para boxers
episode 2
please email the author at auto240353@hushmail.com and visit the website for this story at http://paraboxers.i8.com
After he finished breakfast Scott stuck his dishes in the dishwasher. He walked into the living room and paused over the coffee table, looking at Steve's DVDs scattered among his own. The move-in last Saturday had been a little stressful, he thought. Steve's brother Mike had arrived in a Toyota 4Runner full of Steve's stuff. Steve followed in his own car. Mike had been polite, but a little cold. He kept asking Steve, "Are you sure you'll be okay?" Steve got tired of this after a while and snapped, "Look, I can take care of myself!" There was an uncomfortable silence, then Mike turned back to Scott and they started hauling Steve's bed inside.
Steve was moving boxes on his lap. He didn't really have that much stuff. Other than his computer desk, bed, and dresser, he could move almost everything else by himself, although it took several trips. He had to lean around the bigger boxes to see in front of him, and he was careful going over bumps to make sure his cargo didn't fall off his lap.
Scott wondered whether Mike thought his brother was moving in with a boyfriend, but he didn't seem to suspect anything. Either he doesn't know whether Steve is gay, or he thinks Steve can't have a normal relationship, Scott thought. He hadn't seen anything in Steve's stuff that would indicate beyond a doubt that he was gay. Steve seemed to like alternative rock, and he had a lot of CD's. It took them about two hours to finish everything, then Mike leaned over and hugged his brother. Steve seemed to be a bit embarrassed. Scott wanted to hug him too. Maybe from his lap.
Mike shook hands with Scott and said, "Take good care of him."
"I think Steve is a little stronger than you think," Steve said. Mike shrugged and left.
All week Scott and Steve had worked out every day at the gym. Steve usually swam laps for about half an hour. It was Scott's favorite part of the day. Steve still hadn't noticed Scott's huge hardons, which was a good thing. But he massaged his legs and moved them through their exercises by himself. It was enjoyable just to watch, but Scott hadn't worked up the courage to ask him again whether he could help.
He also hadn't entered Steve's room since he helped move his things. It was probably an invasion of privacy, but now that Steve was out shopping at the mall, it was the perfect opportunity to take a look. He was more curious than ever whether there would be anything to suggest that Steve was gay, and there had been a lot of stuff in his boxes that he hadn't seen. Scott walked slowly over to Steve's door and hesitated. Did he really want to do this? He pushed open the door and stepped inside. There was Steve's computer desk, with his keyboard, mouse, and monitor on top, and a bunch of CD's lying on the surface. Mostly games, Scott thought, picking up a CD labeled "Master of Orion 2". Naturally there was no chair at the desk. There were wheelchair tracks all over the carpet, snaking around and over each other. Scott stepped over to the bed and stood there for a moment, resting his hand on the rumpled sheets, imagining lying in bed with Steve. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, taking in Steve's scent. When he opened his eyes, Kyle and Lane Carlson stared at him. Scott stumbled backwards and nearly fell over.
What are those two gorgeous dudes doing here?
Steve's gay!
How did Steve get the poster up there?!
This changed everything. But actually, it didn't change anything. He hadn't been flaunting his sexuality, but that was partly because his last roommate had been straight, and didn't know that Scott was gay, so there was nothing like Steve's poster in his apartment. Now he could tell Steve he was gay, and Steve would immediately fall for him, and he would ride off into the sunset on his lap. As if! Scott burst out laughing.
Steve hadn't said he was gay, and there must have been some reason why. He decided he had better make absolutely sure, so he looked around for more evidence. He opened the dresser, but it was filled with ordinary clothes. There were more than a few tank tops and muscle shirts, but even a straight guy would love to show off arms and shoulders like Steve's. He picked up a pair of short, sexy boxers, and thought about how Steve didn't mind exposing his paralyzed legs. The better for me, he thought.
As he placed the boxers back in the drawer, he noticed the corner of something sticking out from the stack of underwear. He pulled it out. It was a photograph. Steve's body filled the frame. He was rock climbing, hanging on to the side of a cliff. His chalked fingers grasped protrusions in the rock, and his light blue Y-back tank top showed off his well-formed shoulders and arms. The toes of his climbing shoes were jammed firmly onto small ledges, and his black spandex shorts hugged his lean, muscular thighs and calves. They bulged as they held him against the cliff. Steve's legs were so different now, wasted sticks unable to move at all, that Scott felt tears well up in his eyes. Would he be willing to give up the sexiest body on earth if it meant that Steve could walk again?
