Para Boxers

para boxers

episode 1

please email the author at auto240353@hushmail.com and visit the website for this story at http://paraboxers.i8.com

Saturday morning. Sunlight peeked through the beige horizontal window blinds. Steve lay in bed. As the rays brushed his face, he opened his eyes and looked over at the red numbers on his clock. Nine thirty-seven. He turned his head back and looked at the ceiling, where the faces of Kyle and Lane Carlson, the Abercrombie twins, stared longingly at him. Another day, he thought.

He raised himself up onto his elbows, placed his palms on the bed on both sides of his bare chest and pushed himself up to a sitting position. He felt the soreness in his triceps from his workout the day before. The sheets still covered his legs, just exposing the waistband of his red plaid boxer shorts. Steve grabbed the sheets with his right hand and tossed them aside. His boxers were short, ending just below his hips. His legs extended straight away from him, lying next to each other, knees slightly bent and feet tilted outwards naturally. The muscles stood out clearly in his lean arms, but his legs were unusually thin, almost skeletal, as if there were no muscle in them at all.

Steve placed his palms flat on the bed and pushed his butt up into the air, his triceps bulging as his arms straightened, and shifted his butt left a few inches. He moved his hands and shifted his butt again, this time almost to the edge of the bed. His legs had traced the arc of a circle with his feet at the center, but they remained frozen in their original shape. Steve put his left hand under his left thigh, close to the knee, and picked up his left leg, his biceps flexing. His knee bent automatically. He moved his hand to the left, carrying his leg, until his left foot slid off the bed. His left calf swung back and forth gently, like a pendulum, his foot dangling at the end. He lowered his hand until his left foot touched the ground. He let go of his leg and placed his left hand on the bed for balance. Steve put his right hand under his right thigh and picked up his right leg, lowering his right foot to the ground next to his left foot.

He picked up his left leg again with his left hand and lifted his foot onto the footrest of the wheelchair waiting beside the bed. It was an ultra-lightweight model with no armrests. It had a three-inch-thick seat cushion and a low seatback that rose only six inches above the seat. The footrest was made of the same tubular aluminum as the rest of the frame and was composed of a front crossbar along with a U-shaped tube extending backwards. The overall shape looked like a capital letter D with the flat side at the front of the chair. And it was red. Every part of the aluminum frame was painted a bright shade of red, while the cushion and back were covered in black nylon, like the cloth of a backpack.

Steve reached over and placed his left palm on the cushion of the wheelchair. With his right palm on the bed next to his right thigh, he pushed down with both arms, lifting his butt into the air. He felt it again in his sore triceps. He slid it to the left and lowered it onto the front of the wheelchair cushion. He placed his right hand under his right thigh, picked up his right leg, and moved his right foot onto the footrest next to his left foot. His knees were now further forward than his feet, and his thighs were splayed out. He put his palms on the tops of the large rear wheels of his chair and pushed down, lifting his butt up again. He moved his butt backwards until his back touched the backrest of the wheelchair and lowered it to the cushion.

Steve bent over and grabbed his right ankle with his right hand, lifted his right foot off the footrest, and moved it back until the back of his calf touched the calf strap, then put his foot down again and did the same with his left foot. The calf strap was a two-inch-wide piece of black padded nylon that looped from the left side of the wheelchair frame to the right, behind his calves, and was designed to keep his feet from slipping backwards off the footrest. His feet were right next to each other on the footrest, which was just wide enough for his feet with shoes on.

Steve's thighs slanted toward each other from his hips to his knees, which were almost touching. They formed a V shape with his knees at the point. His thighs were so thin that the flesh didn't spread out very much. The seat was parallel to the ground, and Steve's calves extended straight down from his thighs at a 90- degree angle. The cushion was a perfect length, with its front side almost touching the backs of his calves. Its fourteen-inch width comfortably accommodated his narrow hips. The tops of the wheels on either side rose a few inches above the top of the wheelchair cushion. Steve's bare feet were parallel to the ground and about three inches above it. His toes extended past the front bar of the footrest and bent downwards slightly.

He reached back with both arms, grabbed the pushrims on the wheels of his chair and wheeled himself across the room to his dresser. The floor was carpeted, but he pushed himself effortlessly across it. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers from his dresser, turned his chair and wheeled towards the door. The wheels were cambered for stability, further apart at the bottom than at the top, but the chair easily fit through the doorway. Steve wheeled across the hall and into the bathroom. The door at the end of the hall was closed. His roommate was probably still sleeping. They had met just recently. Steve closed the bathroom door behind him and wheeled over to the sink.

He guessed his bladder was pretty full by now because he'd slept for so long. Time to find out. He dropped the clean boxers on the counter, then began to take off the ones he was wearing. First he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers on either side of his body, then placed his palms on the wheels of his chair and lifted his butt into the air. As his butt rose he slid the boxers down with his thumbs. He lowered his butt back into the chair and slid the boxers forward along his thighs, lifting them one at a time with his hands so he could move the boxers more easily. Once his boxers were past his knees, he slid them down to his ankles. He grabbed his right ankle with his hand and lifted his right foot out of his boxers, then put it back down on the footrest. Then he did the same with his left foot so he could finally pull his boxers all the way off. He tossed them in the laundry bag.

Like his legs, his dick was something he couldn't feel or use. He needed to insert a catheter, a long plastic tube, to empty his bladder. He reached up to the cabinet and took out a sterile catheter pack. The catheter was inside a sterile bag that kept it clean and also collected the urine. Steve washed his hands carefully with soap. His dick was circumcised, thick but not too long. The skin was of a darker color than his legs, which were well tanned. There was a distinct tan line close to his hips. Steve grasped his dick with his left hand and pulled it up to a vertical position. He took a bottle of disinfectant spray with his right hand and sprayed the end of his dick a few times, near the opening. In his left hand he could feel the slight warmth of his dick, and he could feel the spray on his hand, but he felt nothing in his dick. He took the catheter pack and broke the sterile cover off the one-inch inserter tip. The tip was attached to the sterile plastic bag, about eleven inches long and five wide. Inside the bag was a plastic tube, the catheter itself, which would stay clean until it was pushed through the tip. Steve held his dick with his left hand and took the inserter tip with his right hand. He pushed it gently into the opening in his dick until it was completely inside. He didn't feel it at all. The tip was just long enough to extend past the head of his dick, the area most likely to have germs. With his right hand he grasped the plastic tube, still inside the bag, and began pushing it past the inserter tip and into his dick. He pushed it slowly, about one or two inches at a time, until his hand felt a slight resistance. That was the sphincter at the gateway to his bladder. He pushed just a little further, past the resistance, and stopped; urine began flowing through the tube and into the bag. Steve still felt nothing in his dick or inside his body. There was no pain or any other sensation, even though a plastic tube was now in his dick and extended about eight inches into his body. After the urine stopped flowing, Steve slowly pulled the tube out of his dick. After it was completely out he wiped the end of his dick with a piece of sterile gauze. He let go of his dick and disconnected the tube from the bag, throwing it in the trash. He wheeled over to the toilet and held the bag over it, opened the exit valve on the bag and let the urine drain into the toilet. After the bag was empty he threw that in the trash as well.

