Disability: Spina Bifida / Genre: Erotic Romance
Once again, Dustin had a restless night. He kept thinking of those warm hands exploring his upper body. Her seductive whispers. Her bare legs pressed against his nude back. Every time he closed his eyes, her gorgeous face would be smiling at his. Waking up in a cold sweat, Dustin gripped his blankets and took a swig of water from the glass on his night stand.
Dawn crept through the windows, and of course Dustin finally found sleep only a half hour before the light reached his face. Groggy, he rolled out of bed, showered and shaved, and threw on some jeans and a t-shirt. Luckily it was Saturday, but at the same time…she would be coming over.
It wasn’t much past 8:30 when he heard a knock on his door. Dustin answered it with a coffee in hand.
“Hey neighbor, ready for a marathon of Black Ops?”
“Yeah, uh…hey do you want some coffee?” he offered.
“Sure, I take mine with cream and two spoons of sugar. Because I’m sweet,” she said in a flirty voice. He fixed her the drink and handed her the steaming cup.
“Hey…before we begin, we’ve got to talk,” Dustin said. His tone was serious, and it alarmed Melissa just a bit.
“Sure, what’s up?” she asked sweetly.
Taking a deep breath, he sighed as he sat down on the couch next to her. There was an awkward silence that lasted for several seconds. He took a deep breath again.
“I…want to apologize, Melissa.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For not being quite as…forthcoming as I should be.”
“See, alright…here’s the thing. I’m not used to girls flirting with me, at all. I mean, ugly girls, plain girls, no girls. I mean, I’m just not used to girls flirting with me. And you see, the thing is, you’re probably one of the prettiest women I’ve ever met. I…it’s just, I put up a wall, you see. I mean, I got hurt once before, it kind of screwed me up. I just don’t do well with women. I’m awkward, shy, a bit of a buffoon.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is…the way you’ve been acting towards me recently, I mean, really ever since we met, actually, threw me for a loop. When I felt your hands on me last night, it was…the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever felt. Then I freaked out. I’ve just got to know one thing, Melissa, just one thing.”
“Of course; please ask,” she said, putting her cup of coffee on the table.
“Are you messing with me? I mean, look, I know I’m just a pathetic gimp and it’s easy to feel sorry for me. I don’t want that. If you’re doing all these things because you feel some sort of obligation to give charity to some poor, unwanted cripple, I don’t want that. Am I the trendy, disabled friend? I mean, if you’re trying to show off to your friends that you have at least one disabled friend and you’re cool. Are you messing with me?”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, Dustin. I spend time with you not because I feel I have to, or to be trendy, or to impress anyone, but because I want to. I didn’t give you that massage because I feel sorry for you, and it’s my civic duty to please you. I want to make this clear to you. I…am…attracted…to…you.”
“Well, then that’s a relief. See, because the thing is, I’ve felt the same way since the moment I laid my eyes upon you. But why would I bother pestering a good looking girl like you, when you could have any guy in all of Chicago? I mean, I just wanted to tell you….” he was interrupted when Melissa flung herself at him and pressed her lips against his.
The kiss startled Dustin. Her warm, soft lips pressed against his. Her tongue prodded his, and her hands wrapped around his head, desperately feeling the back of his neck. He put his strong arms around her back and slowly began to return the kiss.
Coffee! Damn it, I probably have coffee breath! He thought to himself, and tried to pull away, but her grip only intensified. She wore a summery green dress, and her breasts pressed against his chest as they continued to kiss. Her fingers massaged his ears as they continued tongue wrestling. It was Melissa who finally disengaged.
“Wow,” he said, gasping.
“You have yet to see ‘wow,’” Melissa replied in a sultry voice. “I…I have a confession of my own to make, Dustin. Can I tell you?” she asked with puppy dog eyes. Dustin nodded.
“When we went out for coffee, you spoke of devs…devotees. I asked you what they were. See, the thing is…I know fully well what a devotee is, because, I…I am one, Dustin. I am a devotee of men who walk with limps especially.”
