Every Time I Think of You

by Jim Provenzano

  “Not just yet!”

  “Okay!”

  Relieved that Everett had achieved a degree of patience with my ignorance, I looked around his room as I slowly undressed. Finally, once again, we could be alone together, with a closed door and quiet. But my stomach knotted. What would we do? What could we do? What did he want, desire? What were his limitations?

  The amusing humming from the bathroom assured me that Everett was doing fine. Stripped down to my shorts, I nosed around at some of his books, a pile of cards from his schoolmates at Pinecrest Academy, handbooks and how-to guides for the newly handicapped. Next to them, a large shoebox tempted me. Knowing I shouldn’t snoop, nonetheless I did.

  Inside, a loose stack of all the letters I’d sent him lay nestled next to a cluster of dried wildflowers and pinecones.

  As I fought back a shudder of emotion, I heard the toilet flush. Then, “Reid?”

  Replacing the box lid, I stepped to the bathroom and ducked under the pull-up bars.

  Under the shower, a built-in plastic seat with metal bars was Everett’s intended goal. Beside the toilet, a plastic bag and tube lay empty.

  “Okay, this is where you can help me,” he said, reaching for his sweatpants with some difficulty as they tangled at his knees. I helped him finish, ducked back outside the bathroom to drop the sweats into the laundry basket. With a strange combination of awkward bashfulness and desire, I peeled off my shorts and socks, and stood naked in the doorway.

  I fought back tears, pressing my lips together tightly, as if some stupid comment might burst out of me, some bleat of lust, pity or shame.

  Everett had turned away to adjust the water temperature, and made a comedic double-take at the sight of me. “Wow.”

  “Wow to you, too.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Were you crying?”

  “No. Yes. I’m just … just happy to be with you.”

  Sitting there in that little tiled room, the hiss of the water, him naked, his arms flexed, about to rise, he stopped, looking me up and down.

  He extended an arm.

  “So, pick me up and put me on the seat.”

  As we touched, arms and shoulders and water spray and some awkward combination of him toying with my obvious desire, he said, “Somebody’s happy to see me.” The tenderness of scrubbing him, attending to him, brought up a wave of new feelings.

  “I’ve never given anyone a bath,” I confessed.

  “Not even a dog?”

  “Mom has allergies.”

  “Too bad.” And then, as the water and suds made him squint, “Woof.”

  While his legs had thinned a bit, his arms and chest had thickened with muscle. Not only were we making up for lost time, but the combination of intimacy and water in yet another new location made lathering soap along his legs, waist and under his arms almost ecstatic for me. We were touching beyond the abrupt sexual urge; caressing, adoring, rediscovering.

  Where was the therapy group for this? Among the many brochures in the lobby and on his desk, I hadn’t noticed any that read, How to Have Gay Sex With the Disabled.

  “Check this out,” Everett turned to remove the low-placed showerhead from a clip-like holder. He gave himself a more thorough rinse before turning it on me. Startled, I jumped back against the tile wall as he hosed me down. I feigned annoyance as he aimed the spray lower. Wiping my eyes, I stood before him, growing harder where it counted, and relaxed everywhere else.

  Everett set the showerhead down, turned to shut off the water, and sat before me, glistening wet, his dick pointing up between his legs. I felt a bit ashamed to feel relief at the sight of his excitement. So, he could do that. What would I have done if he couldn’t?

  Noticing my glance, he said, “Yeah, it works, sort of. It doesn’t always…”

  I waited.

  “Here.” He tossed a bar of soap at me, which I caught, sparing us any corny drop-the-soap jokes.

  “Could you ...?”

  “Anything.”

  “Just … jack off. Lemme just see you, your…”

  I obeyed happily, awkwardly, then intensely, performing for him, my smiling little wet man.

  As I got closer to coming, he gestured me closer, until he grasped it, tugged it, then with a growing ferocity, yanked an ejaculation out of me, aiming it onto himself. My legs quivered, buckled. I almost collapsed onto him, relieved that these new variations helped us avoid discussion and clarifications. So much pent up desire had compelled us through these new sensations and positions.

  My playful reach for his cock, which had settled down a bit, was politely rebuffed. I figured it was time for us to rinse off again, to wipe him off and help him into his chair with a towel set on the seat. As I hovered near, he deigned a few kisses to parts of my arm and stomach.

  Helping him slip on a pair of boxer shorts and a worn T-shirt, he then showed me how he got himself into the low bed, hopping over with minor difficulty, followed by the command, “Come ‘ere. Kissin’ time.”

  “Okay!”

  “Wait.” He requested a breath mint. “Over on the desk. Oh, and water.”

  I scanned the room.

  “Mini-fridge.”