He turned his chair and wheeled over to the bathtub. There was a sliding glass door on the side. A rectangular shower bench with a rubber seat and four aluminum legs stood inside the tub near the back. He moved his wheelchair as close as possible to the left edge of the tub, next to the shower seat. He lifted his butt and moved it forward until it rested on the front edge of the cushion. He picked up his right leg and lifted his foot over the edge of the bathtub, lowering it until it rested on the bottom. He placed his right palm on the shower seat and his left palm on his wheelchair cushion and lifted his butt into the air, slid it over to the shower seat, and put it back down. His left foot was still on the footrest of his wheelchair and his left thigh now extended across the edge of the bathtub. He picked up his left leg and lifted his left foot over the edge of the tub, lowering it to the bathtub floor. He lifted his butt and slid over a little to the right so he was centered on the shower seat, then he closed the glass shower door. He leaned forward and turned on the water, feeling its temperature with his hand under the faucet. The water splashed on the bottom of the tub around his feet, but he didn't feel anything down there. When it was hot enough he switched on the shower and the water sprayed down on his chest, refreshing him and waking him up fully. Steve washed his hair first, leaning forward into the spray, then he soaped and scrubbed his upper body. He reached up and detached the shower head so he could spray his back. Then he replaced the shower head and started to wash himself below the waist.

Every time he took a shower he looked at his dick and wondered whether he would ever feel any pleasure there again. He adjusted the shower spray towards his feet so his dick was out of the spray. He took a tube of lubricant, squeezed out a generous amount onto his hands, and rubbed his palms together. Then he started tugging on his dick, enclosing it with his fists, pulling on it again and again. Faster and faster, harder and harder. He still felt nothing in his dick and he didn't get a hard-on. He hadn't had a hard-on since before his accident two years ago. He knew it was futile but he felt like he had to try anyway. He moved the shower spray back up, washing the lube off his dick.

He picked up his right ankle with his right hand and pulled it up onto his left knee. He washed his right thigh, then his right calf and foot. They lay there, docile, motionless. He dropped his right foot on the floor and picked up his left foot. His calves were so thin that he could nearly close his hand around them. Short black hair thinly covered the front. There was almost no hair on his thighs. His feet were average-sized and narrow. He remembered that it had hurt to run, back when he could run, because he was slightly flat-footed. In a sick way he found it funny that his feet would never hurt again.

Steve switched off the shower, slid the door open, and reached outside to grab a towel off the bar on the door. He dried off as thoroughly as possible, picking up his legs to dry the bottom of his thighs, then spread the towel on the seat of his wheelchair and transferred onto it. He took the clean boxers and lifted his feet one by one into them, then pulled them up to his knees. He slowly drew them up his thighs by leaning to one side and then the other, lifting one side of his butt off the cushion so he could pull up the boxers. When they were far enough up his thighs, he placed his palms on both wheels and lifted his butt completely off the seat, then used his fingers to pull the boxers all the way on.

He wheeled out of the bathroom. His roommate was just stepping out of his room when he spotted Steve.

"Hey, good morning," he said, sounding sleepy but cheerful as usual.

"Hey, Scott," Steve said as he wheeled into his room.

Scott was wearing a white tank top and blue-and-white striped boxers. He stood about six feet tall, lean and muscular, and he had short blond hair and bright blue eyes. It was a rare treat to see Steve coming out of the shower, hair wet, with only his boxers on. Scott went to the kitchen to get breakfast.

In his room, Steve began to get dressed. He had wrestled throughout high school and made it to state championships when he was a senior. At 5 feet 8 and about 140 pounds, his build had been almost perfect. After his accident, he had lost a lot of muscle in his legs, so he weighed only 115 now. He was planning to buy some clothes at the mall, so he just threw on a white tank top and pulled on a pair of blue jean shorts, wriggling them up his thighs like he did with his boxers. He pulled low-cut white socks on and shoved his feet into new-looking blue Nike running shoes. He tried to remember how long ago he had bought these shoes. Another advantage of not walking, he thought, was that shoes lasted a really long time. He wheeled to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, then turned around and reached up to get his favorite cereal from the shelf. He took a bowl and spoon from the cupboard, juggled everything on his lap, and wheeled over to the dining table, where Scott was eating some toast. One of the best things about Scott was that he didn't help him unless he asked for it. He liked being totally independent, but it was nice to have someone around who could help out. Scott didn't mind putting things on lower shelves so Steve could reach them, and he was careful not to leave stuff lying on the floor where it could get in his way.

Scott's chair was the only one at the table. Steve wheeled up to the other side of the table. His knees fit neatly under the table when he pushed his wheelchair in.

"We're going to the beach today, right?" Scott asked, chewing on something.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Steve said. He was looking forward to it because he hadn't been to the beach since his accident. "I want to go to the mall first to pick up some clothes. You want to come with me?"

"Nah, I'll stay home and clean up my room, it's a mess. Should we get lunch at the beach?"

"Yeah, sure," Steve said through a mouthful of cereal.

After he finished he put the the dishes in the dishwasher and wheeled back to his room. Scott stared at the sharply defined muscles in his not-too-broad shoulders and his gorgeous arms, shown off nicely by his tank top, as they pushed the wheelchair easily across the room. Scott was really looking forward to this trip to the beach, because he would get to carry him across the sand. There was a bulge in his boxers already.

Steve grabbed his wallet and car keys, shifted his butt forward for a moment so he could stuff his wallet in his back pocket, and wheeled to the door of the apartment.

"Later, Scott," he said, opening the door and wheeling out.

"Later," Scott replied, watching as Steve's slimly muscled right forearm, reaching back to grab his right wheel, was the last thing he saw disappearing past the door. Scott considered how far the two of them had come, and how far they had yet to go. He thought back to the day he had met Steve, less than two weeks ago.

Wednesday, around one. Scott was picking up lunch in the company cafeteria. He looked down at his tray, at the plate of vegetables drenched in a white sauce. It was supposed to be Italian.

The cafeteria was pretty empty. He spotted a young Asian guy sitting by himself at a table. He looked pretty cute. Worth a try, he thought, considering that he had been working at this company for several months and hadn't yet found anyone to date. When he reached the cashier, he looked at the table again. From this angle he could see under the table, and the cute guy was sitting in a wheelchair! It was sleek, sexy, and red. His heart started pounding. Definitely worth a try. He grabbed his tray and started rushing over. He slowed down and tried to look casual as he approached the table.

"Hey, mind if I join you?"

