Chapter 8: Blind

On the eighteenth of October I knocked on his door, and he had no idea why I was there.

He said so as soon as he opened it.

"I don't know why you're here," Perry said.

"Good."

"I mean it. I don't have a guess."

"I know you don't," I said. "That's why I came."

He stood in the doorway in his socks, with a pencil behind his ear and a wiring diagram in his hand.

For a week he had been terrible at me.

He had offered me coffee and gotten the sugar wrong, then asked what I wanted and gotten it right the second time.

He had said good morning on the stairs and looked like a boy at a spelling bee.

I had not enjoyed anything so much in years.

"Can I come in?" I said.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Are you hungry? I have soup. I think it's soup."

"Perry."

"Yes?"

"Put down the diagram."

He put it on the shelf by the door, upside down.

I stepped in close and shut the door behind me with my heel.

"I'm going to kiss you," I said. "And then I'm going to tell you what I want, and you're going to do it."

His breath stopped.

"All right."

"Say it back."

"You'll tell me what you want," he said, "and I'll do it."

I kissed him then, slowly.

I kept my eyes open and watched him find his feet.

He kissed me like he was asking a question, and I answered it by pulling him down by the shirt.

In the bedroom I turned on the lamp.

"I want to see you," I said.

"The last time was in the dark."

"I know. I couldn't see what your face did."

He sat on the edge of the bed, and I stood in front of him and held out my hands.

"Undress me," I said. "Slowly. Don't guess. Look."

His fingers found the top button of my shirt.

They were not steady.

He looked at each button as it opened, and at each inch of skin.

My shirt fell.

He kissed my collarbone, then the soft skin above the cotton of my bra, and stopped.

"Tell me where," he said, hoarse.

"Take my bra off and put your mouth on my breasts."

He unhooked the clasp, let the straps fall, and drew my nipple into his hot mouth.

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