Scott rubbed his eyes and carefully replaced the picture in the drawer. Then he remembered Steve's bathroom; he never went in there either. Scott dropped Steve's boxers back in the dresser and walked quickly across the hall to the bathroom. He glanced at the toilet and remembered how Mike had installed the raised seat there with handles so Steve could transfer onto it. Scott walked over to the shower and looked inside. It was still damp inside from Steve's shower that morning. Steve's shampoo was sitting next to the shower bench and there was a tube of body lotion as well as soap. There was something familiar about that body lotion. Scott looked closer and realized it was lubricant!
He was so excited he nearly slipped on the damp tile. That confirmed it! But wait, why would Steve need lube? He wasn't planning on, um, doing that with anyone anytime soon, was he? He picked up the tube and for the first time looked at the fine print on the back. "Uses: Lubricates condoms, provides personal lubrication, and eases insertion of rectal thermometers, enemas, and tampons." Scott gagged and felt a bit ill as he realized what else lube could be used for. He held the tube far from his body and replaced it quickly, almost dropping it, then hurriedly left the bathroom. So it wasn't a sure thing, then. Scott sighed and went into his own room. He began picking up the dirty clothes, magazines, and CD's scattered about the floor. If he was going to seduce Steve, he'd better make sure his bedroom was wheelchair accessible.
Steve wheeled into the elevator. Their apartment was on the third and highest floor, which was fine with him because it was quieter. If there was an emergency, he supposed Scott would carry him down the stairs. For some reason, that thought excited him. Steve couldn't get an erection, and he felt nothing down there, but there was a warm feeling in his chest that spread through his arms. He suddenly remembered a similar feeling when he was sexually aroused, before the accident. Was this some kind of orgasm? No way, he thought with a sigh, turning his chair around so it faced the door. He hit the button for the ground floor.
He wheeled out of the elevator and towards the exit. When he was learning how to use a wheelchair, one of the tricky parts was doors with spring hinges. The exit door to the parking lot swung outward to the right, away from him, which was a bit easier than a door that swung towards him. He leaned forward and pushed the horizontal bar with his right hand, opening the door, while pushing forward on his left wheel with his left hand. The three-inch rollerblade wheels at the front of his wheelchair bumped over the threshhold. As the pushrim near the bottom of his right wheel touched the door, which was now open ninety degrees, Steve reached back with his right hand and pushed forward on his right wheel. His right pushrim now held the door open while he wheeled through it. Outside, the sidewalk was concrete, and it was easier to wheel on than the carpet in the apartment.
He had parallel-parked his car, and it was thirty yards from the nearest curb cut at the corner. Rather than wheel there and back, Steve just jumped the curb like he usually did. He wheeled to the edge of the curb where there was a space between cars big enough for his wheelchair to get through. His front wheels were just a few inches from the curb. He did a wheelie, pushing back a bit on the wheels and then suddenly pushing forward. His front wheels rose a few inches into the air and his chair tilted backwards, balancing on the large rear wheels. He pushed forward carefully in the wheelie position until his rear wheels went over the curb, dropping with a jolt to the street. He let his front wheels fall to the ground. Steve looked down and saw that the jolt had knocked his right foot off the footrest, so he put his right hand under his right thigh and lifted his foot back into place. Then he wheeled around to the driver's door of his car.
He opened the driver's door and transferred in, lifting his right foot into the footwell, shifting his butt across to the driver's seat, leaving his left foot on the ground outside for balance. He leaned out and pulled one wheel and then the other off his chair, stowing them in the rear footwell, then folded the back and picked up his wheelchair, moving it easily across his body and onto the passenger seat. Steve picked up his left leg and moved it into the car, being careful not to scratch his bare calf as he lifted it past the edge of the doorway. He shut the door and brought his seatback up to a normal position. He fastened his seatbelt and started the car, gripping the motorcycle- style throttle handle and handbrake with his left hand and steering with his right. He pulled out of the parking space and headed for the mall.
It was just a few miles, but he took the long way through the hills so he could have some fun. He drove into the multilevel parking garage, its compact spaces almost completely filled with weekend shoppers' vehicles. Even the handicapped spaces were mostly occupied, but Steve found one on the first floor between a large white Ford van and a red Buick sedan. On the ground to the left of his space diagonal white stripes marked off a wide path for his wheelchair. He reclined his seatback, opened the door, and lifted his wheelchair out. He attached the wheels, then transferred into the chair and closed the car door, making sure it was locked. He wheeled towards the two-lane road which separated the garage from the mall, pausing at the crosswalk while a few cars drove slowly past.