The guy in the wheelchair looked up. His hand brushed aside strands of his thick black hair falling across his forehead. "Uh, sure."

Scott grabbed a chair and sat down. He offered his hand. "My name's Scott."

"I'm Steve," he said, taking his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. Scott had thought that he wasn't a big guy, but now he saw the lean-muscled forearms, shown off by a white polo shirt.

"So which department are you in? I've never seen you before."

"We software engineers practically live in our cubes," Steve replied, smiling. "I guess I'm hard to miss."

Scott smiled too, a little. It was cool that he could laugh at himself.

"I bet you're in Sales," Steve continued.

"How'd you guess?"

"The way you look, you could sell a bicycle to a fish," he said. It was true -- he could probably model for Abercrombie and Fitch.

Scott felt his cheeks turning red. He turned away to hide it, suddenly interested in the meaningless modern art on the wall.

Steve said, "So aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask what?" Scott said, looking back at him curiously.

"Why I'm in a chair."

"Okay," he paused for a moment, thinking. "Why are you in a wheelchair?"

It sounded like Steve had said these words many times before. "Two years ago I was rock-climbing when I fell. My spinal cord was injured, so I'm paralyzed from the waist down."

"Now it's my turn," Scott said. "Why don't you ask me why my hair is blond?"

Steve stared at him. "Okay, why is your hair blond?"

"I was born this way," Scott said, smiling wickedly as Steve burst out laughing. "But I can already tell that you're not bitter about it."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I got over it right away. I've always thought my brain was my biggest asset, anyway, and nothing happened to that. Do I seem crazy to you?"

"No, but I think rock-climbing is crazy. Right up there with skiing."

"Skiing? Don't tell me you don't ski. I learned how to ski again after my accident, and I love it."

Scott's eyes widened. "Really? What other sports do you do?"

"I swim basically every day. I also play wheelchair tennis."

"Tennis, huh? Let's play sometime." Scott gathered his nerve and blundered on. "But hey, I bet you also work out, right? You want to go work out with me after work today?"

Steve started. Was this a date, or just male bonding? "Uh, okay. Um... where do you want to meet?"

"In front of the building, say five-fifteen?"

"You sales guys take off right at five, don't you?" Steve said, laughing. "Okay, sure."

Scott looked down at his tray and saw that he had finished his lunch. He had no idea what had been in it.

At 5:05 Scott was waiting in front of the building. He tried to stop pacing. A few minutes later, he spotted Steve wheeling out of the elevator. He admired how Steve moved without any apparent effort, giving his wheels a push just often enough to maintain an easy walking pace. Scott suddenly realized that the front doors were heavy. He started towards them, then he realized that Steve must go through these doors every day. He watched as Steve opened one of the doors and pushed his wheelchair through all in one smooth motion.

Steve wheeled over and stopped next to Scott. "My car or yours? I'm right here." He pointed to a grey Toyota sedan parked in a handicapped spot.

Scott really wanted to watch him get into his car, but he said, "We should both drive. The gym is close to my place, and I need to grab some clothes. You can follow me."

"Okay, I'll wait for you here."

"Don't you need to change?"

Steve crossed his arms in front of him, grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and pulled it off, revealing a black tank top underneath. It showed off his hard arms and shoulders, and Scott felt himself getting excited. "I'm ready to go. Oh, does this gym have a pool?"

"Y-yeah, it does," Scott managed to say.

Steve started wheeling towards his car. He looked back at Scott, who was staring at the muscles rippling in Steve's arms. "Well, aren't you going to get going?"

Scott gulped a "yup" and ran towards his car, parked several rows away. When he drove up to the entrance a few minutes later, Steve's car was already waiting. He pulled up alongside and waved, then drove on and watched Steve in the rear-view mirror. It looked like he had just one hand on the wheel.

When they reached his apartment building, Scott parked in a spot on the street and got out of the car. Steve parked directly behind him. He walked up to Steve's window and said, "Just wait a minute, I'll be right down."

"Wait, the gym's not far from here, right? Let's just take my car. I'll drop you off back here afterwards," Steve said.

"Sure, no problem." Scott jogged into the building, wondering how Steve would drive.

Steve watched him go. It seemed that he enjoyed being around him, but was he interested in him? Was he even gay? He might be able to find out if he could get a look at his apartment.

Scott came back down quickly, dressed in a white tank top and tight jean shorts. He'd picked something that would help compress his groin area, at least for now. He walked up to the car and noticed that Steve's wheelchair was in the front passenger seat. Steve motioned him over and said, "Do you want to move my chair to the trunk?"

Scott looked at the wheelchair. He wanted to touch it, but he was so nervous that he said, "It's okay. I'll just ride in back." He jumped in behind the driver's seat and noticed the big rear wheels of Steve's chair, detached, in the footwell next to him. There was a metal axle, about six inches long and less than an inch in diameter, in the center of each wheel. The wheels didn't fully overlap; they were offset so they could be stacked together with the axle of the bottom wheel sticking through the spokes of the top wheel.

"Take a left at the next light," Scott said as Steve pulled away from the curb. He peered over Steve's left shoulder and asked, "How does that work?"

Steve had both hands occupied so he didn't point, but he said, "See this handle I'm holding with my left hand? It's a twist throttle, just like on a motorcycle. The lever above it controls the brakes. I steer with my right hand. It's really easy."

"Wow, that is really simple," Scott said.

Steve really pushed his car hard, taking curves at high speed, making Scott hang on to the panic handles. After a while he said, "You've got an S2000, right?"

"I guessed you were a car buff, from the way you were driving," Scott said, thinking about driving Steve in his roadster.

"I really want to drive it, but we'd have to get hand controls for the stick."

"You can get hand controls for a stickshift car?"

"Yeah, but they're more complicated."

"Well, I'll take you for a ride when we get back," Scott said.

"All right!" Steve smiled, feeling like a little kid.

They reached the gym. Steve saw that it was one of the Winner's Gyms that seemed to be everywhere. "You can be a Winner too!" proclaimed the sign. At least there was a handicapped spot right next to the entrance. After they parked, Scott got out of the back seat and said, "Um, can I help you with anything?"

"No, just stand back and watch."