“You asked me why I didn’t have guys crawling all over me, well, they did, and they do, but you see, I’m not interested in plain, old able-bodied guys. I watch you walk, and I feel a burning in my stomach. You think you’re nervous, but I see you, and I’m weak in the knees. I like to be in control. It’s just who I am. I see you, and I want to…I want to own you, because I’m actually afraid. I’m afraid to let go, and that I’ll never get another chance like it again. Ever. You probably think I’m a freak, don’t you?”
“I do,” he said with a pause, and she felt crestfallen; then he continued, “but in a good way.”
“I…” he began and blushed, he looked down at the floor.
“You what?” she prodded, almost begged.
“I kind of am turned on by the idea of giving up control. I have been…for a long time.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’m pretty sure I am, but I’ve never been with anyone who would ever entertain such fantasies.”
“Would you…like to entertain those fantasies?”
Dustin nodded slowly.
“I respect you, Dustin, so I want you to know I will never do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I might test your comfort, but you have the right to stop at any time,” Melissa instructed, again Dustin nodded. She stood up from the couch and offered her hand to the disabled man. She helped him up from the couch and led him from his apartment to hers.
She unlocked the door and brought him directly to her bedroom. They were still there. Restraints. Toys. The works. Dustin’s heart raced and his breathing became rapid. She sensed the fear and stroked his hand with her thumb reassuringly. She patted the bed, and Dustin sat on it.
Melissa dropped to her knees and looked up at Dustin. “I want to take your shoes off,” she stated. It wasn’t a request, just a fact; a fact he readily accepted and again nodded his head. She untied his shoes and slowly slipped them off. There they were. Plastic perfection. A orthotics doctor carefully molded his calves and feet, his shins to make a plastic exoskeleton necessary for Dustin to walk with.
Simple, hardened plastic. It was slightly translucent but mostly opaque. On the sides were foam pads to keep his ankles from bruising against the stiff plastic. She placed the right braced foot in her hand and held it as if it was a newborn child. She seemed in a trance-like state of awe. Sliding his pant leg up, she saw a simple, white Velcro strap, held by a white plastic buckle that was bolted with a metal screw and a metal hinged latch. She traced her fingers up and down the Velcro strap, as if the tactile sensation would tell its story.
And what stories they must already have. She knew everything about braces. Hell, she wanted to even take up orthopedics as a profession, but the schooling was a bitch. His right brace had nicks, scratches, dings and dents from everyday use. She knew he could probably walk around a bit without them, but they gave him the stability and support his atrophied lower legs couldn’t. They were a part of him, as much a part of him as his beautiful eyes, magnificent hair, and muscular arms. And here she was, privileged enough to remove a piece of him, he willingly let her do this. To him, he did it every day, but to her, it was almost magic as she heard the crunch of the Velcro separating. She liberated his foot and leg from the brace and now it was her breath which quickened. She held the hollow brace in her hand. It was so light! So sturdy! She placed it next to his shoe, upright, and again with gentleness.
She repeated the same steps on his left leg. The experience was no less intense than the first time. In fact, she almost seemed to savor it more, slowly peeling away the Velcro. Dustin never removed his braces like that. He unbuckled them as unceremoniously as one undoes their belt. He never treated the braces with her level of respect, either. He usually kicked them free and let them fall to the ground. They were sturdy enough.
Dustin knew a thing or two about devs, spending the time he did at that web forum. He understood what other persons with disabilities or PWDs took for granted was something of vast interest, perhaps even on the level of being spiritual to some devotees. He knew every dev was different. Some were interested in the hardware; wheelchairs, crutches, braces, canes. Others, in the physical abnormalities; atrophied legs, the “para bulge” in the belly, the stillness of muscles no longer or never working, the lack of sensation in odd areas. Still, others were turned on by the movements, the activities, and the strength of conquering the mundane. He knew this experience was something special for Melissa, and he dared not ruin it with a single word.
