Dev Dreams, Volume One

by Ruth Madison

  Knight in Shining Metal

  (Also available as part of the short story collection Paradox by Lee Nilsen http://www.paradevo.net/preview.html)

  Ricky knew he was going to regret this. Why had his mother instilled such rigorous chivalry in him when no one actually liked it? He had been watching a pretty girl sitting at the bar when two large men honed in on her. Both loomed and teased her while she looked frightened.

  “You should leave her alone,” Ricky said. He had to shout over the pounding music. All three swiveled and stared at him incredulously. One of the men started laughing. What else could you expect when a man in a wheelchair tried to come to someone's rescue? The girl, whose desperately unhappy face Ricky had seen in profile moments before now looked at him with eyebrows knit in confusion.

  “What are you going to do about it?” The man who wasn't laughing said.

  The girl was watching. It was now or never. Ricky pushed his rims hard and fast and slammed his wheelchair into the man who spoke. Ricky wrapped his arms around the man's waist and pulled them both to the ground.

  Adrenaline coursed through his body and the blood rushed in his ears so he heard nothing around him. He had his body across the other man's and was successfully holding him down while the man's friend pulled at Ricky like a persistent fly. Then security was there, snatching Ricky out of the fray.

  “Okay, what's going on? Who does this wheelchair belong to?”

  Mutely, the girl pointed at Ricky, suspended between two bouncers. They dumped him unceremoniously onto the chair and gave him a shove out the door hard enough to throw him back out of it. He landed on the pavement with a grunt.

  These days that's what trying to be a gentleman got you. He grabbed his chair and hoisted himself back up.

  “That was hot.”

  Ricky spun around to see a woman in the door way. “Excuse me?” he said.

  She gave him a small smile and lit a cigarette. “That was nice, what you did for her.”

  “Yeah, she obviously thought so.”

  “Well you have a lot to learn about women.”

  “I do just fine, thank you.”

  “Sure.” She laughed and tossed the rest of the cigarette to the ground. She started to walk away toward the street.

  “What do you think I should have done?” Ricky called after her.

  She stopped and turned. He rolled forward to where she stood. “Well,” she said, “It's sweet and all that you want to defend her, but when a guy you've never met does that, it's just creepy. Guys way over think this, you have to be simple and not act like a deer in headlights. Like if you were going to hit on me right now, what would you do?”

  Ricky tried to think of a good pick-up line, something he had tried in the past or something he read about online.

  “See?” she said, “You're already thinking too much.”

  This was the strangest conversation Ricky had ever had, but this woman was so outrageous that he was too curious to leave. She wasn't his usual type. He went for the girl-next-door look: conservative, careful clothes, little makeup, plain hair. She was tight jeans, shimmering top, dark eyes and masses of black curls in every direction. There was incredible energy around her, like electricity bouncing off her.

  “What's your name?” he said.

  “That's much better,” she said.

  “No, I mean really, what's your name?”

  “I'm Melissa.”

  “I'm Ricky.”

  “It's good to meet you.”

  “Is this a regular routine for you? Giving guys advice on picking girls up?”

  Again the little smile. “No,” she said, “I just like you.”

  This time Ricky's smile matched her's. “So, what does it take to pick you up?” he asked.

  “You like to rescue girls, right? I'll tell you what you can rescue me from. My sister is having a dinner party and it's all couples except me. I need a date.”

  “Okay. Is it at a restaurant or someone's house?”

  “Restaurant.”

  “Cool. That'll make accessibility less of an issue. Does it bother you?”

  “What?”

  “The wheelchair.”

  “Is it supposed to?” She leaned back against the brick wall of the bar and assessed him with sparkling eyes, challenging him with her smirk.

  “I think so.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Oh, I'm not disappointed.”

  “Good.” She took a pen from her purse and reached forward to grab his wrist. She turned his hand face down and scribbled an address on it. “Tomorrow night. 7:00.” Then she walked away, hips swinging. He watched her butt until she was out of sight.

  She was waiting for him outside the restaurant the next night. He was wearing khakis and a button down shirt, but Melissa wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a blood red t-shirt. When they got inside Ricky was relieved to see that his clothing choices fit the party better.

  “There you are!” A woman at the table said, standing up as they approached.

  “This is my sister, Sylvia,” Melissa said. “Sylvia, this is Ricky.”