As he wheeled across, he felt a cool wind on his bare arms and shoulders. It rustled his hair a little, and he looked down at his bare calves, where he couldn't feel the wind. His hips were wider than his knees, so from a top view his thighs slanted inwards from back to front along the seat, the insides almost touching, and they were mostly covered by his jean shorts. His bare knees and calves nearly touched each other on the inside, and his calves were so narrow that there was plenty of space between the outside of his calves and the frame of his wheelchair. Two vertical aluminum bars, painted red like the rest of his chair, connected the front crossbar of his footrest with the front of his seat. From a side view, they were just in front of his calves. From a front view, they slanted slightly inwards from top to bottom, because his seat was fourteen inches wide, and his footrest was narrower at about ten inches. Steve remembered an ad for his wheelchair that said the frame "positions and protects your legs". Those two bars had certainly saved his legs from injury many times; he could see the nicks and scratches on them. He wouldn't even know if his legs got hurt until he looked down and saw them bruised and bleeding.
He snapped back to reality as he reached the far side of the crosswalk. There was a curb cut there, but also a deep groove between it and the road. His three-inch front wheels would get caught in the groove, plastering him all over the sidewalk and scratching up his bare legs. It had happened before. To avoid this he did a small wheelie as he reached the groove, lifting his front wheels briefly so they passed over it. His rear wheels traversed the groove easily, and he gave them a shove to get up the curb cut. Then he continued towards the glass doors of the mall.
Ahead of him walked a young couple, a guy and girl, dressed in casual summer clothes. As they reached the door, the guy opened the door for the girl, who walked through, then he turned and noticed Steve. He glanced at Steve's beautiful upper body, then looked down and saw his shrunken legs, tucked neatly into his wheelchair. He stiffened slightly, but said nothing. Steve wheeled past with a "Thanks," doing a small wheelie and bumping his rear wheels over the threshold. The girl was waiting inside and stared briefly at Steve, then looked away.
Steve continued wheeling himself deeper into the mall, keeping an easy pace, about the same speed as a carefree walk. The stroke of his arms was automatic and effortless. He bent his elbows to place his hands on the pushrims just behind his body, pushed firmly until his arms straightened, then he let go of the pushrims at the last possible moment. He allowed his straight arms to swing backwards naturally, bending his elbows as his hands moved past his body so he could grasp the pushrims again for another stroke. His hands traced a flattened circle with each stroke, the curve of the wheels forming the top of the circle, the backswing of his arms forming the bottom.
Most people he passed just glanced at him and then ignored him. He wheeled towards a young guy, about six feet, maybe 17, who did a double take at the contrast between his muscular upper body and his atrophied legs. He felt the guy staring at his legs as he wheeled by. He looked to his left at the reflection in a shop window and saw the guy stop, turn around, and keep staring at him. Steve felt a flush creep up his neck, but he ignored the guy. This was one of the times he wished he could jump out of his wheelchair and kick some butt.
Part of the problem was that he had the height of a five- year-old. The mall was crowded, and as he wheeled behind couples who cleared a path for him like blockers in football, his eyes were about at their belt level. He dealt with it, just like he dealt with everything else about being paralyzed and in a wheelchair. Everything? Suddenly he thought of the small matter of sex. Scott was really sexy, but what did he really think? Was he letting Steve live with him out of... pity?
He stopped wheeling, feeling a bit shaken, and pulled over to the middle of the walkway, near some benches, so people could get by. He rested his chin on his right palm, leaning his elbow forward onto his right thigh, experiencing the familiar sensation/no-sensation interaction that occurred whenever he touched his legs. He decided it was better not to think about Scott that way. There were two guys sitting on a bench nearby, about 14 or 15, both slender and good- looking. A couple? Steve suddenly realized they were stealing glances at his shoulders and grinning at each other. They were sitting closer together than straight guys usually sit, and their hands just might have been touching, hidden between them on the bench. Steve grinned too and pushed off, doing a big-air wheelie as he passed in front of them, his front wheels flying off the ground. He heard an admiring whistle behind him, and he grinned wider. There were some cool guys here.
He wheeled over to the elevator and hit the button. After a few moments the door opened and two women pushed baby carriages out, glancing briefly at Steve. He wheeled into the elevator and hit the button for the second floor. He rolled over to the glass wall in back and watched the milling crowds as he rose slowly about twenty feet to the second floor of the mall. It wasn't really a floor, but a wide raised walkway in front of the shops, with bridges connecting each side of the mall. Steve wheeled out of the elevator and turned right towards the Abercrombie and Fitch. As he approached, the good-looking employee standing outside the store greeted him politely. He was a teenage guy with short brown hair wearing a typical Abercrombie outfit. Steve always wondered how they found such cute guys to work there. He wheeled in, appreciating the wide aisles between display racks. Alternative rock played medium-loud on the audio system. On the wall was a giant black-and-white photograph of Kyle (or was that Lane?) wearing a white tank top. That was something like what he wanted. He wheeled over to that section and looked around, stopping to pick up a pair of dark green baggy shorts off a display table, then zigzagging through the more cramped aisles. His wheelchair was narrow enough to fit, even though he was still wider than a typical stander by a few inches. He reached a rack with sleeveless tees and picked up a grey one in medium. "Abercrombie and Fitch" was written across the front, along with the number 39, about an inch high. The cotton felt thick and soft.
