Weekend at the Beach

I find myself growing nervous as I wait for you to open the door to your beachside house. My nurse, Steve, is standing by my side, the uncertainty plain on his face. He doesn't believe that you're an old family friend, and he's right to be suspicious. If Steve knew that we first met on the Internet or the things we planned to do this weekend, he'd wheel me right back to the car. But I'm an awfully good liar.

You swing the door open and I get to see you in person for the first time. As you promised, you are in your late thirties. You are medium height with a muscular build. I can see the shape of your body clearly, since you are wearing only a T-shirt and boxer shorts. As I study you, I decide that you are even more attractive than your picture suggested. You are giving me the once-over and I can tell you are pleased. Even though the muscles of my body are soft and wasted away after years of paralysis, I am still trim and I have a very handsome face. I am only twenty-three and I know you are attracted to younger men.

"Tim!" you exclaim. "It's so good to see you…again."

I smile. "Nice to see you again too, Rob."

I turn to Steve, indicating that he can leave. Steve still looks uneasy. "Are you sure you're going to be okay, Tim?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "I'm an adult now. You don't have to worry about me all the time."

Steve studies you carefully, trying to figure out if he should trust you or not. Steve has been my nurse since I started college five years ago. My parents hired him to accompany me to my classes and provide help when I needed it (which was fairly often). Since I am unable to move my arms at all except for two fingers on my right hand, I need help to eat and to change my legbag, among other things. I graduated from college last year, but Steve has stuck around. When I finally move out of my parents' house, he'll probably come with me.

"All right," Steve says finally. "I'll come pick you up on Sunday."

He gives you a warning stare, then marches back to the car. You step aside and I push the button with my index finger that allows my wheelchair to move forward into your house. You close the door behind me and I am aware that I am taking a big chance by coming here. I only know you from having talked on the computer, and for all I know, you may intend to kill me. But I've always been up for taking chances and this one was too good to pass up.

You run a hand along my shoulder, which I can feel, then down my chest, which I can't feel. You smile at me. "You're even cuter than in your picture," you say. I can see the bulge of an erection in your pants.

"Thanks," I reply. "So are you." I badly want to reach out and massage his erection.

"So," you say. "Do you want to do what we discussed?"

I hesitate, then nod slowly. You disappear down a hallway and I move my chair into what appears to be your living room. You told me the entire house was accessible and it seems true so far.

You return with another wheelchair. It looks a lot different from mine. It's a lot less bulky, because it's manual rather than electrical, like mine. Of course, I can't wheel a chair by hand, so electrical chairs are the only kind I can use. You mentioned on the computer that you wanted me to use a manual chair while I was here and I agreed to do it. I look over the chair, then look up to you. "Okay," I say.

You walk over to me, and unstrap me from my chair. I need a belt across my waist and across my chest so that I don't fall out of the chair. You put one arm under my knees and one under my arms, and my hands fall to the sides. You lift me as if it took no effort at all and transfer me to the other wheelchair. You have installed belts in the manual chair, so you quickly strap me in. You arrange my legs in the metal rests and my arms in my lap. You told me that you wanted me to wear shorts, but my legs are extremely thin, so shorts make me self-conscious (I am wearing khakis instead). My compromise was that I wore a short-sleeved shirt, so that my thin arms are visible.

It's funny. A lot of people talk about a cure for paralysis, but I really can't imagine it working on me. I've been paralyzed for a long time and my legs are so thin that there's no way they could ever support me again. The bones are very brittle and my doctor tells me I have to be very careful that I don't break them.

You stare at me in the manual chair and it looks like your erection has grown. I look down at my own pants and see that I too have a large erection. I've been getting hard since I was thirteen, but I've never ejaculated before. This is because I've never had sex, and I can't exactly masturbate when I can't move my arms. Even though I can't feel my penis at all, I do get a nice, warm sensation sometimes when I have an erection. I wonder what it's like to ejaculate; I suspect I'm going to find out this weekend.