  “Welcome.” Sylvia gave him such a large smile that it looked like her face might tear. He was introduced to the others at the table, five clean-cut people in light colored clothing, drinking white wine.

  Ricky asked his companions polite questions about what they did and where they were from and how their families were, while Melissa looked bored and drank wine instead of talking. Eventually, after the food came and everyone had loosened up, the talk turned to books and philosophy. One friend said, “Ayn Rand and her disgusting philosophy I could do without.”

  “You've never even read her,” Melissa said. Ricky saw Sylvia shoot her a look, but Melissa seemed oblivious to it.

  “I don't have to,” the friend said, “I've read enough about it to know that I don't want anything to do with it.”

  “That's right,” the friend's husband put in.

  “That is so stupid,” Melissa said, her voice getting louder. “How can you intelligently attack her philosophy when you've never seen what she herself had to say about it?”

  “Have you read it, Ricky?” Sylvia interrupted.

  “I have,” he said, “I've read all her work.”

  “Really?” Melissa said, distracted from attacking her sister's friend, “Which is your favorite?”

  “Although I like the unique structure in We The People, I'd have to say The Fountainhead is my favorite. That said, I don't think the ideals in that book can ever be translated into real life. The characters are not real enough, not true to human behavior and emotion.”

  This earned him a genuine smile from Melissa and a gleam in her eye that told him she wasn't drunk, despite the amount of alcohol she had consumed.

  “Can I smoke in here?” Melissa said to the general table.

  Her sister hissed, “This is not a club!”

  When the dinner finally wrapped up, Sylvia thanked Ricky for coming, but pointedly ignored Melissa. As they watched everyone else leave, Ricky could sense a sadness in Melissa, maybe a disappointment. “Do you want to come back to my place?” he said.

  She grinned. “Absolutely,” she said.

  “I'll drive.”

  In the car he stole glances at her in the passenger seat. She was strangely quiet.

  “Why does your sister even invite you to these things?” he asked.

  Melissa sighed. “I don't know. I guess she keeps hoping that with enough time and effort she can turn me into someone else.”

  “That would be a shame.”

  Melissa smiled and turned on the radio.

  When they arrived at his place, Melissa was bounding with energy again. She hovered nearby while he got his wheelchair from the back and pulled his body onto it. Once they were on the elevator, she leaned over him from behind, her arms coming down on either side of his chest and her curls tickling his face. She kissed his neck and then he leaned his head back and she kissed his lips
from behind.

  She was pulling at his shirt as he wheeled towards the apartment door. “Hang on, hang on,” he said, fumbling for his keys.

  “Which way is the bedroom?” she said once they were inside.

  “Hop on, I'll give you a ride,” he said.

  She laughed and sat on his lap, running her fingers up and down the back of his neck into his hair. He deposited her on the bed and told her to wait. When he came back from the bathroom, she was already naked.

  He sat in front of the bed and she on it on her knees. She leaned forward and put her hands on his chair, on either side of his legs, and kissed his lips, then kissed along his jaw and took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked on it. He shivered.

  “Make room,” he said. She backed up and he grabbed the edge of the bed, yanking himself onto it. He didn't have a chance to pull his legs up before Melissa was unbuttoning his shirt. In her impatience, she gave up on the buttons and just ripped the shirt open. Ricky lay back, his legs dangling off the bed, his feet still half on and half off the wheelchair. He kissed her plump lips and brushed his tongue lightly against hers. Her hair fell forward over his face.

  As she sat up and went for his pants, Ricky said, “Give me a minute, let me get onto the bed.” He lifted each leg up and maneuvered more to the middle of the bed. He was propped up on his hands and looked down at the way his legs lay at odd angles to each other. Then Melissa unzipped his pants and pulled them off by the cuffs, which knocked Ricky off his hands and he fell back against the bed. She came up and lay beside him, naked flesh against naked flesh. He reached a hand down and ran his finger between her legs, feeling the welcoming moist warmth. Melissa flung her head back, a guttural moan sounding in her throat.

  She mounted him and leaned forward, her breasts pressed against his chest and rocked hard while clinging to his shoulders with her fingernails. Her moans of pleasure were right next to his ear, her breath tickling. He ran his hands over her smooth back and held onto her hips, feeling the pelvic bone just beneath her skin.

