Bluff

Generally speaking, he liked house parties. They were quieter than bars and, as a rule, if he'd been invited it meant he would know people who were there. So when his brother, Danny, called and said he'd swing by at 8:30 with a couple cases of beer to head to Andrew's party, Alex was all for it. The reality of the evening, however, was not living up to his expectations.

He lifted his left wrist until he could feel his watch snug against his ear and pressed the button. Barely audible over the music, a mechanical female voice told him it was 11:02 p.m. Danny had wandered off to get more beer from the fridge half an hour ago.

Andrew was a friend of theirs through another friend so the party was a mix of new and familiar people. Usually he preferred parties that way; it was his best opportunity to mingle and meet new people. But tonight it seemed his mingling mojo was just not on. The people he did know seemed to be somewhere else in the house and striking up conversations with total strangers had never been easy for him. He ran his fingers through his hair and settled his hands in his lap, fingering absently at the cane resting over his knees.

"Yo, Batman!"

Alex smiled and turned his head in the direction of the voice. Unmistakably Simon. A large warm hand clasped his shoulder and Simon's friendly British voice spoke close to his ear.

"How you keeping, mate?"

"I'm good, man. No complaints."

"Let me introduce you to my new girl. This is Celia. Celia, this is Alex, but everybody calls him Batman."

Alex held his arm out and waited for Celia to shake his hand. Her hand was small and cold.

She must be quite thin

, he thought. Simon usually dated the really tiny ones.

"Nice to meet you, Alex," she said. "Why do they call you Batman?"

"Well, look at him," Simon boomed. "He's blind as a bat!"

"Oh my god, Simon," Celia squealed. "I can't believe you said that!"

Alex laughed. "It's quite alright, Celia. Simon's been calling me that for years and the only offense I take is at his lack of creativity."

She giggled at his comment but it sounded tight, the discomfort was still there. Simon knew that it often took joking about his blindness for some people to relax around Alex; others were just never fully at ease with him.

"I'm going to grab some beer, mate. You want one?"

"Yeah, please. See if you can track down Danny as well."

"Yeah, he's in the den, trying to chat up Theresa Watkins."

"Well, by all means, leave him to it. A beer will do."

Celia was still sitting close by; he could smell her perfume. After a moment of awkward silence, he leaned slightly forward.

"So, Celia..."

"Yes. I'm here."

"What do you do for a living?"

She muttered something he couldn't quite make out.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Oh!" She leaned in close to his ear --her perfume much stronger, mixed with a very sweet-smelling hairspray. "I'm sorry. Are you... do you have a hearing... impairment, as well?"

"No," he said slowly. "But the music is quite loud."

"Oh. Of course." She paused a moment, as though she'd forgotten why she was leaning so close to him. "Oh, right. I work at a boutique in the mall."

"That must be interesting. I'm sure you meet a lot of different people in the mall."

"Not really. We have our clientele and those are mostly the people who come in. We're very exclusive." Her voice held a tone of pride that told him about all he needed to know of Celia.

He breathed a sigh of relief as Simon returned, pressing a cold bottle into his hand.

"Simon, my man, could you point me in the direction of the washroom?"

"Christ, you ain't even started that beer."

"Well, it's probably got more to do with the four I drank ahead of it."

"Ah, you dog," he teased, but his hand was already resting on Alex's elbow.

He stood and flicked out his cane as Simon led him to a doorway and spoke in his ear.

"Straight ahead, mate. About twenty feet, on the left. No point telling you where the light switch is."

Alex smiled at the old joke and made his way forward. A small group of people, perhaps three or four, standing off to his right fell silent as he passed, sliding his cane back and forth. He'd long gotten used to the isolating novelty of being "the blind guy at the party" and could generally overcome that obstacle with wit once the ice was broken but so far it didn't seem the party was going to yield much by way of mingling efforts.

My dick is going to shrivel up and fall off from lack of use.

The random, unbidden thought rose in his mind. It had been almost three years since Patricia broke up with him and though there had been a couple of promising starts, nothing had really panned out. A couple small make-out sessions --what Simon referred to as "under the jumper action" --and several serious cases of blue balls, had left him wondering if his sex life had ended in his early twenties.

I'm going to wind up some crazy, lonely old man who's only ever had sex with one woman.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, realizing that in his miserable woolgathering, he'd completely lost track of how many steps he'd taken. He reached out to his left and felt the smooth, cold surface of a wall. Running his fingers along its length, he could not find a door anywhere close by.