He dropped it into his lap on top of the shorts and wheeled towards the dressing room. As he turned past the cashier, the clerk asked, "Do you need any help with that?" Steve smiled and said, "No thanks, I've got it," feeling the clerk's eyes following him as he rolled by. He wheeled into the dressing room marked with the handicapped symbol. It was larger than a usual room, with no bench inside, and the door opened outward. He pulled off his tank top first, hanging it on the wall hook, and put on the sleeveless tee. It fit well, hugging his tight abs, and his shoulders were shown off nicely. He hung the new shorts on the hook as well, then leaned over and grabbed his right ankle with his right hand, lifting it up and laying it on his left knee. He unlaced his immaculate blue running shoe and pulled it off his foot, tossing it into the corner of the room next to some discarded clothes hangers. He grabbed his ankle and lowered his right foot back onto the footrest, then picked up his left ankle and pulled his left shoe off as well. Steve unbuttoned and unzipped his jean shorts, then did a pushup and used his thumbs to pull down his shorts. He lifted his butt forward to the edge of the cushion and pushed his shorts down to his ankles, then pulled one foot at a time out of his shorts. He grabbed the Abercrombie shorts off the hook and hung his jean shorts up, picked up his right foot and stuck it into the right leg of the shorts. He picked up his left foot and stuck it in the other leg, then pulled the shorts up to his knees and as far up his thighs as they could go. He did a pushup again to lift his butt off the cushion, grabbed the waistband of the shorts and pulled them up over his butt. Steve zipped and buttoned the shorts and slid his butt back into place, adjusting his socked feet on the footrest.
He pushed open the door and wheeled out of the dressing room to check himself out in the full-length mirror. The clerk was standing outside. He was another uncommonly cute guy, dressed in an orange tee and long shorts not unlike the ones Steve had just put on, along with skate shoes. Steve looked up and saw him staring at his thighs. His new shorts were very baggy with large pockets on the sides. Steve's jean shorts had fit loosely around his narrow thighs, and these shorts were even looser, creases showing all along their length. His knees were almost touching, as were his bare, tanned calves.
The clerk noticed Steve had stopped wheeling, waiting for him to get out of the way, and stepped back quickly, stammering, "Uh, you look, good in that... sir," unable to take his eyes off Steve's sticklike calves.
"Thanks," Steve said, and wheeled a little closer to the mirror. The tee looked great, showing off his arms with that Abercrombie style. His calves looked the same as they always did from the front, but the shorts fit fine, almost covering the tops of his bony knees. His knees hadn't shrunk any -- there really wasn't any muscle to shrink -- while his thighs and calves had, so his knees seemed to bulge a bit in comparison. He turned his chair to the right, checking out the side view. As usual, his thighs looked very flat, but the shorts were stylish. He could put his wallet and keys in the cargo pockets so they would be easier to pull out. When he wore jean shorts, to get his keys from the front pocket he had to shift his butt forward and lean back to expose the mouth of the pocket. To get to his wallet from the back pocket he had to shift his butt forward and bend over, otherwise his back pocket was stuck between the cushion and the back of the wheelchair. Steve turned his chair all the way around so his back was to the mirror and looked over his shoulder at his reflection. The low back of his wheelchair, just two or three inches higher than his waistband, was just wide enough for his hips. He turned away from the mirror and saw the clerk watching him.
Steve grinned and said, "Is it okay if I wear these out of the store? It's easier than changing back."
"Sure!" The clerk nodded too many times.
Steve wheeled back into the dressing room and over to the corner, leaning over to grab his shoes, then turned his chair back away from the wall to give himself more room. He could feel the clerk staring as he picked up his feet one by one with his hands, stuffed them into his running shoes, and dropped them casually back onto the footrest. Steve turned his wheelchair around to the other side of the dressing room and grabbed his tank top and jean shorts off the hook, setting them on his lap. He reached under the wheelchair seat and unfastened the nylon bag that held his cathing kit. He managed to stuff his clothes in. It was too early for him to cath for the second time today; his bladder probably wasn't full yet. He put the bag back under the seat and wheeled out of the dressing room. The clerk followed him to the cashier and rang him up, scanning the tags that were still attached to Steve's new clothes and then cutting them off. Steve grabbed a credit card from his wallet, then put his wallet in a cargo pocket on the front of his shorts.