Scott tried not to look too eager as Steve opened the driver's door, revealing his legs in the khaki slacks he wore to work. Scott saw how loosely they fit, wrinkles everywhere. Steve reached under his left thigh with his hand and lifted his left foot out of the car, placing it on the ground for balance. The sight of Steve's limp, lifeless leg made Scott draw in his breath. Steve reclined his seat to make more room, then reached over to the passenger's seat and grabbed his wheelchair with both hands. He pulled it easily across his body and set it onto the ground facing towards the rear of the car, resting it on the two small front wheels. The wheelchair seatback was folded forward, almost flat against the cushion, so it would fit into the car more easily. He unfolded it, raising it to the vertical position. The rear of the chair had no wheels attached, so he held it off the ground with his left hand using the horizontal bar running across the middle of the seatback. With his right hand he reached across the car to the rear footwell and grabbed one of the wheels, brought it out, and attached it to the left side of the chair. Using his left hand, which was still holding the horizontal bar, Steve spun the chair around 180 degrees on its three wheels so it faced the front of the car. Then he grabbed the other wheel with his right hand and attached it to the right side of the chair. Steve moved the chair as close as possible to the car and placed his left palm on the seat. Reaching behind him with his right hand, he placed his palm on the back of the reclined driver's seat and pushed up with both hands, lifting his butt into the air, and slid his butt across to the wheelchair seat. Steve's right leg was now almost straight, extending through the doorway of the car into the footwell. Steve picked up his left foot with his left hand and placed it on the footrest of his wheelchair. Then he picked up his right leg with his right hand and lifted his right foot out of the car, placing it on the footrest as well. He pushed down on both wheels with his hands and lifted his butt back into position in the wheelchair, so his back touched the backrest. He leaned over and adjusted his feet so they were neatly in place on the footrest.

It had taken less than a minute for him to get out of the car. Scott's jaw must have been slightly open, because Steve glanced at him and said, "Hey, you do it every day for two years, you get good."

Steve locked the car and they headed inside. He easily kept up as Scott strode up the path. He looked around as they entered, comparing it to his own gym. The machines were a bit newer, maybe a bit better maintained, but it was a lot more crowded. They headed for the locker room.

Scott grabbed some towels and walked around humming while he stole glances at Steve, who was taking off his shoes and socks. Steve began pulling off his pants. Scott stared openly now, fascinated, as Steve lifted himself off the chair with his hands on the wheels and then, with his butt in the air, hooked his thumbs in his waistband and slid his pants down to reveal a pair of short square-cut purple Speedo swim trunks. Scott had been looking forward to seeing Steve's legs and was now holding his breath. He hadn't expected it to happen so soon. Steve moved his butt forward to the edge of the seat so he was no longer sitting on his pants, then slid the pants down. He used his hands to lift his feet out of his pants one by one, repositioned them on the footrest, then moved his butt back to its usual position on his chair.

Scott wondered if this was a dream. Steve's legs were very thin, as deeply tanned as his upper body. They were beautiful. His hairless thighs lay next to each other on the thick cushion and almost touched at the knees, and his calves, covered with a little hair, extended straight down. His bare feet were flat on the footrest and his toes were bent slightly, hanging over the front edge of the footrest. His head, his arms, his upper body moved around as he picked up his clothes, but nothing below his waist moved. It was as if his legs were frozen in crystal.

Steve noticed Scott staring at his legs, but he didn't mind. Everyone stared. In fact there were a few other guys in the locker room staring too.

Steve held up his pants and said, "Yo... yo, Scott, where do I put these?"

Scott snapped out of it and said, "Uh, yeah, here's my locker."

Steve wheeled over and threw his pants in along with his shoes and socks. As they headed out of the locker room, Scott said, "Uh, don't you mind when people stare at your legs?"

Steve shrugged and said, "I'm comfortable with my body, so I don't care what other people think. In the beginning it bothered me that I was losing my muscles, but then I realized that my body was trying to make life easier for me. My body tries to be as efficient as possible. If I don't use my legs, it doesn't use up resources trying to keep up the muscles there. This way my legs are lighter, and it's easier to pick them up and move them around. They also drag less when I'm swimming."

Scott said softly, "Yeah, you've definitely got a point." He wanted to touch them. He wanted to caress them.

"Where are the free weights? You can spot for me, so let's try those first." Steve looked up at Scott, who was still looking at his legs.

"Okay," Scott said, after a moment. "Over there."

They reached the bench, which was about ten inches wide and maybe four feet long, with a padded surface. The bar holding the free weights was suspended about a foot off the bench, perpendicular to it. Steve wheeled along the right side of the bench and stopped, then lifted his butt forward in the chair. He picked up his left leg with his left hand and moved his foot to the ground. He placed his left palm on the bench, and with his right palm on the seat of the wheelchair, lifted his butt over to the bench. His left leg flopped over, leaning on the edge of the bench. Steve grabbed his right leg with his right hand and moved his foot onto the ground. When he let go, his right leg flopped over to rest against his left leg. Steve picked up his left leg again, lifting the foot over the bench so that he straddled it. His thighs splayed outwards, his calves were vertical and his feet flat on the ground. Steve leaned backwards onto his elbows, then onto his back, careful to avoid hitting his head on the bar.

"Okay, let's start with a hundred, I guess."

Scott adjusted the weight discs on the bar until there were forty- five pounds on each side. The bar weighed ten pounds. He stood beside the bench as the spotter. "Okay, go ahead."

Steve reached up and placed his hands on the bar. He pushed up, lifting the bar away from its supports. He lowered it to his chest, then lifted it, straightening his arms all the way to complete the press. Scott watched closely to be sure Steve had no trouble, but it looked amazingly easy. Steve repeated the press four more times, then moved to 120 pounds and performed five presses, with a bit more difficulty. Scott said, "Wow, I bet you can press more than me."

Steve replied, "Well, how much should I try?"

"How about, um, 150?"

"Okay."

Scott placed 70 pounds on each end of the bar, and Steve tried the press. He struggled visibly this time, his face turning red and his arms and chest shaking a little, but he completed it. Scott said, "Whew. No problem."

"Okay," Steve said, sitting up and transferring quickly back to his wheelchair, "Now you try it."

"Uh, um..." Scott said, turning very red, "Let's go get a drink, I'm thirsty."

Steve smiled. Scott hadn't lifted anything! He followed Scott towards the vending machines.

After Scott had a Mountain Dew and Steve had a Coke, Steve said he wanted to work his pecs on the Nautilus. Scott grabbed some dumbbells nearby so he could watch. Steve wanted to watch Scott as well. He probably used dumbbells often because he had a set routine. His shoulders were well developed, and when he started working his biceps, he looked even more attractive than before. But even though he seemed to be curious about Steve's body, that was probably just because he'd never seen a para before.

As Steve finished up and started to transfer back into his wheelchair, Scott put his dumbbells down and paid attention. The seat of the Nautilus machine had an attachment at the front for working leg muscles. It just got in the way for Steve, so he had to pick up his right leg and carry it way up so his foot would clear the attachment in front. When he did this, his calf bent all the way until his ankle almost touched his hip. Scott was struck by how little space Steve's entire leg took up. His thigh and calf together weren't even as big as Scott's thigh by itself. Steve lowered his right foot to the ground on the left side of the machine and lifted his left foot onto the footrest of his wheelchair, slid his butt across to the seat, and then picked up his right foot again to move it onto the footrest. Steve reached down and adjusted his legs, then he turned to Scott.