  I retrieved a bottle, found a cup.

  “Bottle’s fine.”

  I brought it, watched him drink. He offered, and I too drank.

  “Okay, champ. Cozy up to your b-ball loser and gimme some sympathy.”

  I pressed myself against him. “I’m still not sure what…”

  Not what, I wondered, but how. I knew his legs couldn’t move, but his cock had sprouted up again, tenting his shorts, as if it knew what it wanted. I eased myself toward it, grasping his hand, preventing him from stopping me as I tugged his shorts down below his waist.

  “It’s okay,” I soothed. “Just relax,” I said to myself as much as to him.

  He pulled off his shirt and asked me to shift the opposite way so we could do the same to each other. Everett wasn’t entirely comfortable, but very determined. We readjusted ourselves a few times until we found a side-to-side position where his leg didn’t fall onto my head.

  Although I knew he couldn’t feel my licks and tugs, his body responded. He clutched my hips with more force, signaling that he wanted me deeper in him. I had to look over to see his face, his eyes closed, his lips surrounding me. Before long he was soothingly swallowing my bursts with low appreciative hums.

  “You couldn’t wait for me again?” he joked, wiping his mouth.

  “Sorry,” I apologized. I grabbed his towel, wiped him off, then flipped around to nestle beside him. His cock had dwindled, but as I attempted to revive it, he took my hand away, brought it up to his stomach. I rubbed, soothed, caressed up around his chest, his neck, and we shared a few light kisses before he nestled close, my arm under his neck.

  I continued touching him under his shorts and along his legs, determined to explore his thighs and hips, silently asking with my hands where his sensations began and ended.

  “Could you rub my back a little? It’s really tight.”

  “Anything you want,” I smiled. Gently helping him roll over onto his stomach, I slowly caressed his back. My fingers found it before I saw it, the surgery scar above his butt. I turned my attention away, delicately straddled him, keeping my weight on my knees, and gave him a slow massage, guiding the tension out as he purred into the pillow.

  Lowering myself atop him, my lingering erection nestled at the top cleft of his buttocks, pressing against his scar. We lay for a while, until he adjusted himself, signaling a desire to shift positions and roll onto his back.

  Like a sort of erratic thermometer, his penis had thickened again, and I moved my face closer. I licked it, lubricating it, delicately tugging.

  “Do you think you can …?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  As he laid back, his hand lightly rubbing my head and neck, I persisted, until his hips and legs began to spasm in a different and odd way.
I didn’t stop, until quite suddenly his dick erupted with a series of pent up volleys that splashed onto my face and hands.

  “Oh, god. Oh, jeez, oh, fuck.”

  “Are you okay?” I almost panicked.

  “Yeah, just … hold still.”

  I waited, impulsively licked up a few puddles, then adjusted back toward him and lay my head on his chest until his panting slowed.

  “Whew!”

  As the spasms diminished, I wiped my face and turned to look up to him. He lifted his head to grin at me.

  Everett asked for the towel, which I retrieved, wiping myself off first. Before I returned to the bed, he held up his hand. “Wait. Just stand there.”

  “What?” I stood, naked and barefoot on the cool linoleum floor, and held out my arms. “Ta da.”

  “You’re so tanned and, I dunno, more solid.”

  “Dorm food. I haven’t run much in months, gained some weight.”

  “My woodland stud.”

  I returned to the bed, wiping him down, helping him tug his shorts back on before settling next to him, when he joked, “Now that was physical therapy I could get used to.”

  I grazed my hand along his cheek. “Your beard …”

  “You like it?”

  “Yeah, a lot.”

  I nuzzled closely to him, chafing my face on purpose.

  “How long has it been?” I asked as he wiped a dribble from my neck.

  “Well, how long’s it been for you?”

  “Um, other than humping a few trees, and Kevin, no one since you.”

  “Well, me too. Without Kevin, or trees.”

  We lay together for a while, until I ventured to ask, “What’s it like?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Coming. I mean, after … now.”

  “That’s funny should you ask, ‘cause Daya gave me this whole embarrassing talk, part of my ‘sexual counseling,’ about how now that I’ve got some feeling back down there, it’s almost important for me to get my rocks off. Greg gave me some pointers. He’s pretty cool, for a straight guy.”

  “Oh, great. Is this going into your medical file?”

  “Probably. Sorry, but your name did come up, since you’re…”

  “Your biped?”

  He playfully elbowed me. “Anyway, speaking of coming, since you asked. It’s like … it starts inside me, and tingles in my bones and arms, like it spreads everywhere else. I can feel my dick, sort if, but like inside only, like pissing after a few beers used to feel. It’s … it’s just different.”

  “It’s good?”