He signed the receipt and left, wheeling past the cute greeter at the entrance who politely avoided staring at him. Steve stopped suddenly, admiring his biceps, and asked, "What time is it?" He looked at his watch and said, "Half past eleven." He probably wasn't gay, Steve thought. He said "Thanks" and wheeled towards the elevator. It was later than he had thought. He wanted to visit the record store as well, so he started wheeling faster, passing the standers, pushing with stronger and more frequent strokes. His front wheels, three-inch hard plastic Rollerblade wheels, clicked rapidly across the tiled floor. There was a line of women with baby carriages and small children waiting for the elevator, so he decided to take the escalator instead. At the top of the escalator, he did a wheelie, lifting his front wheels high off the ground and tilting his thighs back about 30 degrees, then wheeled onto one of the moving steps. He grabbed onto the moving handrails on the sides of the escalator with both hands, holding his chair in place. As the escalator descended, his rear wheels soon became wedged between the step they were on and the step behind him. He kept holding on as he went down the escalator, smiling inwardly as he noticed people below staring at him. Bet they didn't know he could do this. As he reached the bottom and the steps flattened out, he let his front wheels fall to the ground and he wheeled forward off the escalator.
Steve turned left and wheeled toward the record store, weaving around groups of shoppers and avoiding armfuls of bags swinging perilously at their sides. He wheeled through the narrow security sensor at the entrance and over to the pop/rock section. The store was crowded with young people who generally ignored him. One guy looked at him with what seemed to be admiration in his eyes, then looked away. Even when people didn't look directly at him, they still moved carefully to let him through. He found the M section and spotted the Matchbox-20 CD he was looking for, but it was in the display at the top of the rack, out of his reach. He turned his chair around, looking for a clerk. Standing behind him was the guy who had admired him earlier.
Steve said, "Uh, excuse me? Can you help me get that CD?"
"Sure... this one?" He pointed at a CD.
"No, the one on the left. Yeah, that one." Steve looked more closely at him. He was almost as tall as Scott, twentyish and Asian with short spiky hair and small oval-rimmed glasses. He reached over and grabbed the disc, handing it to Steve. Then he crouched down, squatting on his heels so his face was at Steve's level.
"It's cool to see someone as independent as you," he said. "I saw you going down the escalator. You look like you don't need anyone's help, so I think it's even cooler that you aren't so proud that you won't ask for help when you need it."
"Uh, thanks," Steve said. He wasn't sure what to say. "It's cool of you to speak to me eye-to-eye. Most people don't."
"I learned to do this during a disabled awareness day on campus," he said. "Well, take care." He offered his hand, and Steve shook it.
How cool was that? Steve thought. Scott didn't even crouch down when they spoke. He'd mention it to him sometime. Steve wheeled to the cashier and paid for the CD. The clerk, a teenage guy with small diamond stud earrings in both ears, looked down at him curiously but didn't ask any questions. He reached over the counter to hand Steve the CD in a small plastic bag. Steve placed the bag on his lap and wheeled out of the store toward the mall exit. He hurried because it was getting late, pushing faster than before, but not quite sprinting. The mall was too crowded. When he played wheelchair basketball, he had to sprint a lot, throwing his entire upper body forward to create a long, powerful stroke. Steve pushed the heavy glass outer doors open and wheeled through, then crossed the street to his car. He noticed how the other cars in handicapped spaces carried "temporarily disabled" placards on their rearview mirrors. Only his car displayed "permanently disabled" license plates, which never needed renewing, the handicapped symbol printed right on them. Being in a wheelchair did have its perks. He tossed the CD into the backseat, dragged his legs into the driver's seat and headed home.
"Hey, I'm back," Steve called as he wheeled in, reaching behind his chair to close the door. Scott walked around the corner and spotted Steve in his new clothes.
"Nice shorts! Are you wearing those to the beach?"
"Nah, I think I'll just wear my trunks and this top."
"All right. Well, let me get changed and we'll get going." Scott was about to go back to his room when he caught sight of the CD on Steve's lap. "What did you get?"
"It's the new Matchbox-20 disc. You want to borrow it?"
"Sure, maybe later," Scott said, walking back down the hall.
"Okay, anytime," Steve said, wheeling to his room. He closed the door behind him, then wheeled to his desk, dropping the CD next to his keyboard. He wheeled to his dresser and grabbed his second pair of swim trunks, which were the same model but royal blue instead of purple. The purple ones were ready for a wash. He had bought these short trunks because they wouldn't chafe much against the inside of his thighs. He knew they totally exposed his atrophied legs, but it certainly didn't upset him to look at them. As for other people... he was getting the impression that Scott liked to look at his legs, because he'd caught Scott staring even more than most people did. He wasn't sure what to make of it. He dropped the blue trunks on his bed and began to take off his new shorts. He shifted his butt forward in his chair and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, then pushed up with his palms on both wheels of his chair. His boxers slid down along with his shorts. As his dick came into view, Steve suddenly remembered that he'd better cath before going to the beach. It would be more convenient to do it at home. He grabbed his boxers and shorts together and slid them back up again, dropped his butt back onto the seat, and put his blue swim trunks in his lap. He wheeled into the hallway and across to his bathroom.