"There's something else you can help me with. I'd like to do dips on the U-bar. Usually I have one of the gym attendants lift me up, but since you're here..."

Scott felt the bulge in his shorts expand painfully. "Sure, just tell me what to do."

Steve wheeled over to the U-bar, a set of two parallel handles about two feet apart, suspended four or five feet in the air, with enough room in the middle of the U for someone to do dips on the handles. He positioned his wheelchair under the U-bar, backing in so he faced the open side of the U, and said, "Okay, now grab me at the waist and lift me up."

"So, how much do you weigh, Steve?" Scott asked casually.

"Don't worry, not 150." Scott groaned, and he smirked. "Seriously, only about 110."

Scott crouched down and placed his hands on both sides of Steve's waist, and Steve put his hands on Scott's shoulders. The feel of Scott's hard shoulders sent an electric spark up his arms. When Scott felt Steve's slim hips and tight abs, his groin throbbed and he wished his shorts weren't so tight. Scott lifted Steve up while Steve pushed down on his shoulders.

The front of Steve's body briefly brushed against Scott's, and on his chest Scott could feel the slight bump of Steve's dick through his thin nylon trunks. Scott started shaking slightly, and Steve, who hadn't felt anything, said, "Oh come on, even 110 is too much for you?"

Scott laughed nervously and forced himself to stop shaking. Steve grabbed the two handles, his arms straight, and Scott let go of his waist. Steve's legs now hung straight down, his feet slanted downwards in a relaxed, natural position. The thinness of Steve's legs was more apparent than ever. Steve did a pushup, lowering his body until his upper arms were horizontal, then pushing back up again. As he did this, his legs swung gently back and forth, brushing lightly against each other, totally out of control. Scott couldn't bear it anymore and said "I-need-to-go-to-the- bathroom-I'll-be-right-back," then ran off. Steve managed to yell "Hey!" as Scott ran away, leaving him hanging in midair with no way of getting down.

Scott ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, panting. He put a hand on the front of his shorts, trying to get himself to settle down. Then he remembered that Steve was stuck without him, and he ran back.

Steve was just completing 20 reps. "About time. What happened to you?"

"Sorry, um, must have been lunch," Scott said. He grabbed Steve's waist again, and Steve put his arms on Scott's shoulders. Scott lowered Steve down, managing to land one of Steve's feet on the footrest. The other landed on the floor. After he put Steve's butt down on the seat, Scott let go. Steve picked up his errant foot with his hand, putting it back on the footrest. He slid his butt back into position.

Something occurred to Scott. "Say, Steve, I guess you don't have any spasms in your legs. You must be an L1 or L2, then, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm an L1, complete." Steve looked at him. "How do you know so much about paras?"

"Oh, just what I picked up in high school biology." Along with hours of research on the Internet, he didn't say.

"You must gone to a great high school, then, because I didn't learn this stuff even when I was a pre-med in college," Steve said. He wiped his forehead. "It would feel good to get in the pool now."

Scott had been waiting for this. He said, casually, "The pool here is kind of small. The one at my apartment is bigger. Do you want to go swim there instead?"

I might be able to get a look at his room, Steve thought. "Sounds good," he said, and it was surprising how happy Scott looked.

They toweled themselves off. Scott noticed that Steve didn't bother to dry his legs. Steve looked up at him and said, "Don't forget my stuff."

"No problem," Scott said, stuffing Steve's clothes in his gym bag. They left the gym, going back to Steve's car.

"If you help me put my chair in the trunk," Steve said, "then you can sit in the front."

Scott agreed, and watched as Steve transferred from his chair into the driver's seat. Steve pointed out the button on the end of the wheel axle which released the wheel from the chair frame. Scott had to try a few times before he got the hang of pushing the button and pulling the wheel at the same time. He took both wheels together and put them in the trunk, then came back for the chair frame. Even though he was expecting the chair to be light, he didn't expect it to be featherweight. It probably weighed less than fifteen pounds. He folded the back and put it in the trunk. Then he got in the front passenger seat and directed Steve back to his apartment.

"Your apartment looked pretty nice," Steve said, when they were almost there.

"Yeah, it is, but it's expensive. Especially since my roommate got fired and had to move out. I'm paying all the rent for a two- bedroom now. I wish I had a new roommate..." Scott almost hit himself on the forehead as he realized what he had just said. Why hadn't he thought of this before? "So, where do you live, Steve?"

"Um, I'm living with my older brother, actually, right now. He offered to let me stay with him after my accident. But he's kind of overprotective, so I was thinking about moving out."

At the same time, Steve said, "Can I stay with you?" and Scott said, "You can stay with me!"

They looked at each other, and started laughing. Steve nearly hit a police car parked on the side of the road.

When they reached Scott's apartment, Scott jumped out and grabbed Steve's wheelchair from the trunk, attaching the wheels as Steve pulled his left leg out of the car. Watching him slide into his chair was extra fun because Steve was still wearing just his purple Speedos and his tank top, exposing his floppy legs.

"I'm kind of hungry, actually, so could we swim after? Is your pool lighted at night?" Steve asked.

He really wanted to see Steve swim, but he said, "Yeah, no problem. Let's go change in my room, then. Do you want to take a shower before dinner?"

"Well, your shower probably isn't accessible right?"

"Oh yeah, that's right."

"Well, if you don't mind my smell..."

"No, not at all! In fact, all I smell is your cologne. What is it?"

"Abercrombie, my favorite," Steve said. Take the hint, he thought.

Scott thought, well, I know a lot of straight guys like Abercrombie too. He said, "Cool, I like it."

They entered the apartment building, Scott holding the door for Steve, and went up in the elevator to the third floor. "As you can see, it's totally accessible," Scott said proudly.

"Yeah," Steve said, "But promise me one thing."

"What is it?"

"You're good at this already, and I like that. I don't need any help unless I ask for it. I want to be as independent as I can."

"Of course! No sweat," Scott replied. He likes it!

Scott led the way to his apartment, Steve wheeling behind him. They entered, and Steve was immediately impressed by how large it was.

"You can change in the second bedroom. That'll be yours, anyway," Scott said, heading into his room.

Steve wheeled into the bedroom. It was completely empty, and looked even more spacious for it. There was a window across from the door, and a large closet on the wall next to the door. He quickly coaxed his legs into his khakis and pulled on his polo shirt again, then he wheeled out to the living room to look for clues. Unfortunately, there was nothing significant there. Scott didn't have much furniture, just a loveseat, a coffee table, and a nice big-screen TV. On the coffee table was the latest copy of "Men's Fitness." The cover blared "She'll Love This In Bed."

"Not promising," Steve thought. On the other hand, there was a nice stereo and DVD player hooked up to the TV. He wheeled into the kitchen and looked around. There were just a few dishes lying around, some instant food, nothing special. He wheeled over to the refrigerator and opened it. Sam Adams beer. "Good taste," he thought. Then he heard Scott calling.

