California Conference Connections

I reached down and undid a top button. Kept my fingers as focused as possible.

Another button, and down the front. The room was still until I had finished.

Clare leaned forward and extended one arm. I eased off her blouse, one limb at a time.

Rita was beaming.

The bra was one of those underwire things, heftier than most I had ever managed. Once upon a time I had mastered the art of unhooking things with one hand, in a car or a public risky park, but luckily here, the unfastening was easy, and her breasts tumbled out of their restraints. She turned her wheelchair slowly, gracefully, careful of my toes, until she faced me.

She looked lovely, topless in that sleek gray and black chair of hers. That short French haircut, charming and continental, strong shoulders and lovely sloping breasts, heavy at their end, resting on her ribcage. She was handsome, plenty.

I inhaled.

"Let me attend to the rest in the bathroom, easier that way," she said. "I'll be a few minutes and spare you this part of things. Perhaps you and Rita can handle your own clothes and introduce yourselves?"

Rita and I faced each other. "In for a penny, in for a pound" I thought. It was only then that I noted her earrings, the exact same ones that I had seen Clare wear the day before. Small little silver medieval-looking battle axes, double-sided.

I paused. "Forgive my ignorance, I should know what these signify," pointing at one, dimly aware of some esoteric semiotics involved. It had nothing to do with the field of Agincourt or Hastings, I suspected.

Rita smiled coyly and fingered one. "This is known as a labrys. International symbol, recognized by lesbians worldwide. Various meanings attached to them, slut-slicing through the patriarchy, emblem of strength, cutting edges in both directions."

"Right." I felt like a fool.

But I went over to admire them up close, and found a way to unbutton her blouse at the same time. One after another, down the ladder, until a parting of curtains revealed a smooth expanse of skin. No bra, sweet.

Her frame was slender, cute little nipples that I was pleased to note were erect, just the smallest of darkened rings around them.

I stood back to admire her. Pale skin dotted with moles, I imagined tracing a dot to dot picture of them, trying for a suitable shape for the occasion.

Rita had watched me carefully as I worked, an amused look on her face.

Then she did the same to me, slipping my shirt off, putting a hand on my chest, then my middle-aged stomach. I had the urge to suck it in for her, try to make it a little firmer, but common sense won out over vanity, usually not a bad idea. She ran a hand through my gray-flecked chest hair.

She didn't stop there. Undid my belt buckle, down on her knees, pulled shoes and socks off one at a time, then trousers, briefs until I was quite unclothed.

There is something quite enchanting about having a handsome woman remove your clothes.

She stood up and rummaged a hand onto my groin and whispered into my ear.

"I'll show you the best ways on Clare. Like she says, we can't get a climax out of her, that's impossible, but we can make her feel good. There is a zone of skin about two inches wide that circles her waist which is supremely sensitive to touch."

All right. Her fingers felt good, flopping my penis around, slowly responding to her touch, tickling under my balls. All of this happening at unimaginable speed.

I faced her, it was her turn after all, and knelt to ease her sandals off, skirt and undergarments.

Lithe limbs, a handsome, light brown sparse triangle of inverted delta hair.

I couldn't help myself. Maybe if she hadn't touched my penis I might have been more reluctant. Regardless of the fair play angle I had to smell her.

I buried my nose in her fur. Eyes closed, I inhaled. Every such loamy, humid territory has been both different to my nose, and curiously the same. Some primal area of my brain responded and I felt my penis twitch.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Clare roll back in, naked except for a pair of bikini bottoms.

"I'm glad you too have gotten acquainted a bit." Her smile was crooked, amusement written all over her face.

I stood up, suddenly embarrassed.

The room temperature had risen dramatically in a very short time.

Clare's legs were spindles. Her body was unusual in almost all respects save her face and hands, but of course I had only ever seen spinal-injured folks up close when on the television, swimmers at the Paralympics on ESPN, and even then not even very often.

She had strong shoulders, a thickish midsection, hips not much wider than her belly area, but then those stick legs, pale, white and skinny down to ankles that disproportionately looked a bit swollen. My imagination tried to figure out how one coped with body image in a wheelchair, especially as a female, but I didn't get very far.

She saw me look at her panties, and answered my unspoken question.

