Then they took off. Steve had never ridden in an S2000 before, and he loved it. The engine was really loud and screamed all the way. He was pushed back in his seat most of the time, and only the firm side bolsters kept his body from moving back and forth as Scott took turns at extralegal speeds. Steve's feet slid left and right in the footwell, but he didn't mind.
"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 reached the restaurant, and Scott parallel parked the car and brought Steve's wheelchair around to the passenger side.
"Do you need help getting up here?" Scott asked, because the seat of the wheelchair was about a foot above the seat of the car.
"This is nothing," Steve said. "I have to transfer to the floor every time I swim." Scott tried to picture this and decided he couldn't wait to go swimming with Steve.
Steve lifted his right foot out and placed 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 as well. Then he shifted his butt back into position, and wheeled along behind Scott as he headed into the restaurant.
Scott knew that this place was accessible The greeter showed them to a small table for two, and he removed the chair on one side. Steve wheeled over to that side and positioned his chair at the table, and the greeter handed him a menu. He handed Scott a menu as well, then said "Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen," and left.
"Professional," Steve commented.
"Yeah, I really like this place," Scott said. Steve's cushion was higher up than Scott's seat, so Steve's head was above Scott's. Steve liked it, because it made him taller than Scott for once.
They avoided alcohol because they were going swimming later. Their food arrived relatively quickly, and Steve was surprised how big the portions were. He enjoyed his fettucine primavera, 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 probably about 70 degrees outside.
As they arrived at Scott's apartment and Steve transferred back into his wheelchair, he 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 of his wheels, so his chest almost touched his knees, giving him more power. He wheeled up the ramp with nearly as much speed as if he were wheeling on flat ground, but his bulging forearms and almost violent shoves on the wheels showed that he was exerting some effort. It was the first time Scott had seen Steve push uphill, and he wondered at how strong Steve was.
"What does it feel like?" Scott asked, almost reverently.
Steve had reached the top of the ramp and he turned his wheelchair to face Scott, who was walking up towards him. "Huh?"
"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 to do.
"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. Steve continued, "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 up at this, surprised, 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. They had completely forgotten about the laundry room. 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, although not too bad; where the chair didn't fit perfectly was in the height between the seat and the footrest, so Scott's knees were a couple of inches above the cushion and thighs weren't flat on the cushion.
"How's it feel?" Steve asked. "Go ahead, push yourself around a little." He sat on the bench, watching, his hands resting in his lap.
Scott carefully gave the wheels a push, and was surprised at how easily he wheeled forward. He pushed a little harder, heading down the path.
"To turn, you have to push one wheel and brake the other," Steve instructed, remembering the first time he had used a wheelchair 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 a foot.
"You can lean forward as you push for more power," Steve said, "and make sure you 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 almost reached the top. He sat up quickly, triumphantly, but he leaned back a little too far and the chair tipped backwards, dumping him onto the ramp. Scott disentangled his legs from the chair and brushed himself off as he heard Steve laughing.
"Not so easy, is it, dude?" Steve said, still laughing.
Scott turned very red as he righted the wheelchair and turned it around. He sat down and tried going down the ramp, but his hands started burning up as he tried to brake the wheels. 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 as he started to transfer back into his chair.
Scott said, tentatively, "Um, so how do you feel about the wheelchair?"
"It's like a part of my body," Steve said, lifting 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 and then 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 interested he seemed to be in Steve and his body. 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 that Scott was already there waiting for him.
"That was fast," Steve said, wheeling over next to 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 and onto the underwater steps at the corner. "Brrr," he said, shivering a bit. The pool was heated, but it seemed very cold compared to the warm evening air. There were lights at the end and along the sides, so the pool bottom was clearly visible everywhere. The poolside had bright lights like streetlamps around the five-foot fence designed to keep small children out.
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. Steve smiled and thought, "Well, I guess I don't have to worry about becoming a cripple." He didn't mind if anyone called him a "cripple" or used some other old-fashioned word to describe his disability; 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. Scott was getting excited, because 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, and Scott liked it. "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, so he wasn't sitting on his pants anymore. He pushed his pants past his knees and pushed them down his calves, his thin thighs splaying out wide. 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 bit and grabbed a towel from his gym bag, folding it over the back of his wheelchair, then wheeled over to the pool.
"So here's how I get into the pool every day," Steve 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. Then he leaned forward and placed his right palm on the ground, his arm straight. The muscles in his right 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. From his position on the ground, Steve 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, pulling it towards his body so his knee bent almost all the way and then positioning it on top of his right knee. Steve's right leg was still almost straight along the ground, so he grabbed his right ankle and pulled it towards his body so his knee bent, until he was 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 Steve's right thigh and the untanned sole of his narrow left foot on top of it, lying still. Steve grasped 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; Steve 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 rod-thin calves swaying gently as the turbulent surface of the pool washed 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 the area of demarcation 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 extended in front of his body, parts of his feet brushing against the floor of the pool but not supporting Steve's weight. 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. As 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. As Steve 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 drifted downwards until they brushed the bottom of the pool, but again they supported none of Steve's weight.
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. Scott's form wasn't very good.
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 feet brush against his calves, and an electric feeling shot up his spine as the bulge in his trunks swelled.
Steve looked down and saw that his feet were close to Scott's legs. "Did I kick you? Sorry," Steve 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?"
Steve thought, "What kind of question is that?" but he answered, a little warily, "Well, every day my brother moves my legs to keep them from stiffening up. He massages them too, to improve circulation. 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, better do a lap." He pushed off the wall.
Scott was taken aback. Maybe he had gone too far. He had the consolation, though, of watching Steve perform a crawl stroke. Steve's legs straightened out behind his body, then as Steve turned his torso left and right, slicing his upper body through the water as his arms alternated 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 tricep 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.
"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 pool's edge, and letting his right knee flop to the left to land on his left knee. "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, and with his right palm flat on the floor next to his hips, he lifted his butt up until it reached the front right corner of his 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, and ran over to grab a towel. He wrapped the towel 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 the exposed parts of 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 Steve's flexing 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?!"
Steve replied, "I'm moving out."