Para Boxers

by Steve (

It was a Saturday in May, and the sun was already shining brightly through the beige horizontal blinds on his bedroom window. Steve lay asleep in bed. He had thick straight black hair, parted on the left, extending down to his ears. As the sunlight brushed his face, he opened his brown eyes and looked over sleepily at the red numbers on his clock which read 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 from the poster he had recently purchased.

"You want me, don't you, guys," he thought, just lying there for a moment or two, reluctant to get out of bed.

Then 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 a heavy workout the day before. The sheets on the bed still covered his legs, the top edge just exposing the waistband of his red plaid boxer shorts. Steve grabbed the left corner of the sheets with his right hand and tossed it to the right side of the bed, away from the edge. His legs extended straight away from him, lying next to each other, knees slightly bent and feet tilted outwards naturally by gravity. His boxers were short enough that almost all of his legs could be seen, and they were unusually thin, almost skeletal, especially when compared to the lean but well-defined muscles of his upper body.

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 placed his left hand under his left thigh, close to his knee, and picked up his left leg, his knee bending automatically, his biceps flexing a bit. He moved his hand to the left, his leg moving with it, until his left foot slid off the bed; his left calf now 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 removed his left hand from his leg and placed it back on the bed for balance. Now 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, using his left hand, and moved his foot to the left until it lay on the footrest of the wheelchair waiting at the side of his bed, facing the foot of the bed. The wheelchair was an ultra- lightweight model with no armrests. It had a low back and a four-inch-thick seat cushion. The footrest was made of the same red-painted tubular aluminum as the rest of the chair's frame, and it was composed of a front crossbar along with a U-shaped tube extending horizontally towards the back of the chair, to support the heels of the wheelchair user. The overall shape was like a capital D, with the flat side at the front of the chair.

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 with both arms and lifted his butt into the air, slid it to the left, and then 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, crossing it over his left foot. His left foot was on the right side of the footrest, so the only way to place his right foot on the footrest was to place it to the left side of his left foot, crossing his legs. Steve bent over at the waist and grabbed his right ankle with his right hand, lifting his right foot off the footrest, and grabbed his left ankle with his left hand, picking up his left foot and moving it left and back until it was in position on the left side of the footrest. The back of his left calf, a few inches above the ankle, now rested against the calf strap, a two-inch-wide cloth strap which extended horizontally from the left side of the wheelchair frame to the right and was designed to keep his feet from slipping backwards off the footrest. Steve then moved his right foot back and placed it in position on the right side of the footrest. The back of his right calf also rested against the calf strap. His feet were in contact on the footrest, which was just wide enough for his feet when he was wearing shoes. Steve's butt was still on the front of the cushion, so he placed both palms on the top of the wheels of his chair on either side and pushed down, lifting his butt into the air again and yet again displaying his great triceps. He moved his butt backwards until his back touched the backrest of the wheelchair, and then lowered it to the cushion. Steve's thighs now were parallel to each other and extended forward to his knees, which were separated by just two or three inches. His thighs were so thin that the flesh didn't spread out very much when he was seated. The cushion was flat horizontally, and Steve's calves extended straight down from his thighs at a 90-degree angle. The cushion's length was a perfect fit, so the backs of his calves just touched the front of the cushion. His wheelchair was very narrow, about fourteen inches wide, just wide enough to accommodate his thighs. The tops of the wheels on either side reached a point about two inches above the top of the wheelchair cushion. Steve's bare feet were parallel to the ground and about four inches above it. The balls of his feet just touched the front horizontal bar of the footrest, and his toes bent downwards slightly in their natural position.

He sat back up in his wheelchair, then 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 Steve pushed himself effortlessly across it. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers from his dresser, then turned his chair and wheeled towards the door. The chair easily fit through the door, even though the wheels were cambered for stability, tilted inwards slightly at the top. Steve wheeled across the hall and into the bathroom. He noticed that the door at the end of the hall, his roommate's, was still closed; Scott was probably still asleep. They had met recently, and started sharing this apartment just a week ago. Steve closed the bathroom door behind him, then wheeled over to the sink. As usual, he would take care of his bladder first. 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 he placed his palms on the wheels of his chair and lifted his butt into the air, sliding the boxers down with his thumbs. He lowered his butt back into the chair, and slid the boxers forward along his thighs, lifting his thighs slightly one at a time with his hands to help move the boxers along. Once his boxers were past his knees, he slid them down to his ankles. He grabbed his right ankle with his right hand and lifted his right foot out of his boxers, then he did the same with his left foot, replacing both feet on the footrest after his boxers were completely off.