"Hey Steve, you ready?"

"Yeah," he said, wheeling out of the kitchen. Scott was dressed up, with a purple silk shirt, black slacks, and nice shoes. He was even wearing cuff links.

"Hey, you didn't have to be fancy," Steve said, looking down at his ordinary, rather rumpled work clothes.

"Steve," Scott said, walking over and leaning in a bit, "You look good in anything."

Steve's face turned very slightly red, and he didn't know what to say.

Scott grinned and led the way out of the apartment. Now he'd have to get in the roadster. As they reached the curb, Scott opened the passenger door and sat down on the edge of the seat. He reached up to release the clasps holding the cloth roof. Then he pressed the button to lower the roof.

"This'll make it easier to transfer, won't it?" he said.

"Yeah, and mess up my hair, too," Steve said, grinning. Scott got out of the car, and Steve wheeled over to the edge of the curb and positioned his chair parallel to the car. The car seat was much lower than in most cars, but that would be no problem. He shifted his butt forward to the edge of the cushion, picked up his left leg with his hand and lifted his foot into the passenger footwell. Then he put his left palm on the firm black leatherof the seat, and with his right hand on his wheelchair cushion, he lifted his butt up and moved it to the left and down to the seat. As he did this, his right leg slid off the wheelchair seat and his right foot flopped off the footrest and onto the ground. His wheelchair slid back a few feet, and Scott lunged over to catch it.

"Don't worry, it's fine," Steve said, grabbing his right leg and pulling it into the car. The seat was pretty narrow, but it was comfortable. Steve reached over and closed the car door while Scott struggled again to remove the wheels from his wheelchair.

"Are you sure it'll fit in your trunk?" Steve asked.

Scott finally got the wheels off and said, "Yeah, should be okay." The trunk on his car was pretty big for a roadster, and he managed to get Steve's chair in.

Then they took off. Steve had never ridden in an S2000 before. The engine screamed all the way. He kept getting pushed back in his seat. Only the firm side bolsters kept his body in place as Scott took turns at high speed. His feet slid left and right in the footwell.

"What are we eating?" he shouted over the engine and wind.

"Italian okay with you?" Scott yelled back. "I know this great place up the hill."

"Sure," Steve yelled, "I love Italian."

They pulled up to Giuseppi's. Scott handed the keys to the valet, telling him to wait a minute. He brought Steve's wheelchair around to the passenger side.

"Do you need help getting up here?" Scott asked, looking from the seat of the car to the seat of the wheelchair. It was about a foot.

"This is nothing," Steve said. "I have to transfer to the floor every time I swim." Scott tried to picture it. He decided he couldn't wait to go swimming with him.

Steve lifted his right foot out and dropped it on the curb, then he put his right palm on the wheelchair cushion and reached back to put his left palm on the shoulder of the car seat. He lifted his butt out and onto the cushion. His left leg was dragged up automatically, but his left foot stayed in the footwell. Steve grabbed his right leg first and lifted his right foot onto the footrest, then grabbed his left leg and lifted his left foot onto the footrest. He shifted his butt back into position and followed Scott into the restaurant.

Scott knew that this place was accessible. The greeter showed them to a small table for two and removed the chair on one side. Steve wheeled over to that side and positioned his chair at the table. The greeter handed him a menu. He handed Scott a menu as well, then said "Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen," and left.

"Professional," Steve said. His cushion was higher above the ground than Scott's seat, so his head was higher than Scott's. It was nice to be taller for once.

"Yeah, I really like this place," Scott said.

They avoided alcohol because they were going swimming later. Steve was surprised how big the portions were. He enjoyed his shrimp fettucine, carefully keeping his shirt clean. They chatted a bit about work. Scott didn't ask any personal questions, partly because he didn't want to offend Steve while they had an almost- romantic dinner, and partly because he was hungry.

It was dark by the time they left. Steve transferred easily into Scott's car and they drove back to Scott's apartment. Steve enjoyed the warm breeze on his face. It was almost summer.

After they arrived, Steve transferred back into his wheelchair and said, "You know, I'm still stuffed from dinner, maybe we'd better wait a bit before swimming."

"Okay, why don't I take you for a tour then," Scott said, leading the way. They stopped at the tennis court first.

"This is really nice," Steve said. "I can't wait to try it out." He wheeled onto the court, enjoying how easily his chair rolled over the firm, smooth surface.

"I can't wait to see you try it out, either," Scott murmured, imagining Steve in a tennis outfit.

Scott led the way to the laundry room, which had a long wheelchair ramp outside. He let Steve go first and watched as Steve leaned his body forward with each push, giving him more power. He wheeled up the ramp with nearly as much speed as on flat ground, but his bulging forearms and violent shoves on the wheels showed that he was exerting some effort. It was the first time Scott had seen him push uphill, and he wondered at his strength.

"What does it feel like?" Scott asked, almost reverently.

"Huh?" Steve had reached the top of the ramp and he turned his wheelchair to face Scott, who was walking up towards him.

"To be paralyzed."

Steve thought for a moment. "Well, basically, it feels like nothing. There's nothing there, below a certain level. Right now, it doesn't feel like I'm sitting on anything. It's like I'm floating in midair, because I can't feel the wheelchair cushion under my butt. The only part of the chair I can feel is the upper part of the seatback."

"Wow," Scott said, trying to imagine what it would feel like. It was hard.

"There are some people who think life would be easier for a para to have his legs amputated, because then he wouldn't have to drag them around," Steve said. A picture popped into Scott's head of Steve with no legs. He didn't like it. "But I think it would be harder. My legs keep me in the wheelchair. They're like Steve-weights." He paused, and looked down. "And also, there's a chance that someone will find a cure for paralysis in the next few years..." Scott looked at him suddenly, and thought he saw a fleeting sadness on Steve's face.

Then Steve looked at him and said, "You want to try it?"

"Try what?"

"My wheelchair. I'll let you try it out."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Steve said, wheeling back down the ramp. He wheeled over to a bench nearby next to the footpath, and transferred out of his wheelchair onto the bench. "Okay, there you go."

Scott walked over and gingerly touched the wheelchair. This was different from putting it in a trunk. He stood in front and sat down, moving his feet into the footrest. Steve noticed that it was a little tight on width, but not too bad. Where the chair didn't fit perfectly was in the height between the seat and the footrest. Scott's knees were a couple of inches above the cushion and his thighs weren't flat on it.

"How's it feel?" Steve asked. "Go ahead, push yourself around a little." He sat on the bench, his hands resting on his legs.

Scott carefully gave the wheels a push, and was surprised at how easily he rolled forward. He pushed a little harder, heading down the path.

"To turn, you have to push one wheel while you brake the other," Steve said, suddenly remembering the first time he had used a wheelchair. It was in the hospital, almost two years ago.