  “It’s what it is. Come ‘ere.” We kissed again.

  “Do you even jack off?” I asked as I grazed my fingers over his beard.

  “I tried. It’s weird, like I’m yanking some other guy’s dick.”

  I wanted to half-joke that it sounded hot, but he seemed put off by the idea. “But you don’t mind if I–”

  “Oh, no. Have at it. But we have to be careful with, you know, the butt sex, ‘cause I can’t feel it, and you could tear my skin, and I’d get infected. You can poke around with your finger, which is what I have to do for, you know, ‘elimination.’”

  “Pinchin’ a loaf?” I joked.

  “Seein’ a man about a horse.”

  We shared a few other terms amid chuckles.

  “I’m also supposed to stimulate my prostate.”

  “Oh. I can help with that.”

  “But not like, with your big …”

  “Got it.”

  “..hard…”

  “That’s okay. It’s not my favorite thing.”

  He grinned, reached downward to rub my thigh. “And what is your favorite thing?”

  I hesitated, considered the varied settings of our prior intimacy. I wanted to say, ‘when that leaf landed on your back in the woods,’ or ‘the taste of your lips after drinking champagne,’ or ‘the glow of your skin with snow light reflecting on it.’ Instead, I hinted, “That thing you did with your tongue.”

  “What thing?”

  “You know, on New Year’s Eve, with my butt.”

  He pretended to be perplexed.

  “Analingus?”

  Everett snorted out a laugh.

  “What?” I cried, embarrassed. “You did it!”

  “No, no, it’s just …” He wrapped me in a hug, then reached down to flop his leg over mine. “We are gonna be so great together.”

  We lay together for a while, until he asked me to retrieve his catheter, “otherwise I’ll pee all over you like a puppy.”

  I chuckled, then he did the same when my growling stomach sounded off.

  “Hey, weren’t we supposed to go to dinner?”

  Arching his head up to check his alarm clock, Everett said, “Too late. Cafeteria’s closed. I have some turkey and bread and stuff in the mini-fridge.”

  I got up and retrieved his catheter, then prepared some food, while still naked, at his command, and served it on his bed with exaggerated flair. He scooted himself up to sitting and we inhaled the sandwiches.

  With the plates set aside, we nuzzled and dozed until well after dark. I mentioned a need to return to Holly’s apartment, but Everett assured me that I could stay. He suggested I give his sister a call, which I did. She understood.

  Beside him, his back to me after I’d returned to his bed and we’d shifted positions, I slipped one arm under his pillow as I nestled close behind him, my other hand free to graze his skin as his back rose and fell with slowing breaths. My silent tears of joy and relief lost in his still damp hair, I realized I didn’t need that brochure.

  Chapter 33

  Even though Sundays were considered his day off from physical therapy, there were recreational days where Everett was supposed to work out unsupervised. I didn’t know that would involve watching him face-dive from his braked chair over the edge of the pool.

  Submerged below and rising near me, I felt a pang of fear for Everett’s safety. But then I saw his water-blurred arm grab for me, and almost successfully yank my swimsuit down. I ducked back down toward him, and we playfully jostled underwater, until we both rose, gasped, shook the water from our eyes, and held on to each other, floating, grinning and giggling like little kids.

  On the other side of the pool, a few senior patients, one in a funny flowered plastic bathing cap, were going through the motions of arm and leg exercises with their physical therapists. One of the younger quadriplegic kids was busily paddling around another adult. Anyone glancing at us would have thought I was simply helping Everett with some therapy. I guess I was.

  The weight of his legs forced him to paddle harder, but he didn’t seem to mind. Beneath the water, I saw the blurry image of his limbs, bent in a bobbing seated position. I held him at his waist, our faces inches apart. We performed an intimate aquatic pas de deux, everything beyond us whirling slowly in a blur.

  “We should sneak in here at night sometime,” I suggested.

  “You learn from the master,” Everett grinned. “But first, I’m hungry.”

  Everett swam toward the pool’s edge. I was about to ask if he needed any help, but he hiked himself up to sitting with a wet plop. I followed, parked myself beside him, and realized that it was one of those rare new positions, other than in bed, where we were facing each other at the same level. I wanted to tell him how overwhelmed I was to simply have that moment with him, to just be a pair of guys sitting by a pool, our feet dangling in the water, to just be there, to just be.

  Instead, I simply said, “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  After changing back in his room, I followed his roll to the elevator and to the cafeteria, where he waved, low-fived or nodded at nearly all the other patients. Understandably, he’d yet again become a popular friend to many. We chose some of the above-average cafeteria food. Everett managed to hold a tray in his lap with ease.

  “I was thinking,” he said as we finally sat opposite each other at a table, “about sex.”