The blindfolded taste of lust-2

“I guess so” he answers.

“Give me your right hand.”

He doesn’t know exactly where she’s standing, so he puts it in front of him. She takes it, brings it forward until… His heart. Almost as though it knew before he did. Beating uncontrollably. And then his mind. Something like a white noise, the impossibility to place a thought, to realize though it knows, though he knows. There’s a warmth, the warmth of flesh, how it’s completely gorged, how its stiffness comes from within, from deep within and it lies on the inside of his wrist and his hand, his fingers recognize the hanging softness, particularly fragile beneath the hard flesh. In his palms, all the vulnerability in the world. Who is this man?

“Him, do you think he’ll cum a lot?” she asks, but he doesn’t answer, he can’t. She asks again.

“I don’t know” his voice says, weak, broken.

“And him?”

She takes his left hand and places it on another. The first one was soft, bald; this one is hairy. Something feels almost out of balance, in his mind, maybe, it’s spinning. The wonderful symmetry, how could he feel unbalanced? His hands are full, but he hasn’t moved them yet. He has been touched, he hasn’t himself touched.