"Shit," he muttered.

"Trying to find the bathroom?" It was a woman, whose voice he did not recognize, whispering in his ear. She put her hand on his arm and leaned, ever so slightly, against his back.

"Yes. Please."

"You passed it. About five feet back."

"Thank you." Her perfume was spicy, slightly musky and for some reason he instantly imagined that the woman who wore it must be close to miraculous in bed. "I'm Alex."

But she had already moved away from him, both her scent and her whisper lingering in the air around him. Nothing solid of her remained.

"Shit," he muttered again.

As he emerged from the bathroom, the smell of his mysterious helper's perfume was again heavy in the air. It wasn't that she wore a lot of it, just that its particular fragrance was unusual, deep and very sexy to him; he could have picked it out in a room full of women wearing different perfumes. He felt a light brush of fingertips against the back of his hand.

"Is that you?"

Her only reply was to hook two fingers around his wrist and lead him further down the hall --away from the noise of the party. He followed her a few steps before they turned and entered a room. He heard the door close behind them.

"Who are you?"

Again, she refused to answer him, except in the physical. Placing her palm flat against his chest, she pushed him back to the wall. Her lips were on his before he could even think to ask what she was doing. He put one hand on her waist as they kissed, the other holding his cane. He fumbled about, trying to figure a way to hold her and the cane, until she simply knocked it from his hand. Now freed, his hand encircled her waist and stroked her back. She was slim but well curved, wearing a silk shirt, and god! she smelled so good.

Her kiss was inexorable, demanding of him with a passion he'd never known. Certainly he'd felt this himself, had wanted women with this kind of intensity before but, as far as he knew, he'd not been the object of such desire. He could not feel the slick glide of lipstick and assumed she wore none. All he felt was the heat of her mouth against his. When her tongue pressed forward, she tasted of rum and spices.

She broke the kiss and sighed against his cheek. She trailed tiny kisses down along his jaw to the delicate skin of his neck. He had to will himself to breathe.

Her lips ghosted his earlobe and she whispered to him, "You are one sexy motherfucker."

He scoffed, "You're not blind too, are you?"

"No," she brushed her lips across the shell of his ear. "I see perfectly well. Don't even wear glasses."

"What's your name? Do I know you?"

She ignored the questions and traced her tongue over his ear, capturing his earlobe gently in her teeth. Her mouth was molten on his throat, her tongue flicking wet fire on his skin. She brushed his hair back and eased her hands down his chest.

"Your heart is pounding."

"Well, yeah. Some gorgeous woman I don't know pulls me into a room and starts kissing me."

"How do you know I'm gorgeous?"

"You're gorgeous to me," he said as her mouth continued to work at his neck between words. "And growing more so by the second."

She breathed a laugh; her exhalation drifting over the skin she had just dampened with her tongue and lips, chilling him. His upper body crawled with gooseflesh and his nipples tightened. He moaned.

"Please tell me your name."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "No."

"Why not?"

"It's more fun this way."

"This way? You do this sort of thing a lot?"

"Yes," she snickered in his ear. "You're my third blind guy this week."

This time he laughed aloud. Her fingers covered his mouth.

"Sshhh. You'll draw attention to us."

"Where the hell are we, anyway?" There was a closeness to the room, and a distinct quality in the acoustics that told him it was quite small.

She laughed gently again. "Coat closet."

He could feel her smiling against his cheek and stroked her hair. It was very soft and thick, not at all sticky with hairspray. He hated hairspray. She kissed him again as he ran his hands down her cheeks and lightly traced her jaw. Her skin was smooth and slightly dewy; so she was wearing make up, after all.

She unbuttoned his shirt part way and pulled his collar open, allowing her mouth to explore his upper chest as her hand drifted down over his stomach. The heated pressure covered his cock, enveloping him through the fabric of his jeans. He grunted at the contact, and then laughed.

"What?" She was still whispering. It occurred to him that he had not yet heard her speak at a normal volume.

He answered in a teasing voice, mimicking the tones of someone reading from a book.

"Dear Penthouse Forum: things like this never happen to a guy like me..."

"I never thought your letters were true until I went to this party..." she continued, giggling against his neck.

She stood up straight and kissed him again, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body tight against his.

"Please tell me who you are," Alex begged.

"Must you insist on ruining all my fun?"

He slid his hand up her side, the slick fabric of her blouse cool to the touch. He felt the swell of her breast and cupped it, squeezing gently.

"Not all of it, no."