"I'll keep these on. I tend to leak a bit when excited, no control you understand, and it will be better this way, I assure you."

"I waved a hand. I tend to leak a bit too."

"This is different, Morris. Trust me."

This was fine but I really had no idea of what to expect from this intel. No control? I wondered about sensation, but Rita had sidled up behind me and had begun to fondle my member, which cooperated much faster than any of us expected.

"You clear?" Clare asked. I took this as a check on my sexual health.

"Yes."

"Good. No worries on the pregnancy score either." She looked at me with the oddest smile.

"I could do my normal transfer to bed, Morris, but perhaps I could prevail upon you, great white knight, to do the honors this evening?"

She batted dark eyelashes at me and looked wounded. "Wouldst thou carry me to bed, prithee?"

I could do this, I thought. Although it was more awkward than I first considered.

One arm under her legs, took a little doing, and she leaned forward so I could support her back.

She didn't weigh much, I could feel the bones in her legs, which dangled limply in my arms. She looked up into my face, batted her eyes languidly a couple times and offered me a mouth to kiss.

Sweet.

Rita extinguished lights except for a bedside lamp, casting a serene glow over us.

"Middle of the bed best?" I asked Clare, but she said the left side was better.

She settled in on her back, and I looked at Rita, hoping for some clue as to how to proceed.

She urged me alongside Clare, then slid in next to me. I was in between. Turned my head to one side to kiss Clare, then to the other for Rita, who commenced a lingering, deep tongue assault.

Clare's hands went to my penis.

"Your member," she breathed out.

"Haven't had one of these in ages." I didn't know how to respond to this.

They examined me like a museum specimen. Careful looks to my penis, fingers running from top to bottom. Balls rummaging and inspection.

"Look at those eggs move around."

"Restless huevos, for sure," said Rita. A quick darting glance up to my face, a wry smile.

"They always like this? Rumbling around in their little scrotal nest?"

I shrugged. "Only when they're excited, I guess."

Most of my sexual life had been fairly quiet, non-verbal anyway, mostly gropings and thrashings in the dark, but it seemed these two would be talking their way through everything.

Clare eased her lips down over my cock-head and shaft, lovely little tonguings, while Rita pulled at my balls. A few minutes of this and they reversed, Rita now doing the lingual honors.

As a young buck, this had been one of those ardent fantasies, which I had resigned myself to, in adulthood, as a never-to-be-experienced dreamscape. But here we were, two handsome women taking tongue-turns on me.

"I trust you are not adverse to testicular attention?"

This was Rita, who didn't wait for an answer and began licking my balls.

Clare regarded this operation with interest while she held my now seriously aroused penis.

"Ah, Harvey would approve. Nice blood flow here, venous valves working just splendidly." She squeezed and fondled my stiffness.

"I am guessing Harvey dissected a penis or two, right?" she asked.

"Let's not go too far down this line of thinking, okay?" I shook my head. "I don't have any real data on this, but he dissected just about every part of the body, so likely yes."

"Did anyone know much about erection principles at that time?"

"I don't think so. They knew it wasn't muscle tissue, but even muscle contractions weren't understood very well."

I squeezed my member until it bobbed. They laughed, enchanted.

Clare hoisted my penis up to ninety degrees and let it snap back down to my stomach with a slapping noise.

"You know, when I am this hard I generally don't last long. You both have exerted superior efforts to cause my condition."

They played with it, like a cat batting a cornered mouse around. Pulled it up, pushed it from side to side. Sat back and watched it. Gave it a lick.

The next hour or so is one of the strangest periods in my previously strikingly vanilla sexual existence. Until the end, with a few exceptions, I basically followed Rita's lead.

I hadn't had the slightest idea of what our evenings pleasures would consist of, and I am not sure they did either, although I suspect they had ideas. In any event, we slipped, not always seamlessly, but continually, from letch to letch.

"I'd like to see you two couple," said Clare. "Can't remember the last time I saw her that way. She looks so divine on top, you know," she said this to me conspiratorially.

"Let me prepare you, prepare the ground a moment first."

Clare eased her lips over my member for a couple minutes until I was well slicked up. She laid back and admired her handiwork, or mouthwork rather.

Rita leaned in for a kiss, and Clare rubbed her mons, ran a finger up her notch.