You take my electrical chair and wheel it into a room down the hall. I sit and wait for you. When you return, you wheel me into another room. I haven't been in a manual chair in years and it makes me feel a little uneasy. I trust you, but it feels strange to not be able to control my movement. You sit down next to me and place a hand on my knee. "So what would you like to do first?" you ask.

What I'd really like to do first is get your enormous erection in my mouth, but I figure it's a little soon for that. "It's up to you," I say with a smile. "I don't know what there is to do around here."

"How about some lunch?" you suggest.

I nod. "That sounds great. I haven't eaten in hours."

You wheel me over to what looks like the kitchen. You take out some eggs and start cracking them over a frying pan. "So," you say. "Tell me about yourself."

"I've already told you my fantasies," I say with a grin.

You give me a mischievous wink. "I mean about your life," you say.

"Not much to tell," I reply.

"How long have you been in a wheelchair?" you ask.

"Since I was eight years old," I say. "My father used to take me riding with him on his motorcycle. Once day, I was riding with him on his motorcycle and the next thing I knew, I was in the hospital and I couldn't move anything below my shoulders. My father was barely hurt. The doctors said I was lucky I could still breathe on my own. I couldn't move my fingers then at all, but I worked at it a lot and I got two of them back. You don't know how much easier it is being able to use a couple of fingers. I tried the sip and puff wheelchair and it was impossible to use."

"Does it bother you that you're a quadriplegic?"

I shake my head. "At the time, I was too young to really understand what was going on. I guess in some ways, I'm lucky it happened early, because it wasn't as hard to adjust. The fact that I'm in a wheelchair is just a fact of life, as much as my hair or eye color. To be honest, I don't even remember what it's like to be able to walk. I've been in this chair for fifteen years, which is twice as long as I was not in the chair."

"Doesn't it crimp your style?" you ask with another wink.

"A little," I laugh. "It's hard enough to find the right person when you're gay, and it's even harder when you're a gay quad. I tried going out with girls and some of them liked me, but they didn't do much for me."

You glance down at my pants. "I take it that I am doing something for you?"

"You'd better believe it," I reply.

You empty the pan of eggs onto a single plate. "I already ate," you explain.

I glance down at my arms. "You…uh…you do know that you're going to have to feed that to me, right? There's no way I can eat on my own."

"No," you say. "You're going to feed yourself."

I frown. "What?"

"You'll see," you say, grinning widely.

You wheel me back into the other room, then come back to get the eggs. I wear a splint on my right hand, to keep it steady so that I can control my chair. You carefully remove the splint and look at my hand. It's rather soft and the fingers curl in. You caress it gently, then bring it to your mouth and start licking my fingers. "Is this your lunch?" I tease.

You smile and pick something up from the table. It appears to be another hand splint, except this one has a fork attached to it. You put it on my hand, then look up at me proudly. "Well?" you say.

"That's great," I reply. "Except it doesn't do me much good, since I can't move my biceps."

"Well, I'll help with that," you offer.

This is actually the closest I've ever come to feeding myself in fifteen years. You act as a guide for my arm. You lift it up, bend the elbow so that I can dig the fork into the eggs, then turn the arm so that it brings the fork close to my mouth. I lean forward and take a bite. It seems so strange to be taking food out of my own hand.

Halfway through the eggs, you let my hand drop into my lap and you press your lips onto mine. Your tongue slides into my mouth and I feel that pleasant warmth in my paralyzed body. Suddenly, I feel like I can't wait another minute for us to rip our clothes off. My eyes lower and I see that your hands are caressing my lower body desperately. You pull your lips away from mine. "How about a walk on the beach?" you suggest.

I have to swallow before I can speak. "Yeah, sounds good."

You wheel me through another room and I see a ramp that leads out to the beach. "Was that your first kiss?" you ask.

"It was," I admit. I pause as I feel myself being pushed down the ramp, which is bumpier than it looks. "Was that your first time kissing a quad?"

"It was," you reply. "Best kiss of my life."