Scott grabbed the left wheel and slowed it down, pushing a bit on the right wheel, and the chair turned abruptly to the left. He was even more surprised how quickly it turned. "Okay, I think I got it..." He wheeled back towards Steve.

"The wheelbase, the distance from the front wheels to the back wheels, is really short, so the chair turns very quickly," Steve said. "Now try going up the ramp."

Scott looked at the ramp and felt determined to try it. He wheeled to the base and looked up. It didn't look too bad. He pushed forward onto the ramp, but as the chair started to tilt upward it came to a complete stop. Scott was gripping the wheels tightly to keep himself from rolling backwards. He tried pushing forward and was amazed at how hard it was. The chair barely moved.

"You can lean forward as you push for more power," Steve said. "Push really hard."

Scott let go of the wheels and quickly reached back as the chair started rolling backwards. He gripped the tops of the wheels and shoved as hard as he could, throwing his body forwards like Steve had. The chair started rolling up the ramp, and Scott pushed the wheels again.

"All right," he said as the chair reached the top. He sat up quickly, but he leaned back too far and the chair tipped backwards, dumping him onto the ramp. Scott heard Steve laughing as he disentangled his legs from the chair and brushed himself off.

"Not so easy, is it, dude?" Steve said, still laughing.

Scott felt himself getting very red as he righted the wheelchair and turned it around. He sat down and tried going down the ramp, braking the wheels, but his hands felt like they were burning up. He gave up about halfway down and stood up, pushing the chair ahead of him back to where Steve sat on the bench.

"Wow, that's really hard. I can't believe you do this every day," Scott said, admiring Steve even more.

"Yeah, that's how it goes," Steve said, picking up his right leg and lifting it onto the footrest.

"So how do you feel about the wheelchair?" Scott said, tentatively. "Isn't it... kind of a drag?"

"It's like a part of my body," Steve said, sliding his butt into the chair. "My wheelchair is my legs. It's personal, so I don't like it when someone touches my chair." He lifted his left foot onto the footrest, shifted his butt back into position and adjusted his legs. "But I don't mind if you touch my chair."

Scott felt warm inside and smiled. "Are you ready to go swimming yet?"

"Yeah, let me go grab a towel from my car."

"And I'll go change into my swimsuit," Scott said. "Meet you there. Oh yeah, the pool is at the end of the path, just keep going." He headed for his apartment.

Steve wheeled back towards his car, thinking about Scott and how he seemed to be so interested in him. Maybe he was gay after all. Steve pulled out his gym bag from the trunk of his car and put it in his lap, then started wheeling towards the swimming pool. When he arrived, he saw Scott waiting for him.

"That was fast," Steve said, wheeling towards Scott, who was wearing a pair of blue swim trunks that extended to his knees, a white tank top that showed off his muscular arms, and a pair of Adidas soccer sandals. Scott pulled off his tank top, crossing his arms in front and grabbing the bottom hem and then lifting the tank top over his head, his abs rippling as they came into view. Steve felt his heart beating faster as he stared at Scott's chest.

"Well, are you going to get undressed?" Scott asked, smiling, stepping out of his sandals and walking over to the edge of the pool. It was rectangular, four feet deep on one end and five feet on the other, about twelve yards long and five wide. He stepped into the pool, walking down the steps at the corner. He shivered a bit. The pool was heated, but it seemed very cold compared to the warm evening air. The lights at the end and along the sides illuminated the pool bottom everywhere. Bright lamps on poles encircled the five-foot fence designed to keep small children out of the pool area.

Scott walked down the steps into the pool and splashed into the water, dipping his head in to get himself used to the temperature. Meanwhile Steve wheeled over to a lounge table and dropped his gym bag on it. He noticed a sign posted on the fence which said, "No Diving - Crippling Injuries May Result." There was a drawing of a man diving in and hitting his head on the bottom. Well, I guess I don't have to worry about becoming a cripple, he thought. He didn't mind the word; he was what he was, and if someone else wasn't happy about it, that was their problem.

Scott swam back to the steps and sat on one of them, his shoulders barely above the water. He looked over and saw that Steve was just taking off his polo shirt, exposing his tank top. Then he started to pull off his tank top. He had never seen Steve's bare chest. Steve pulled his tank top off and stuffed it in the gym bag. His abs weren't as well defined as Scott's, but they were firm, and his pecs bulged slightly. Scott thought they looked terrific. Steve's body was slim, unlike that of a muscle- bound bodybuilder.

Now for the best part, he thought, as Steve picked up his left ankle and put it on his right knee so he could take off his shoe. He pulled off his shoe and sock, then replaced his bare left foot on the footrest and picked up his right ankle, taking off that shoe and sock as well. He placed his right foot down on the footrest and then put his palms on the tops of his wheels, lifting his butt a few inches in the air, and shoved his pants down with his thumbs, exposing his very short purple Speedo trunks. Steve put his butt back down, then lifted it again and moved it forwards to the edge of his cushion, freeing his pants. He pushed his pants past his knees and pushed them down his calves, his thin thighs splaying out. Steve picked up his right ankle and lifted his right foot out of his pants, replacing it on the footrest, then did the same with his left foot. He lifted his butt and moved it back into position in his chair, then leaned over to pick up his pants off the ground and stuff them into his gym bag. He glanced over at the pool and saw Scott staring slightly gape-jawed at him. He smiled a little and grabbed a towel from his gym bag, folded it over the back of his wheelchair, and wheeled over to the pool.

"So here's how I get into the pool," he said, stopping his wheelchair near the edge of the pool. He was on the shallow side, but not near the steps. Scott watched closely as Steve shifted his butt forward to the edge of the seat, then lifted one foot at a time out of the footrest and flat onto the ground. He leaned forward and placed his right palm on the ground, his arm straight. The muscles in his arm flexed as he put his weight on them. With his left palm on the wheelchair cushion, Steve shifted his butt out of the chair and down onto the ground. His legs flopped onto the ground, his left leg above his right leg, bent halfway at the knee and extending to the left of Steve's body. He reached up and grabbed the towel from the back of his wheelchair and spread it over the back and cushion of his wheelchair, to keep his chair dry when he got out of the pool. Then he reached over with his left hand and grabbed his left ankle, which was next to his right ankle, pulled it towards his body so his knee bent almost all the way and then dropped it on top of his right knee. He was now sitting near the edge of the pool in a half- lotus position, with the edge on his right side. Scott couldn't see Steve's left side, but he could see all of his right thigh and the untanned sole of his narrow left foot on top of it, lying still. He grabbed his right calf with his right hand and lifted his right foot off the ground. He pivoted his arm, bringing his foot around to the right, and lowered it into the pool with a small splash. Steve's right thigh now extended across the edge of the pool, and just as when he sat in his wheelchair the flesh spread only slightly. His left foot was still on top of his thigh. He picked up his left ankle with his left hand and lowered it into the water as well.