"Lovely," she murmured. "Just fine."

Rita maneuvered over on top of me and settled down. She was light on my body, slender and soft at the same time. I felt her now loose hair brush along my shoulders and along my flanks, soft, thin, almost tickling.

Rita wanted a kiss. I couldn't remember the last time I had kissed a woman on top of me. It was years perhaps. Her tongue felt nice, new and unfamiliar.

She reached down and held my penis, and with a little wriggle of her bum, guided me in. It was slow careful work.

And felt marvelous, like easing a ship into port, securing up at the dock with a steadying rope. Her channel was moist, warm and gripping. I felt at home. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Clare staring intently at us, our joining. What must she be feeling? Jealously for the sensations each of our genitals might have? Or was she just taken by the visuals? Glad that we would be enjoying ourselves?

Rita lay on top for me for some time while we kissed. Her loose hair came down around my flanks, felt soft and light. But a little squeeze of her groin and we were off.

She raised up a little, watched my face while she slid her body up and down on me, my penis never quite slopping out, although it came close a couple times. Clare took the opportunity to squeeze Rita's closest breast.

There was no way I was going to last very long like this however, and I felt my sperm begin to build up pressure.

Rita seemed to sense this, stopped her moving and lay quietly on top of me, her breathing, like mine grown shallow and elevated. Clare had put a hand on Rita's bum, and then her fingers drifted down to our confluence.

I felt fingers stroking my testicles. It was marvelous, but involuntarily I began to push into Rita.

That started the final crisis. I pushed, Rita met me, Clare's fingers squeezed and fondled my balls until I no longer could hold out.

Five good pushes, each one a tad less than the one before, and I had sent sperm home into my top-mate.

She lay on top of me for a bit while we both gathered ourselves. She had not climaxed, although her arousal had been obvious.

Clare leaned over for a kiss to her love, then turned slightly and I got one too. Her lips were wet, and a tongue darted inside my mouth briefly.

"Sweet," she murmured, to both of us I believe. "You guys look nice together."

Rita slid herself off me, my penis slopping out in a dreadful wet mess. She'd slipped in between Clare and me and they managed a cute little cuddle together. For the first time in the evening I felt left out, but that was fine. I was able to see two handsome women, married women even, caress each other only inches away.

I watched, enchanted, at their lovemaking. It was not hurried, but Clare buried her hand into Rita's mons and worked a finger or two. They kissed, Rita rubbed Clare's breasts, nibbled her ear. Hands went up and down bodies in a way both familiar and soothing.

It wasn't long before Rita was on her back, panting a bit while Clare rummaged her notch, which would have been slippery wet with my sperm as well as Rita's own fluids.

Rita's hips pushed alternately into Clare's hands, then back on the bed. Her hips trembled and breathing grew frantic. With a quiet cry, Clare's hands pushing furiously now, her body tensed and she let loose with a series of exhalations. Hip quiverings, legs clenching, it was like watching Pacific Ocean waves crash onto a California shore.

I lay back while they embraced, a visitor into a love den.

After a time, Rita rose and visited the bathroom. Clare and I were face to face, each of our hands tracing routes along the other's body.

"Okay?" She asked. Unnecessary.

I nodded, desperately wanting to feel her groin. "May I touch?"

"Just my fur, please, no further."

I slide a hand down into the tangle. It was smooth, silky, I wished for a face full of it, but was interrupted by Rita's reappearance.

We maneuvered Clare into the middle of the bed, a combination of her awkwardly scootching over and us nudging heavy body parts into place. She looked at each of us expectantly.

So she's sprawled out between us, skinny legs straight out and lifeless. But she put a hand on each of us, turned her head first to Rita, then to me. Rita leaned in for a kiss and gave Clare's breast a rub, and then I did the same. The notion of symmetry entered my brain and we had a little alternating snogfest whilst each of Clare's breasts got attention as well.

Her nipples grew serious erect and stimulation seemed to please her.

We moved down her body with little kisses and tonguings, and I noted that Rita stopped about navel level.

A hand on each breast, we went to work on each side of her until she was squirming from side to side, as much as she could move. We kissed with lips and licked at her skin.

I had no idea of what to expect, she'd said she couldn't' orgasm so there wasn't going to be any clue as to what was satisfying, if it was that at all, and I just plain wouldn't know when to leave off.

