve got to be blind. Shut your eyes and hold on to my arm.”

I held out my left arm to her and she hooked her hand through it and shut her eyes.

“OK, now what?” she asked, facing straight ahead.

“We’re going to walk around the block and you’re going to keep your eyes shut all the way. OK?”

“OK.”

We started walking and I purposely walked slowly. Gianna stumbled a few times when we started and I whispered to her to tell her when the sidewalk was uneven and what we were about to encounter.

“Two things happened today, Gianna, while we were walking. You’ve walked with me before. You know how lots of people drop their smile when they see my face. Well, today, it seemed like everybody just smiled more when the saw us together. I don’t think I saw anybody who didn’t smile at us.”

“What’s the second thing?”

“You know how crowded it is around the Andrews Hall area. It’s a madhouse sometimes. I wish people could understand about a traffic pattern, you know, up on the right, down on the left. I usually have to shove my way through the crowd. Well, today, we walked right in the center of the sidewalk and everybody just flowed around us, sort of like we had a magic staff and the seas were parting for us. And they smiled at us.”

“Did she have her cane again?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it touched the ground a single time while we were walking. She just held it in her left hand and I guess everybody knew she was blind from the white cane. It made me feel good, to know she trusted me.”

“People are nice, Mikey. At least most are. Most of the time. You’re nice all the time.”

We walked almost around the block with her holding my arm and me whispering to her. As usual I tried to be truthful with her. Why was I interested in Alex? I didn’t know. Was I going to try to get in her panties? I didn’t think they would fit me. She never ran out of questions. I didn’t tell her about me holding Alex because I was still unsure how I felt about it. When I said it was nice, she agreed. Maybe she liked it as much as I did.

“Are you still blind, Gianna?”

“Yeah, why?”

“We’re at the corner of our street. Open your eyes and I’ll race you back home.”

“You count to ten after I start?”

“Yeah, and I’ll beat you again.”

I ran behind her so I could watch her butt while she ran. I intended to give a kick when we got close to our house but I decided I’d let her beat me for a change. She stopped at the front door.

“I think she gave you a hard-on, Mikey. Now admit it.”

“Well, I guess I would have had one if I’d had room in my shorts.”

On Friday, Alex and I followed the same routine, the same except that I asked for her telephone number and asked if I could call her sometime on Saturday. She said she was going shopping with her mother in the morning and would be in her room studying after lunch.

“Why do you want to call me, Michael?” she asked.

“I could tell you a lie and say I want to talk about our class,” I said. “The truth is I just like talking to you. I want to get to know you better.”

“I’m glad. I want to get to know you better too. Call me after lunch.”

On Saturday afternoon, I called and we talked for over an hour. Somehow, I wasn’t the least bit shy with her and we talked about everything. I could have talked with her all afternoon but I decided I’d taken up enough of her study time.

On Monday, we followed the same routine, her arm over mine and her hand in mine. I liked the way I felt when she trusted me to lead her.

When I got home, Gianna pounced on me again, I tried to give her truthful answers but I wasn’t sure myself why I was interested in Alex or where we were going with each other. I asked Gianna if it was too early for me to ask for a date.

“Call her, Mikey. You’ve got her cell-phone number. Don’t ask her for a date. Do something different. Ask her to invite you home Friday to meet her family. Maybe you could have dinner with them.”

“I can’t do that, Gianna. Friday, Mom and Dad have got a late flight to Atlanta. Saturday, there’s an important conference for Mom at the airport hotel. Dad wants to go with her. I’m supposed to babysit you ‘til Sunday night.”

“Yes, you can. You could be home by eight or nine. I’ll be OK for an hour or two by myself. I’ll just stay in my room and read or listen to music.”

“And be good? Don’t invite anybody in, especially boys.”

“I’m not interested in boys, Mikey. I’m a lesbian.”

“Is it OK if I tell all the guys that?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Tuesday night, I called Alex’s cell phone. When she answered, I asked if she could she get someone to program two phone numbers into it. She answered that she could do it. I slowly gave her the first number and listened to the beeps. I tried to picture how she could do it.

“That’s my mother’s cellphone, Alex. I want you to call her and ask her what kind of guy I am. Tell her I asked you to call, that she’s to tell you the truth. Then ask your mother to call her. Are you ready for the second?”

“Yes.”

I slowly gave her the second number.

“That’s Gianna’s number. She and I are very close and we talk about everything. Ask her about me.”

“Why don’t you tell me what kind of guy you are, Michael?”

I hesitated for a moment. What kind of guy was I?

“Alex, I’m a nineteen year old virgin who’s horny as hell all the time. I’m also a decent guy. I don’t do drugs and I don’t drink much, just a little wine or beer. My family has wine with dinner lots of nights. I’m easy to get along with, too easy as far as Gianna is concerned. I don’t like to hurt people. I guess I’m too quick to like most people when they let me. I work hard at school and I’ve never dropped a class when the going gets rough. I won’t graduate with honors but I’ll graduate. You can take that bet to the racetracks. I like math and physics and science classes and hate social studies. I’m trying to make up my mind on a major. What kind of girl are you?”

“Are we going to have lunch together again tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’d like to,” I answered. “That is, if it’s OK with you.”

“It’s OK with me, Michael. Could you wait until lunch tomorrow for me to answer your question?”

“Sure. I have a class from one thirty to two thirty and then I’m through. What’s your schedule?”

“I usually study in the library or somewhere cool and then ride the three o’clock jitney home. It goes about a block from our house. Why do you ask?”

“Would you invite me home Friday night for dinner? I want to meet your parents and Azee. I’ll have to leave about eight. My parents are flying to a conference in Atlanta and I’m supposed to babysit Gianna this weekend.”