Like his legs, his dick was something he couldn't feel or use, so 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. This was a catheter inside a sterile bag which was also used for urine collection, with a one- inch inserter tip. 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 up to distinct tan lines running straight across his thighs, close to his hips. Steve grasped his dick with his left hand, pulling it up to a vertical position. He took a bottle of disinfectant spray with his right hand and sprayed the top of his dick a few times, near the opening. He could feel his dick, slightly warm, with his left hand, and he could feel the spray on his left hand, but he felt nothing in his dick. He took the catheter pack and broke the sterile cover off the inserter tip. The tip was connected to a rectangular plastic bag, about eight by five inches, and inside the bag was a plastic tube, the catheter itself, which would be pushed through the tip. The catheter was entirely inside the bag so that it would remain sterile until it was inserted. Steve held his dick with his left hand and took the inserter tip with his right hand, pushing it gently into the opening in his dick until it was completely inside. The tip was just long enough to extend past the head of his dick, the area most commonly infected. 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 he felt a slight resistance. This was the sphincter at the exit of his bladder. He pushed just a little further, past the resistance, and stopped; urine began flowing through the tube and into the bag. Through this whole process Steve 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 inside his body. After the urine stopped flowing, Steve slowly pulled the tube out of his dick; as it exited his body, 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, then he wheeled over to the toilet and held the bag over it, opening the exit valve on the bag and letting the urine drain into the toilet. After the bag was empty he threw that in the trash as well. Steve needed to catheterize himself like this three times a day, so he was very good at it. When he was out of the house, he usually carried several catheter packs in a small nylon bag under the seat of his wheelchair.

Steve turned his chair and wheeled over to the bathtub. The bathtub had a sliding glass door on the side for use with the shower. There was a rectangular shower seat near the back of the tub for Steve to use. He moved his wheelchair as close as possible to the left edge of the tub, near the back, then he pushed himself up, lifting his butt and moving 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 to the bottom of the tub. He let his right thigh rest on the corner of the shower seat. Then he placed his right palm on the shower seat, with his left palm on his wheelchair cushion, and lifted his butt into the air, sliding over to the shower seat.

His left foot was still on the footrest of his wheelchair, and his left thigh now extended across the edge of the bathtub. Steve 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 more or less 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 couldn't feel it there. He switched on the shower, and the water sprayed down on his chest, refreshingly hot.

Steve washed his hair first, leaning forward into the spray, then soaped and scrubbed his upper body. He detached the shower head so he could spray his back. Then he replaced the shower head and started to wash himself below the waist.

As he often did in the shower, Steve 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 jelly and squeezed out a generous amount onto his hands, rubbing the 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; a doctor had told him the reflex arc was cut. It didn't really bother him anymore, but he felt like he had to try anyway. Steve stopped trying to masturbate and moved the shower spray, washing away the lube. He picked up his right ankle with his right hand and pulled it up onto his left knee, resting it there.

He soaped and washed his right thigh, giving it a light massage as he did so, and then continued with his right calf and foot. Then he repeated the process with his left leg. His calves were so thin that he could almost close his hand around them. They had short black hair on the front, while his thighs were almost hairless. His feet were average-sized and narrow, and he was slightly flat-footed so it had hurt to run. He found it amusing that his feet would never hurt again.

Steve switched off the shower and opened the door, reaching outside to grab a clean white towel off the rack next to the tub. He dried himself off as thoroughly as possible, then spread the towel on the seat of his wheelchair and transferred onto it. He took the clean boxers and put them on, lifting one foot and then the other into them, pulling them up to his knees, then slowly drawing them up his thighs by lifting first one side of his butt and then the other. When his boxers were almost on, he placed his palms on the wheels and lifted his butt, then used his fingers to pull the boxers all the way on. Then he wheeled out of the bathroom.

Steve's roommate Scott was just stepping out of his room when he saw Steve wheeling through the bathroom door. Scott was wearing a white tank top and blue-and-white striped boxers. He was about 6 feet, 160 pounds, lean and muscular, and he had short blond hair and bright blue eyes. And he thought Steve was the hottest guy he had ever seen, especially when he came out of the shower with only his boxers on.

"Good morning, Steve!"

"Hey, Scott," was the reply as Steve glanced over at him, then wheeled into his room. Steve had met Scott at work. They had hit it off right away, but even though both of them were gay, neither of them was sure the other was gay as well. Steve thought Scott was cute, but he hadn't had a relationship since his accident, and wasn't sure he could do it. Scott was a good workout partner and a good roommate.

Steve began to get dressed. In high school he had been a wrestler; at about 5 feet 8 and 140 pounds, his build had been almost perfect. After his accident, he had lost a lot of muscle in his legs, so he now weighed just 115. Steve was planning to go to the mall this morning and shop for some clothes, 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 shoved his feet into low-cut white socks and his new-looking blue Nike running 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, juggling 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 Steve unless Steve asked for it. Steve liked being totally independent, but at the same time it was nice to have someone around who could help out sometimes. 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 Steve's way.

"So, are we going to the beach today?" Scott asked as Steve wheeled himself to the table across from Scott. Scott's chair was the only one at the table. Steve's knees were low enough that they fit neatly under the table when he pushed his wheelchair in.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Steve said. They had decided earlier that week to go together. Steve 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 just pick up lunch at the beach then?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Steve said, through a mouthful of cereal.

After he finished, he put the dishes in the dishwasher and wheeled back to his room. As he wheeled away from the table, Scott stared at his sharply defined but not-too-broad shoulders and his gorgeous arms, shown off nicely by his tank top, as they pushed the wheelchair strongly but easily across the room. His desire for Steve was stronger than ever. Scott was really looking forward to this trip to the beach, because he would get to carry Steve across the sand. The thought was creating a bulge in his boxers already.

Steve grabbed his wallet and car keys, shifting his butt forward for a moment so he could stuff his wallet in his back pocket, then 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 about the day he had met Steve, on Wednesday of the week before, and what a day it had been.

to be continued...