"Scott, is it okay if I go to the bathroom first? That way I won't have to worry about it at the beach." He normally cathed after lunch, but it would be okay to do it a little early.
"Sure, no problem," Scott called from his room. He was already done changing into a loose light blue Nike tank top, baggy orange Sideout trunks, and his black Adidas soccer sandals, so he lay back on his bed and waited. He heard Steve wheel into his bathroom and shut the door.
Steve pulled off his new green Abercrombie shorts and his boxers together, lifting his legs out of them one by one so he was naked below the waist. He washed his hands and sprayed disinfectant on the tip of his dick. Then he grabbed a catheter, broke off the cap on the sterile tip and inserted it an inch into his dick with his right hand while holding the shaft of his dick with his left hand. He continued to hold his dick with his left hand while his right hand pushed the long catheter tube, still inside the plastic catheter bag, through the sterile tip and into his dick. He pushed until the end of the tube reached his bladder and urine started to flow into the bag. After it stopped flowing, Steve pulled the tip and the eight inches of tube out of his dick, then held the bag over the toilet and emptied it by opening the drainage valve. He cleaned the end of his dick with sterile gauze and washed his hands again, then he picked up the blue swim trunks from the counter. Holding them with his right hand, he bent over and picked up his left ankle with his left hand, lifting his left foot into the left hole of his swim trunks and then dropping it onto the footrest. Then he held the trunks with his left hand and used his right hand to lift his right foot through the right hole, dropping his right foot onto the footrest as well. He pulled the trunks up over his knees, then pushed down on both wheels, lifting his butt into the air and moving it forward, dropping it back down on the front edge of the seat cushion. He pulled the trunks up his thighs as far as they would go, then he lifted his butt again and slid it back. He pushed off the cushion again and held his butt in the air while he used his fingers to pull the trunks all the way up. He dropped his butt back onto the cushion and adjusted his thighs so they lay neatly next to each other, then grabbed his new shorts and boxers and put them in his lap. He opened the door and wheeled back across the corridor into his room, dropped his clothes on the bed, then wheeled over to his dresser and grabbed a couple of large towels. He wheeled out of his room and turned left, stopping just outside Scott's room.
"Okay, I'm ready. Do you have something to put the towels in?"
Scott sat up quickly, then stood and walked over to the corner of his room and picked up his old gym bag, which already had his beach gear inside.
"Sure, you can use this," he said, walking over and grabbing the towels from Steve.
"Let's go then," Steve said, turning his chair around and heading for the door. "Is it okay if I drive?"
"No problem," Scott said, grinning, "Better parking!" He followed Steve out the door and locked it behind them. They took the elevator down. Scott held the front door for Steve, then admired how Steve jumped the curb next to his car.
"Help me put my wheelchair in the trunk, so you can sit in front," Steve called, wheeling around the car to the driver's seat. Scott followed and stood behind Steve's chair as he lifted his right leg into the car, shifted his butt onto the driver's seat, and pulled his left leg in. Steve's feet were bare, and they dangled limply from his calves as he picked up his thighs with his hands. Scott rolled the wheelchair to the rear of the car and detached the wheels, stacking them and putting them on the floor of the trunk. Then he lifted the red wheelchair frame and placed it on the floor next to them. The chair fit much more easily here than in the small trunk of his sports car. There was easily enough room for his gym bag as well. He shut the trunk and walked around to the front seat. Steve had already fastened his seatbelt, and he started the car as Scott got in.
The beach was about twenty minutes' drive from their apartment. It was a warm, sunny day, and normally the beach was a popular one, but there were few cars in the parking lot today.
"I guess everyone's at the football game," Steve said, pulling into the first handicapped space. There were plenty of regular spaces nearby as well, but the handicapped spot had a wide path next to it for his chair. Steve opened the driver's door and waited while Scott grabbed his chair from the trunk. Scott attached the wheels and rolled the chair over to the driver's seat, then stepped back and watched as Steve transferred into it.
"Don't forget the towels," Steve said. Scott smacked his forehead and went back to the trunk, waiting for Steve to open it again using his key remote and then picking up his gym bag. He closed the trunk and Steve locked the car. Then Steve led the way toward the boardwalk, wheeling lazily. A stiff breeze from the ocean blew through his sleeveless top, cooling off his arms. The wind hit his legs, too, but Steve didn't feel anything.
"It's been so long since I was last here... more than two years," Steve said, a bit of wonder in his voice. He wheeled ahead of Scott along the various shops lining the boardwalk, a concrete path about ten feet wide set back about a hundred feet from the water's edge. Scott felt a hard-on growing as he watched Steve's bare arms and shoulders flexing as he reached back to grab his wheels with each push.