  She raised herself onto her hands and the shadow of her body fell across his. While she continued to push against him, he flicked his finger against her clit and she sat all the way up, arched her back and screamed a release unlike anything he had heard before. She fell back down beside him giggling and he got an arm under her shoulders and pulled her to him.

  “You should know,” Melissa said, “No guy has ever been able to handle me.”

  “That's because they weren't me,”Ricky said, squeezing her shoulder.

  “Is that so?” she said

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh good,” she sighed. “You're sexy and you're nice to boot. I like you.”

  “You do?”

  “I'm sorry, wasn't it obvious?”

  Please visit me at my website http://www.ruthmadison.com/current-fiction/ where you can learn about all my new writing projects, the sequel to (W)hole, free stories, and a blog about disability and society. –Ruth

  AVAILABLE NOW

  Ruth Madison's debut novel, (W)hole

  Looking out toward the Charles River, Elizabeth stopped short at the sight of an unexpected figure. At first all her eye caught was the glint of sun against metal. As was her habit, her head darted quickly to confirm that it was round metal, that it was the spokes of a wheel. Usually when this happened to Elizabeth, the wheel turned out to be attached to a bicycle. This time it wasn’t a bicycle, but the very thing Elizabeth’s mind kept a constant watch for.

  Across the water she could see a young man in a red wheelchair. He was sitting close to the edge and watching the swirling, dark water. His hands sat folded in his lap and he didn’t seem to notice the wind dancing with stray bits of his loosely tied black hair. He wore a brown coat, and jeans covered his compact legs. His feet were tucked neatly below him.

  Time may have slowed. Though she was across the river, Elizabeth felt as though she stood just in front of him and they two were the only breathing creatures in the world. There was nothing else. I want you.

  Elizabeth’s body threatened to wrench itself from her control. She could feel her skin flushing. Her gut ached and cried out. She didn’t know who he was, but she wished that she could. The longing started in her stomach and stretched up to her lungs and throat. Though she didn’t often see disabled men in the harsh New England climate, whenever she did see a wheelchair, the same reaction overtook her body.

  For a moment she allowed herself to imagine being close to this man; brushing her fingers through his black hair, touching the muscles in his arms, and watching him adjust his lifeless legs. Even from here she could tell he was paraplegic and there was nothing temporary about the wheelchair.

  “Hey, Elizabeth! What are you looking at?”

  Elizabeth snapped out of her daze and saw her friends several yards ahead, waiting for her. “The water,” she said, “It’s so beautiful this time of year.”

  She rushed ahead and dragged them with her so they would not have the chance to see the man. Just before they turned the corner, Elizabeth snuck one last glance back. He hadn’t moved, and his eyes remained locked on the rushing water.

  COMING SOON

  The sequel to (W)hole...

  The reaction was not what Elizabeth had been hoping for. She uncurled her long legs and put her feet back down on the floor. She tried to sit up straight. If she looked like an adult, her parents would take her seriously.

  Her mother, Susan, placed a glass of wine down on a small round table beside the sofa. Her father, David, cleared his throat and said, “It's just that the school is so close to us, it would save a lot of money to have you live at home. That was one of the perks of choosing this school.”

  “But it's part of the college experience to live in a dorm.” Elizabeth cringed as she heard a little bit of a whine creep out at the end. She had to behave like someone mature enough to live on her own. “I don't want to miss out,” she added.

  “I'd feel better if you were here,” Susan said, not quite looking at Elizabeth, but rather at the fern behind her.

  It was the opposite of what she would have said a year ago. Ever since Elizabeth became a teenager Susan had been trying to get her to be more outgoing and social. She had pushed her daughter to go out more, spend time with friends, stay out late even on school nights. That all changed when she found out about Elizabeth's boyfriend, Stewart.

  Susan should have been delighted when Elizabeth finally started dating. She had tried many times to orchestrate meetings between Elizabeth and boys in her class. Stewart was not what Susan had in mind. Elizabeth wondered if on some level her mother knew the truth. Neither of them were going to say it, neither could talk about it. It had been scary for both of them, but Elizabeth was learning to let go of the fear and embrace her sexual difference, her devoteeism, the desire for disability. Susan was still afraid. She didn't know the word for it, but Elizabeth still thought in some deep instinctual part of her brain, Susan knew.

  “This was his idea,” Susan muttered.