We get out onto the sand. It's hard for you to push me here, and I hear you grunting with the effort. I've only been to a beach once since my accident, and it was a big pain in the neck. My parents couldn't get my chair to move at all on the sand, since it was too heavy, so they had to carry me. I was twelve at the time and I was starting to feel more self-conscious about my chair than I ever had before. When my parents carried me out onto the beach, I started crying and begged them to leave because I thought everyone was staring at me. It's all part of being an adolescent. Even though I'm still young, I now feel completely comfortable with my disability.

It's completely deserted out here, as you said it always is. We get out to the middle of the beach and you stop. You pick me up out of my chair and place me on my back in the sand. I watch as you pull my shirt over my head and my arms dangle lifelessly. You place them back at my sides, then you unbutton my pants. You pull them off and I hear you gasp with pleasure when you see my legs. They are, of course, extremely thin, since they have not been used in fifteen years. Last, you pull off my boxers to reveal my erect penis. I can see it standing straight up and I don't think I've ever seen it this large. There's a tube snaking out of the urethra, which is my catheter.

"Can I take this out?" you ask.

I nod. You pull the tube out of my penis and remove the bag of urine attached to it. I started using an indwelling catheter a while back because it was easier, although I've been getting a lot of infections lately, so I've been considering switching. When I was younger, there used to be a lot of leakage, but that doesn't happen anymore. You can imagine how embarrassing it was to be constantly wetting my pants at school. But I think my body has finally adjusted to its new state.

You spend a minute just staring at my completely naked body. My arms and legs are very thin, but I have a "quad pouch," which is kind of a gut. It's probably the least attractive part of my body. When I was a kid, I used to worry that my legs and arms wouldn't grow as I got older, but luckily they did. They are perfectly proportioned, but just very skinny. "You have an amazing body," you tell me.

You bend down and place your mouth on my dick. The warmth I am feeling grows considerably and I moan loudly. You get me all wet with your mouth, then you stand up and start pulling off your own clothes. Your chest is well muscled, but the most impressive part of your body is your penis, which is even larger than I had imagined. I wish my arms could move so I could reach out and touch it.

As if you're reading my mind, you pick up my paralyzed hand and run it up and down your penis. Then you bow your head down and start hungrily sucking my dick again, as you run your hands over my legs and chest. I watch you and the warmth grows that that I can feel it in every inch of my body. Finally, the warmth intensifies into a burning sensation and you lift your head. My penis has shrunk and there is a drop of fluid running down your chin. You wipe it off with your finger and then lick your finger.

"Congratulations," you say. "You came. Now it's my turn."

You stand up and I see that your cock is sticking out perpendicular to your body. I gasp with longing. I want that cock near me, I want you to rub it all over my paralyzed body. You kneel down beside me and hold your cock by my face, teasing me with it. I lift my head, trying to get a taste of it. I get close enough that I can just barely lick the head, and you moan with pleasure. Finally, you let me have it. I take it in my mouth, sucking on it eagerly, drenching it with saliva. You push it so deep into my throat that I can barely breathe, but I still can't get enough of it.

You pull your cock out of my mouth, then pick up my paralyzed hand and start rubbing your cock with it. I watch my hand as it vibrates with increasing speed, giving you pleasure. Your moans grow louder and louder until you drop my hand, then place your cock back in my mouth just in time for your cum to shoot down my throat. I drink the cum greedily, relishing the taste. I look down and see that I'm hard again.

You collapse onto the sand beside me, breathing hard. "Wow," you say. "That was the best orgasm I've ever had."

"Best I've ever had too," I agree. "When can we do it again?"

You laugh. "Don't worry," you say. "We're going to have a lot of fun. I've been dreaming about this for most of my life. I've got lots of things planned."

I smile to myself. I've never felt so glad to be a quad as I do in this moment.

You struggle to your feet. You pick me up off the sand and place me back in the wheelchair, strapping me in securely. You leave our clothes lying in the sand, and I realize that you intend for us to be naked the rest of the weekend, which is fine with me. I can barely contain my excitement, wondering what you have planned to do next...

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