She was beautiful. He didn’t need eyes to know that. The first time Theodora drove him home, his dad had said, “Holy shit she’s hot.” He heard his dad chuckle. “She waved goodbye.” “She facepalmed.” “Oh wow, she just flashed her boobs.” His dad liked to keep up a running commentary peppered with absurd exaggerations. There was a time when his father would paint exotic fantasy landscapes for his son’s overactive imagination, and Garret loved him for it. Truthfully, magical creatures still sometimes appeared in the backdrop of his mind’s eye. It didn’t matter that he was 28 and knew better.
SynePark was a daycare for blind people more or less. Part education, part therapy, they specialized in providing sensory stimulation for the vision-impaired, who often closed themselves off from their sight-biased society. There were cutting edge programs for sound design, chemical engineering, culinary arts, and a cache of materials that associates(patients) were encouraged to experiment with at every whim. Garret met Theodora when he signed up for sculpture classes. It was a medium conducive to communication, as Theodora explained, she rarely used her eyes when sculpting. “So yeah, if your piece turns out shitty, you can’t pull out your handicap card.” He could tell when someone was smiling through their words. Theodora had a way of treating him like he wasn’t impaired at all, just a different sort of human. She was a volunteer when he met her. At his request she was hired on. She spent some of her time with groups, and the rest as his…what? Assistant? Guide? Companion? He didn’t know, exactly, but he understood that he was diagnosed with exaggerated introversion tendencies, and so followed a custom curriculum. Until he met Theodora, his father was the only person in his life.
She didn’t lead him inside today, but he didn’t mention the break in routine. She held his arm as they navigated the winding sidewalk. “So I have an idea for a new project,” she said after a long quiet. “But it’s a little…challenging, compared to the exercises you’ve done.” He heard several things in her voice: excitement, secrecy, hesitation.
“I haven’t been at this sculpting thing for very long, Theo.”
“You trust me don’t you?” Her tone said that she needed to know the answer.
“Yes.”
It did not take him long to memorize the space that was her small private studio. He touched all four corners, found the worktable, and counted chairs.
“So what is it?”
“The project?”
“No, the color of the wallpaper.”
“A figure study.”
“From an original or a cast?”
“…the original.”
He nodded, found the clay, and dropped a mound of it on the workbench.
“I didn’t mention, this is a 1:1 scale piece. You’ll have to start with an armature.”
“That’s going to take some serious time,” he told her.
“I know. If you want to scrap it…”
“No, let’s try it. You’ll have to help me out, I’ve never done something this size.”
“Of course.”
“Can I check out the piece? I’m not even sure where to start.”
“So, um, I forgot to mention something else.” She raised his hands, and his fingertips brushed…the sides of her face.
“Wait, I’m sculpting you?”
“Why not?” There was really no good answer when he thought about it.
“I’ve never worked from life.”
“Same concepts. Just a different kind of blueprint. Better even.” She had a point.
“I’m…our friendship,” he settled on the truth. “Theo I wouldn’t trade our relaxed conversations for anything. I couldn’t breathe if that unravelled…” Her hand closed on his mouth.
“This is a trial therapy. We are going to observe the effects in a controlled environment. Garret and Theodora can leave this room, but the experiment cannot.”
“Ok. But if it turns out hideous I’m playing the handicap card.” That got a laugh.
It was strange, touching her face like it was an object. Touching Theo at all really. They linked arms or brushed shoulders any number of times a day. He was only ever aware of her body by the space she occupied. He used the planes of his hands and fingers to get rough measurements. Brow to nose, nose to lips, lips to chin. Her neck was a complex cylinder, sloping gradually toward her shoulders. The angle of the collar bones from shoulder to chest, her ribcage an outward sloping that got steeper as the breasts rose to a point.
Not the breasts. Her breasts. Theo’s breasts. Theo’s breasts sloped to a point. Theo’s nipples. His thumbs were resting on them. A complex blueprint.
“I just realized…”
“What?”
“I’m not sure how to measure curvature. The face has planes, reference points.”
“Try thinking of curves as lines. Follow the sweep of each line as it flows into the next.”
He went back to her neck, trailing his fingertips from earlobe to shoulder, shoulder to base of the neck, across her chest, around the sides of her breasts. He spread his fingers, laying his palms flat against them, noticing that her nipples lay directly in their centers. Where her ribcage ended, her waist narrowed, expanding again at her hips. As his hands followed their arc, his knuckles touched her arms where they rested against her body. Back to her neck, its already familiar flare, seamlessly becoming shoulders. He followed the graceful arcs of her arms. When he slid his fingertips over her own, a light came on in his head. The sensation was utterly alien. He knew where his fingers were, where they stopped. But instead, as he slid his fingertips over Theo’s, his awareness of the friction, the sensation of touch, traveled both inward and away. It took intense concentration, but there at the edge of awareness, he was feeling what Theo felt as his fingertips stroked her own.
“You ok?” she asked.
“Zoned out, sorry,” he said. He took his hands away reluctantly, stepped behind her, and began to map the subtleties of her back. But the phenomenon persisted. He tried to shut it out, but his sensitivity only grew. He was aware of how her skin felt beneath his hands, but he also experienced how her skin tingled when he stroked her shoulder blades, how an electric current ran up her spine as his thumbs bounced along its ridges. And as he returned to the swell of her hips, he became aware of the heat and physical craving that was gathering inside her. His fingers followed the valley where thighs and buttocks met, sank farther as the valley turned inward. And he shared the exact moment when she felt her insides quiver, when muscles inside sprang to life, and a hot wetness sluiced into places that didn’t seem to exist for her a moment ago. She could barely contain the intensity, and he rode it with her, each of them “watching” a trickle of fluid as it cooled and crept down the inside of her leg.
It was the most intoxicating, overwhelming thing he’d ever felt. And yet somehow he knew that was only a tremor. The tension in her body wound up instead of being released. And through all of that Theo never moved a muscle, never made a sound.
When he kneeled down to reach her calves, a scent wrapped itself around his body and squeezed. It was wildflowers and tea, rain on a hot day, used bookstores and linen sheets. It was the smell of everything you forgot you loved until you had it again, and forgot until the next time. It was the smell of his father’s stories before he lost the innocence he needed to believe them.
And then he had the strangest hallucination. It felt like his oldest memory floated briefly into his mind, of a time before his life began, when he was the soul of a falling star, burning and breaking in half. Just before he lost sight of that other part of himself, just before he turned to look where it was he was falling to, he saw Theodora’s face in the blinding light of what had once been a part of him.
He was in the studio. He stood up.
“Theo?”
“Yes.” There was something…whispery…about her voice.
“I’m sorry. I think I’ve had enough for today.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/6xbm4g/str8_mf_blind_guy_learning_to_sculpt
Jesus. That was fucking awesome. Please continue it.