His socks were long. Not just long, but extra long. As long as a soccer player’s socks. They had to be. He rolled his socks down over the strap. Part of it was to reduce chaffing with the soft sock’s fabric. The other was almost a self-conscious embarrassment of having the braces. Even though he knew he had them, he hid them under the extra-long socks. Silly, he knew it, but it was what it was. The socks were her next target.
She unraveled them slowly, starting at the top, just below his knee. She slid the sock down excruciatingly slowly, until she got to his ankle. All the while, his leg never moved. His still hidden foot never wiggled or twitched. It was dead in her hands, just like she liked it. Melissa continued to work the sock down. She began to see the scars. So many scars from so many surgeries from his Spina Bifida. The sock only covered his toes, and although she had an idea of what to expect, she still squealed in delight at the sight.
His toes were deformed. The ring-finger equivalent toe seemed to ride high, while the middle toe and pinkie toe were twisted underneath. They were short, stubby toes. She wondered if the braces confined their growth, stunting them. His feet were cool to the touch, a little clammy, but not unpleasantly so. She saw his deformed toes and saw the look of embarrassment on his face at the gnarled appearance.
“They’re beautiful,” she reassured him.
“You think so?”
“You have no idea,” Melissa said truthfully enough. She couldn’t wait now to see the other foot, and rushed to take off that sock. To her utter delight, his feet matched. They both suffered the same deformities, and had similar scars. This would have been enough. Melissa could have spent the next five hours ogling, playing, teasing and testing his feet. She knew though, it would likely not be Dustin’s idea of a romantic evening. But she did indulge herself with a thorough examination.
The cold, lifeless feet she held in each hand did not wiggle. They did not react to her warm hands, though Dustin could barely make out the heat in his left sole. She took her time separating the lifeless toes one by one, rolling them between her fingers, tugging on them, bending them up and down gently. All the while, Dustin watched from the edge of his bed. He loved to see her fawning over his toes. It made her happy, perhaps even orgasmic, and it made him feel good to see something he considered a liability as something she treasured.
“How much can you feel in your feet?” she finally asked, after playing with each foot for a ridiculously long amount of time.
“My right foot, I can’t really feel anything below the scars. I could literally step on a nail and not know it until I would see the blood trail. Not that I’ve done that, but I’ve cut and scraped my feet on more than one occasion, only to find blood.”
“And the left?” she inquired.
“The left is a bit trickier. It’s weird how Spina Bifida works. You get a roll of the dice. One roll says you’re in a wheelchair the rest of your life, the other says it’s just a mild limp. Some don’t even know they have Spina Bifida. It’s the same thing with sensation. Whereas my right foot is a dead piece of flesh, blood, skin and bones, my left foot has some feeling.”
“Here, come up on the bed with me,” he offered. They sat on the bed together, and he took her hand, bringing it to his left foot. “Hold out your index finger, I’ll show you exactly where I feel and don’t.”
“Alright,” she said, though she meant “oh, yes, yes, yes!”
He ran her index finger on the tip of his big toe. “I can feel that, a little bit. It’s a faint feeling, I don’t know how to describe it; like a muffled sound, or a dull light, only in terms of touch. Extend your nail, like that. Good.”
He ran her nail up and down his sole. “I can feel your nail scraping my sole. If you used a feather, I’d never know it. You know, it’s weird. I go on these porn sites, and I’ve watched tickling videos, and I see the victims laugh in hysterics when a feather barely touches their soles, and with me, you almost have to dig your nail in before I feel it.”
“Wow, that’s such an incredible description,” she said in true amazement. He showed her that the tips of his other toes on his left foot, up until the twisted middle toe, still had some feeling as well.
“I’m sorry, they’re always kind of cold. Bad circulation.”
“I like it. In time, I’ll be warming them up plenty,” she said vaguely.
“My scars, I don’t know why, but they’re really sensitive.”
“Right here?” she asked as she stroked the scar. He sucked in air through his teeth.
“Yeah,” he said with a sigh.
“And this one?” she asked
“What about the rest of your leg?”
“Well, I think we’d have to take my pants off to find out.”
“You’re saying that as if it’s a problem,” she replied with a wicked grin…