Luckily I could just follow Rita's lead, and we gave Clare a good workover. She did get sweated up and breathing certainly grew quick and shallow with our administrations.

Finally, we both just settled in next to her, back where we started, a little deep graceful kiss offered to each of us in turn.

Clare, in a most delicate and desultory sort of way, put a hand to each of our nethers. Rita got quiet rubs, my balls got a caress and soft stroking.

So this was crip sex. I have no idea whether this was the norm, or whether things were different for different folks, but that's how that night worked. I would like to say this part was satisfying, but really couldn't at that point anyway. I just hoped that Clare was pleased. We rearranged ourselves so the women were at each side of the bed.

So I dropped off to sleep sandwiched between two beautiful women. A warm, soft memorable event.

There's that common old trope, of waking up in a strange sleeping place and not knowing where you are. That was not my experience the next morning. I knew exactly where I was and who I was sleeping next to. Clare's soft breathing sounds reached my left ear, and my erection was pressing into Rita's bum furrow. We were three spoons in a bed, Clare right behind me.

My awakening must have nudged Rita awake as well for she stirred. She reached around with a hand and felt my morning excitement.

Clare shifted as well, our movements entering her own consciousness. Rita seemed to sense Clare's awareness and spoke. The words went over me, felt like I was some invisible entity between them.

"Look what I found, Clare. An erect penis! Here in bed with us."

Clare made a muffled snorting noise and her hand reached around as well. Each of them begin little rubbing motions.

"They're always so insistent in the morning," said Clare.

"I'd forgotten that too," replied Rita. It was like I wasn't even there.

Rita turned to face me, then retreated down my body to put lips over the head of my penis.

A few minutes of suckling got Clare animated".

"Hey, no fair hogging the treats, Rita."

Clare urged me onto my back. She scooted down and took my penis in her mouth.

For maybe ten delightful minutes the two took turns with me, first one set of lips over my penis, while the other worked my balls, then an exchange.

I am not sure I have ever had such a novel awakening before.

They paused to talk over my penis, again I had the feeling that I was purely an ancillary bit of their connection.

"Let me finish, Rita. When he gives his final exhortations today at conference close, I want to be able to remember that his sperm was in my mouth first thing this morning."

The result was immensely satisfying. Rita got me close enough I had to pull away, which Clare sensed.

So it was the "wheelchair wench" who brought me off. She took the full force of my morning discharge, six good spurts worth, and nursed at my penis for long enough to become uncomfortable.

We untangled ourselves and attended to bathrooms and dressing and preparing for the day. Rita had rolled Clare's wheelchair over to the bed, and I watched how the transfer from bed to chair went, Clare hoisting herself with remarkable timing and dexterity into her chariot.

Finally dressed, I looked at my watch.

"I've got an Eight AM breakfast meeting with Helena Wainwright from the University of San Diego. She'll be hosting the conference next year."

"I think we should say our goodbyes now," said Clare, not yet fully dressed but with a long skirt and smooth white top on.

"Aren't you staying for the closing luncheon?"

"Afraid not. Hotel checkout is eleven, and we've got a drive up the coast planned for today. Take a couple days since Rita has never seen the Oregon beaches. In the good old days, I would have liked her on the back of my motorcycle, hugging those Route One curves next to the Pacific, but those halcyon days are over."

She took in the expression on my face.

"You'll be swamped with conference folks giving their own thanks and giving their own goodbyes. This way we get to do it properly."

I couldn't entirely fault this logic. Perhaps it added to the illicit nature of our encounter.

"Don't worry. We'll hear you give your hand-off address. Look for us with our travel luggage near the Arcata room exit. You'll catch my dizzy smile at your final words and grasp the hermeneutics of it all."

So we exchanged hugs, I confess awkwardly, my first to someone in a chair, and changed into a new shirt at my room and getting in a quick shave before stumbling down to breakfast. I felt disheveled, even though the bathroom mirror told me otherwise. Why does it always feel that everyone can tell what you've just done, even if they weren't around as witness?

I wandered, in a bit of a daze, although with a warm inner glow radiating from my loins, down to the Arcata room for breakfast and grabbed a couple scones to go with my Assam.