“How will you get home?”

“We’ve got two cars. Friday night, Mom and Dad will take one to the airport. I could drive the other to that big unrestricted parking lot. We can ride the jitney to there and pick up the car. I’ll even help cook if necessary.”

“You can cook?”

“Yeah, I’m a good cook. My mom has taught me and Gianna. We both like to cook.”

“I can cook too, Michael. Does that surprise you?”

“A little. Seems like you can do almost anything you want to.”

“I can,” she said and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “If you’re always horny, do you masturbate?”

“Yeah, at least once every day. And you?”

She giggled. “Maybe not that often but I do it too.”

I paused while I thought about that for a while. How do girls masturbate?

She whispered again. “I’m a virgin too, Michael.”

“Why are you a virgin, Alex?”

“I don’t do hook-ups, Michael. Most guys aren’t interested in me. Until now, I’ve just never met a man who, well, you know.”

“Until now?”

“Maybe.”

“Damn! I hope so.”

“Are we getting serious already, Michael?”

“I don’t know, Alex. I like you. I just want to keep seeing you. Who knows what will develop? Is that a good enough answer for now?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Alex. I don’t mean just surface beauty. You’re beautiful there but I think I see the real you inside and you’re beautiful there too.”

“You’re beautiful too, Michael, at least above the belt. I haven’t seen you below the belt yet.”

“Damn, Alex, quit teasing.”

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes. I’m going to tell Mom that you and I are going to make dinner. We’ll do something fairly simple. Is that OK with you?”

“Yeah, good night for now, Alex.”

“Yeah, good night for now, Michael. When you’re sleeping, do you dream?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, tonight I hope you have a good dream,” she said and hesitated a moment and then whispered. “A wet dream.”

“Damn!”

“I’m going to dream of you,” she whispered and hung up.

She called me back in just a few minutes. I was invited to dinner at the Andreas home on Friday night. She had already told her parents and Azee about me and they wanted to meet me.

I was sitting on the side of my bed in just my underwear when Gianna walked in. My door was open a little and that gave her permission to come in. We both knew a closed door meant we had to knock and ask. My head was hanging low and my eyes were closed and I was thinking. She startled me when she sat down beside me and put her hand on my knee.

“Well?”

“I’m invited to their house Friday night for dinner. Her parents and Azee know about me.”

“What were you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“Come on, about what?”

“What I’m doing. Why I want to get to know her. Gianna, you know how most girls react when they see me. Do you think I’m interested in her just because she can’t see my face?”

“No, Mikey, you said she was a tall slim beautiful young woman. You’re a man. Men are always interested in beautiful young women. They want to give them babies.”

“Gianna, why are we both virgins? Most guys my age aren’t.”

“Mikey, I know you and we’re both alike. We both think sex is too important to do hook-ups. I’m not going to spread my legs for a guy I don’t love, no matter how good looking he is. I know you’re the same. You want sex but you want love with it.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re both alike on that.”

“Not quite, Mikey. Mom says guys want lots of sex and a little bit of love. Girls want lots of love and a little bit of sex.”

“Maybe that’s right but maybe I just want more love. I don’t know. I know you love me and I know Mom and Dad love me but maybe it’s time for me to find somebody else to love me. I wish I could.”

I stood up and watched her eyes shift downward to the front of my underwear. There was a big bulge in my briefs.

“I need to shower tonight,” I said. “I’ve been sweating all day.”

She grinned. She knew what I did in the shower most nights.

“No, she didn’t give me a hard-on,” I said. “My dick heard me thinking about Molly and tried to lift its head.”

She giggled again. “Why do you call your hand Molly when you masturbate?”

“Molly’s a female name,” I said. “If I had named it Bruce, would that make my hand a queer?”

She giggled.

“Well, my hand is named Beatrice. When are you going to let Beatrice do it again?”

“Gianna, we agreed you could do it once so you could learn how guys jack off. Then you wouldn’t let me return the favor. You’ve got to let me do you next. Don’t you think I need to learn too?”

“Do you want me to spread my legs so we can both learn what making love is like? Right now, you’re at the top of the list of guys I’d like to make whoopee with.”

“Shit, don’t tease me, Gianna. First Alex teases me and then you do it too. Why do girls like to tease guys?”

“I’m not teasing, Mikey. I mean it. I know we’re not supposed to but I love you and I would do the horizontal mambo with you.”

“I give up. I’m going to shower. My dick’s got a date with Molly.”

I started to leave but she whispered my name, “Mikey.”

I looked at her.

“I want to see it, please,” she whispered.

“Gianna, if I let you look at it, you know what it’s going to do,” I said. “It’s going to stand up and look at you.”

“That’s OK. You can take care of it in the shower.”

I thought for a few seconds about what to do. She’d seen it lots of time, a few times hard. Should I?

I slowly lowered my blue briefs down until my pubic hair and part of my shaft was showing. She nodded. I lowered my briefs a little more so the head of my dick was still held down. “Please!” she whispered. I lowered them down and my dick slowly levered up until it was pointing at the ceiling. She stood there and looked at it and my balls for a moment. My balls were hanging down like they didn’t care what my dick did. My dick knew the two of them were the cause of it.

“I’m going to tell Alex how big it is, Mikey. She should be warned.”

“Don’t tease me, Gianna,” I said. “It’s not that big and somewhere there’s must be a woman who would welcome it.”

“I’ll spread my legs and welcome it right now,” she grinned.

“I’m going to spank your little ass if you don’t quit teasing me.”

“That would be nice, Mikey,” she whispered. “I’d really like that.”

“Oh, shit, I’m going to shower.”

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Close
 

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT...

Storiesonline is for adult entertainment only. By accessing this site you declare that you are of legal age and that you agree with our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.