"Then shut up," she said.

He could feel the heat of her hands through his shirt as she worked at his buttons, followed by her lips and tongue, warming his skin in contrast to the cool air on his exposed chest. His ears were starting to ring with the pounding of his pulse.

Her fingers moved to his waist and he heard the slide of leather through denim as the buckle of his belt tightened briefly and then loosened. A terse metallic zip and her fingers were down his underpants, hot and curious as they explored the length of his shaft. He reached down and pushed his jeans lower on his hips. She shoved his underpants down and he leaned his head back against the wall as she wrapped her fingers around his cock.

Her grip was loose as she stroked him slowly, the dry friction alleviated slightly as she worked her thumb over his cock-head, gathering precome and spreading it around. The tease of wetness made him twitch in her hand. She angled her palm so only her fingertips remained in contact with his skin, tickling slightly as they skated all the way up, breaking contact. He grunted.

"Aw, don't stop."

She shushed him and dug around in her pocket for something. He heard a plastic flip-top open, the slick sound of something being squirted, and the cap clicking back shut. She rubbed her hands together.

"What are you doing?"

"Warming it up for you."

He appreciated the effort seconds later as her hand closed around him again. The smell was familiar and as soon as he felt the texture he knew what she had used --a product he was well acquainted with in much the same way.

"Is that hand cream?"

She laughed and leaned against him. He felt her shrug her left shoulder.

"Sorry. Was the only thing I had in my purse."

"Not a problem."

Her lips explored his neck again as her hand now pumped his cock more aggressively. The enclosed space was filled with the sounds of deepened breathing and the viscous squish of a well-lubed hand job. Her perfume mingled with the distinctive sharpness of "extra soothing" moisturizer.

He pressed his head back against the wall, allowing her better access as her mouth enflamed his neck, her tongue tracing along his collarbone. She pumped his cock, her thumb flicking over that extra-sensitive part of his head. His hips rocked unconsciously with her rhythm. The latent heat built in his body; every nerve and muscle tightening like a spring being wound to maximum tension.

She tightened her grip slightly as she increased the pace of her stroking. His toes curled inside his running shoes. His hips thrust desperately as he pushed his back away from the wall with his head. Her free hand shot up from his chest and covered his mouth as he moaned his orgasm into her palm.

He slumped back against the wall, her face buried against his neck. Her hand, now doubly slick and coated with his come, stilled over his dick. Her other hand remained pressed to his mouth. His breathing calmed and she moved away from him slowly.

A piece of cloth closed around his cock, wiping him clean. He grunted as the material rubbed over his sensitized skin.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"You don't sound very sorry."

"I figure you'll forgive me." She kissed his cheek and pulled his pants back up, tucking his now-withered cock away unto his underwear.

"Only if you tell me your name."

She didn't answer again, only zipped his fly, buttoned his button, and began to fasten his belt.

"Jane," she finally whispered in his ear.

"You're Jane?" He stood up straight in surprise. "Jane Swann?"

"No." Her voice was terse and sarcastic. "But apparently you won't shut up about it until I say something. Jane holds as much relevance as any other name at this point."

He leaned back again, the brief adrenaline rush gone. "You're very unfair."

"I just got you off, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah," he conceded.

She had finished redressing him, straightening them both up to return to the party beyond the door. He could feel the opportunity slipping past him.

"But if I know your name..."

"Yes?" She pressed his cane into his hand.

"I could call you or something. Maybe we could do this again."

The doorknob had turned and the sound of music and mindless chatter grew louder even before he finished speaking. She took his hand and led him forward, back out into the hallway near the bathroom.

Kissing him softly, she whispered in his ear. "Oh, we'll do this again."

"Yeah, but when? I mean, how many parties will we be at together?"

He waited for some sassy reply but knew that none was forthcoming when he realized the smell of her perfume was already fading. For the second time, she'd left him alone in that hallway, talking to himself. He sighed and made his way back through the kitchen. All in all, he really had nothing to bitch about.

Back in the living room the music was thundering.

"Alex, mate," Simon called out to him. "I was starting to get worried about you. Did you get lost or something?"

"Uh, yeah, a little bit. I wound up in a coat closet," he said, smirking.

"Coat closet? Hope you didn't piss in there."

"Only a little. Listen, you didn't happen to see a girl come out of the back hall ahead of me, did you?"

"Nah, mate, just saw you walking over by yourself. Why? You meet someone?"

"Yeah. But I didn't catch her name."