"You want to get burgers for lunch?" Steve asked, pointing ahead to the burger stand.
"Yeah," Scott said, snapping back to reality. Steve reached the stand first and ordered a double cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate shake. Scott ordered a hot dog and a vanilla shake. There were a few plastic picnic tables near the stand. Steve just stopped his chair next to one, not bothering to transfer onto the bench. Scott sat down and started to eat. They looked out across the sand, watching the small waves chasing a few kids and a dog or two. Scott was starting to drool, thinking about carrying Steve across the sand, when Steve suddenly gasped.
"Hey, look at that! That ramp must be new, I don't remember seeing it here before." He pointed at a wooden ramp, made of large planks buried in the sand, which extended from the boardwalk almost all the way to the water. Scott hadn't noticed the ramp because it was further down the boardwalk from where they were.
"At high tide, I bet the water reaches the ramp," Steve continued, grinning. He looked at Scott and noticed that he seemed to be upset. "What's up? If the ramp weren't there, then you'd have to carry me across the sand!"
"Uh... yeah... imagine that," Scott said, grinning awkwardly. Steve looked at him a little funny, then went back to his burger. After they finished eating, they headed for the ramp. Scott walked next to Steve's wheelchair as he turned onto the ramp and wheeled towards the water. The wood was very smooth, almost brand new. It looked like someone swept it every day to keep the sand off.
"This is great," Steve said. "I guess our tax dollars are worth something." They reached the end of the ramp, and Steve stopped, noticing that near the water the ramp was discolored and worn, as if that part were indeed submerged every day. They were only about five feet from the wet sand.
"I don't want to get sand in the front casters, so I'd better leave my chair on the ramp," Steve said. "Is this an okay spot?"
"Yeah, it's great," Scott said. The other beachgoers were far in the distance. He started spreading the towels on the sand a few feet from the ramp. "You need any help getting down here?"
"Nope, no problem," Steve said. He lifted his butt and slid it forward to the edge of the cushion, then picked up his legs one by one and lifted his feet off the footrest, placing them on the ramp. He bent over and placed his left hand on the ramp. With his right hand on the cushion of his wheelchair, he lifted his butt off the cushion and down to the ramp. His left knee flopped over onto the ground, while his right knee leaned against the frame of his wheelchair. Steve put both palms on the ramp behind his body and to the left and lifted his butt into the air, shifting it to the left about six inches. His right knee no longer had the support of the wheelchair, so it flopped over to the right. Steve reached back again, this time putting his hands onto the sand, and lifted his butt into the air, shifting it back about six inches. His knees started to straighten automatically. Steve kept shifting his butt back until his heels were dragged off the ramp and into the sand, then he kept going, dragging his legs across the sand, his heels leaving shallow grooves. Steve soon reached the towel Scott had spread for him, and he used his hands to lift his legs onto it, positioning them so they lay straight along the towel. Steve pulled off his shirt and lay back on the towel, folding his hands behind his head, enjoying the sun as it warmed his bare chest and stomach. Scott was digging in his gym bag and paused to look at Steve, admiring the bulging biceps and shoulders of his folded arms, the well-defined muscles of his upper body, and most of all his motionless legs, the narrow thighs poking out of his short trunks and extending to his bony knees, the sticklike calves attached to limp feet that flopped to either side.
Scott found his suntan lotion, his secret weapon, and said casually, "Hey, I've got some suntan lotion. Do you want to use some?"
Steve turned his head to look at him.
"You don't have to get up, I'll put it on you," Scott continued, a little nervousness appearing in his voice, "If you don't use it, you might get a sunburn."
Steve's heart started to pound slightly. Scott was offering to rub him with suntan lotion? That was practically an invitation to bed. His brain was about to scream no when he heard himself say, "Sure!"
Scott leaped over before Steve could change his mind and opened the lotion tube. He looked down at Steve, then kneeled next to his legs. This was the moment he had been waiting for, when he would finally get to touch Steve's legs. He squeezed out some lotion into his hand and reached out slowly for Steve's left foot. Steve looked down at his feet, wondering whether he was okay with this. He wasn't sure -- no one had ever touched his legs before, except for his physical therapists and his brother -- but surely this was okay with him... Then Scott touched his left foot and started rubbing suntan lotion on it, and it was too late. Of course he didn't feel anything. He just watched, wondering what Scott was feeling.