"How cold is it?" he said, looking at Scott, his calves swaying gently as the turbulent surface of the pool undulated around them.

"Um, uh, not bad," Scott stammered.

"Cool," Steve said, "I don't want to be surprised when I get my stomach in there."

"Yeah," Scott said, staring at Steve's legs. It was a good thing his trunks were underwater, so Steve couldn't see the gigantic bulge there.

Steve placed both palms on the edge of the pool and lifted his butt into the air, sliding it forward and setting it down on the very edge of the pool. Then he lifted it again and this time slid his butt forward off the edge, lowering his stomach and chest into the pool. When the water reached a certain point above his hips he suddenly felt its coldness. As he entered the water he turned his body to the right, towards Scott, letting go of the edge with his left hand but still holding onto it with his right, letting his head splash into the water as well.

Steve's head and shoulders appeared above the water after a moment. "Man, that's cold!"

"I guess you have to move around a little," Scott said, as Steve continued to hold on to the pool's edge with his right hand. Scott saw that Steve's legs were bent slightly at the knee and his calves floated in front of his body. Even though the pool was only four feet deep at this end, Steve wasn't able to stand on the floor, so he had to hold on to the edge to keep his head above water.

"Okay then, here I go," Steve said, pushing off the edge of his pool with his right hand. He turned his body to the left and headed for the other end of the pool, swimming a breaststroke using only his arms. His left leg briefly crossed under his right leg, then as his thighs straightened out and became aligned with his upper body, his lower legs uncrossed. He swam with strong arm strokes, his head popping out of the water with each stroke. His legs dragged limply behind him in the water, knees slightly bent, separated by a few inches. Steve felt the water as he pushed it with his arms, he felt its coldness on his face, around his chest and stomach, the splashes across his shoulders each time he broke the surface, but there was nothing below his hips, just a vague sensation of weight, something dragging him back.

Steve soon reached the other end of the pool and grabbed onto the edge with his left hand, turning his body so he faced Scott's side of the pool. His legs floated in front of him, his toes sticking out of the water.

Scott was impressed at how quickly Steve could move through the water. "That was awesome!" he said. "It's the first time I've ever seen a guy swim without using his legs."

"Are you going to swim too, or just sit there? You have your legs!" Steve taunted, grinning, as he hung on to the edge of the pool.

Scott responded by pushing strongly off the steps with his legs, and swimming a breaststroke also. Steve watched him approach. His form wasn't very good, he thought.

As Scott reached the end of the pool, he touched the wall and then stood on the bottom. As he stood, he felt Steve's foot brush against his arm, and an electric feeling shot up his spine as the bulge in his trunks swelled.

Steve saw the contact. "Did I kick you? Sorry," he said, pulling on the pool's edge with his left hand to move his body further away from Scott.

"Uh, no, no problem," Scott said. As if Steve could kick him. The thought filled him with both sadness and longing. But he suddenly decided to ask the question. "So, do you mind if someone touches your legs?"

What kind of question is that, he thought, but he answered, warily, "Well, every day my brother moves my legs to keep them from stiffening up. He massages them too. That doesn't bother me. I don't feel a thing."

The thought of massaging Steve's legs made Scott's bulge throb. "Uh, can I help with your legs?"

Steve looked at him for a moment. "Not right now, it's kind of late, and my brother's probably wondering why I'm not home yet. I feel a little cold." He pushed off the wall.

Maybe I went too far, Scott thought. Steve was doing a crawl stroke now. His legs straightened out behind his body, then as he turned his torso left and right, slicing his upper body through the water with alternating arm strokes, his legs twisted flaccidly behind him, first his left leg crossing on top of his right, then his right leg crossing on top of his left, his knees unable to straighten, his feet willlessly pointing as they trailed from his calves.

It was one of the most erotic things Scott had ever seen. He stared until Steve had almost reached the other end, then hurriedly swam after him. As he reached the steps, Steve was pulling his body out of the water, doing a pushup to lift his butt onto the edge of the pool.

"Do you have to go already?" Scott asked, almost pleadingly.

"Yeah, my brother's going to be worried," Steve said, placing his left hand under his left thigh and lifting his leg out of the water. "But let's arrange a date for me to move in." He placed his left foot on the edge of the pool with his knee bent, let go, and his left knee flopped over onto the ground.

A date, huh? "Okay, uh, how about this weekend? Saturday?" Scott said.

"Sure, I'm free then," Steve said, pulling his right leg out of the water with his right hand, lowering his right foot to the ground, and letting his right knee flop to the left to land on his left leg. "Is it okay if my brother comes to help move?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Scott said, watching intently as Steve shifted his butt back closer to his wheelchair, then placed his left palm up on the cushion. With his right palm flat on the floor next to his hips, he lifted his butt up until it reached the cushion. His feet were still touching the floor, the left flat on the ground, the right resting on its edge as his right thigh splayed out. Scott remembered to hide the bulge in his trunks and quickly stepped out of the pool, trying to keep his back to Steve. He ran over to grab a towel, wrapped it around his waist, then took another towel, drying himself off.

"You need another towel?" he called over to Steve, who was picking up his left leg to move his foot onto the footrest.

"Okay, sure," Steve said. Scott brought an extra towel over as Steve positioned his right foot on the footrest, then lifted his butt and moved it back into position in the chair. The towel on his seat cushion had shifted, but he didn't mind if the cushion got a little wet. He took the towel from Scott and dried off his hair and upper body, then wiped off his legs. He looked up and noticed the towel around Scott's waist.

"What's that for?" Steve said, pointing at the towel.

"Oh, um, I'm cold," Scott said, hugging himself and shivering a little.

"Better get inside then," Steve said, wheeling over to his gym bag. "I'll shower when I get home."

"Okay," Scott said, walking after Steve. "What time do you want to come over on Saturday?"

"How about 10 in the morning?" Steve asked, pulling on his tank top.

"Sure," Scott said. "I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Yeah," Steve said. "And thanks for dinner, and the workout. I really enjoyed it." He offered his hand to Scott.

"No problem," Scott said, taking Steve's hand in a handshake. They held on for a moment, not moving. Scott wondered about Steve. Steve wondered about Scott. Finally Scott let go and said, "I'd better let you go. Um, I mean, you should get going, your brother's probably worried about you."

Steve said, "Yeah. See you, then." He wheeled towards the parking lot, and Scott watched his shoulder muscles as he pushed his chair with strong, efficient strokes, his wheelchair leaving four wet tracks on the dry pavement. Scott slipped on his sandals, grabbed his clothes, and headed for his apartment. He stepped inside his door, dropped everything, rushed into the shower, and jerked off like he had never jerked off before.

When Steve got home later that evening, his brother said, "Where have you been?!"

"I'm moving out."

please email the author at auto240353@hushmail.com and visit the website for this story at http://paraboxers.i8.com