Scott felt the bones in Steve's feet, just below the skin, with no muscle in between. He rubbed the lotion in, then continued with Steve's right foot, then his right calf. The front of his calves felt the same, just bone with no muscle. The most amazing thing about touching Steve's legs was that they didn't respond to his touch. They felt slightly cold, and they didn't move at all. Scott thought he could put his hand around Steve's calf as he rubbed the lotion along its length, although he would need to lift Steve's leg to find out for sure. Scott already had a huge hard-on and he tried to hide it between his thighs as he leaned over Steve's legs. He finished rubbing lotion on Steve's left calf and went on to his left thigh. His thigh felt different, very soft, but still a little cold. Again there was no muscle, but there was more fat here. The flesh wiggled slightly from side to side as he rubbed it with lotion. Scott reached the edge of Steve's swim trunks, and he was tempted to reach under there and grab Steve's dick, but he couldn't, because Steve was watching him. The expression on Steve's face was strange. It was as if he were torn between wanting something and not wanting it. He rubbed lotion into Steve's right thigh as well. Scott grabbed his tube of lotion and squeezed some more onto his hand, then started on Steve's stomach.
Steve watched as Scott finished with his legs and grabbed some more lotion. As Scott reached for his stomach, Steve tensed slightly, his stomach muscles becoming more defined. Then Scott touched his stomach. He felt the warmth of Scott's hand mixed with the coolness of the lotion, and he jumped a little, then relaxed as Scott firmly spread the lotion over his stomach and started to rub it in. Steve looked up at Scott, smelling the fresh scent of clean skin mixed with his fragrance, the essence of roses brushing his consciousness. Scott's pecs bulged above his six-pack, even better defined than Steve's own, smooth, hairless, and nicely tanned. Scott started to rub lotion into his pecs, and Steve felt it then, a warmth spreading in his chest that came from within. He had felt this before... when was it? When he embraced his boyfriend, pulling his body close, the invitation to a kiss? Steve looked up into Scott's eyes, and Scott paused.
Scott looked down into Steve's eyes, the darkness infinitely deep holding secrets yet to be revealed. He placed his right hand down next to Steve's head, and leaned down.
Their lips met, and Steve's eyes widened as he tasted a dream. His hands found the back of Scott's head and pulled him closer, his tongue wrestling with Scott's. Scott fell onto Steve's body, his left hand running down the side of Steve's torso, his right hand grabbing Steve's shoulder. Steve felt his chest against Scott's, and the warmth in his chest grew even stronger. He couldn't feel Scott's dick pressing insistently against his thigh, but he felt a great passion, tears coming to his eyes as he realized how much he had missed this.
"FAGGOT!"
The voice came from above them. Scott scrambled off Steve and rolled over. Three burly guys stood a couple of yards away, looking down at them with nasty sneers on their faces. They were about twenty and wore running shoes and sweatsuits bearing the logo of the state college located nearby. The one who had spoken now stared at Steve's stick legs, then saw the wheelchair sitting on the ramp a few feet away.
"You're raping a gimp, faggot? A gimp who can't even get it up? The poster boy for Viagra?" The three of them laughed.
Scott leaped to his feet. "Take it back!" He was furious, not because they were calling him a faggot, but because they were taunting Steve. He started walking towards them, but felt Steve grab his ankle.
"It's not worth it," Steve said.
"Listen to your gimp, faggot. Otherwise you might end up in a wheelchair for life!" They jogged away, hooting with laughter.
Scott was shaking with anger. He looked at Steve, and saw... tears? "Steve, are you okay?"
"I -- don't feel so good. I guess it was lunch. Is it okay if we go home now?"
"No problem," Scott said, concerned. "Can I help you get back to your chair?"
"No," Steve said, a little more forcefully than he needed to. "I mean, I'm fine." He dragged himself over to the wheelchair and lifted his butt up to the cushion, then picked up his legs one by one and moved his feet into the footrest. He shifted his butt back into place and then folded his hands in his lap. He looked over at Scott, who stuffed the towels into his gym bag and then walked over. Steve started wheeling back towards the boardwalk and Scott followed, trying to catch up.
"Steve, are you okay?" Scott called after him. They reached the car and Steve transferred in, but instead of letting Scott put his chair in the trunk, he started detaching the wheels himself.
"Is it okay if you ride in back, Scott?" he asked.
"Um, sure," Scott said, getting in the backseat as Steve put the wheels in the right rear footwell and pulled the frame of the wheelchair into the front seat. Steve started the car and headed home.
"Steve... what they said, don't let it bother you," Scott said. "I mean... you can get it up, can't you?"
Steve didn't say a word.
Scott could have smacked himself. He tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind, and then they were home. Steve pulled up in front of the entrance but didn't turn off the engine.
"I think I'll go work out a little, to clear my head," Steve said.
"I'll go with you--" Scott began, but Steve finished, "Alone. If that's okay."
"Okay," Scott said, flustered. He got out of the car. "See you later, then."
"See you," Steve said. The car pulled away.
please email the author at auto240353@hushmail.com and visit the website for this story at http://paraboxers.i8.com