It Only Took a Second

She cooed and groaned with my attention, tousling my hair with her fingers as I tongued her firming nipples and nuzzled my face into her soft mounds. It'd been such a long time since I'd been allowed to touch her intimately, let alone give her my mouth, and I was engorged in an instant. We kissed more passionately than we had since the accident.

But, then... I made a mistake.

I slipped my hand into her pajama bottoms to touch her between her legs. Her physical arousal was unmistakable, which gave me a thrill. I removed my hand so I could taste and smell her. I broke our kiss to do just that.

She watched me for a few seconds, then began crying and gently pushing me away. I didn't understand. In our first six months of marriage, she never had a problem with me doing that. It pleased her that I not only enjoyed her flavor and scent, but sought it out.

"What , Kales? What'd I do ?" I begged.

She cried for a few moments. "I can't feel it," she said and sobbed. "I didn't even know I was... I couldn't feel you touching me, Steven! I want you so bad, but I... I can't !"

It was over.

The tender interlude ended, and I stroked her hair until she slept. I stayed awake with blue balls.

I didn't press. Pressing often ended in greater frustration. I wasn't invited to her breasts again. The frustration my wife felt at the lack of her ability to enjoy my touch below her waist became a barricade for us both.

I'd reached the end of my ability to deny my craving as I leaned against the desk that one evening.

I know. I was selfish. I physically needed her, and I emotionally craved the closeness of my spouse's embraces, but I'd arrived at the point where, to put it bluntly, I needed release. The wet dreams I'd begun experiencing again weren't helping.

I was looking at the poster-size enlargement of one of our wedding photographs which hung on the wall in our home office. It was the most beautiful one of the entire set.

The stress of the wedding day, with its hustle and bustle, the logistics, and all the other stuff prevented me from experiencing the moment and cementing certain things in my memory, and I--we both were so happy to have such photographs.

In that particular one, we were standing on the spot. We were where we'd said our vows not fifteen minutes earlier. The sun was in its "Golden Hour," the magical minutes before dusk, when colors reach the pinnacle of warmth, and shadows become diffuse and soft.

We were clutching each other's hands, standing almost chest-to-chest. The diamond in her ring caught a sunbeam and glinted. The sparkles in my new bride's eyes were brighter yet, and our smiles complimented the warmth of the surroundings. Our gazes were intently focused on each other. Absolute love and joy poured from the frame.

My bride was just simply... she was gorgeous . She was ravishing in her simple yet stunning knee-length white silk gown which clung to her perfectly formed figure. In profile, her body exhibited the gentle swells of her bottom and the smooth, sleek lines of her tummy and calves. Her skin appeared tanned and golden in the sun. Her breasts, though hidden by silk, roared into my mind's eye.

My wife aroused me even in only two dimensions. Before I knew it, I was feeling quite good with myself in my hand. I thought about how she encouraged me to touch her between her legs, feeling the coarse, arousal-moistened fur of her vulva. I smelled and tasted the evidence of her arousal on my fingers. In a soft, very sensual voice, she'd asked me to enter her with a finger. Her warm, wet, velvety vagina gripped it snugly.

I remembered the sensation of her hand atop the fly of my pants, carefully exploring my hidden erection, finding its length, and cupping the fullness of my scrotum. I remembered the delight I felt when Kaley fully revealed her feminine mysteries to me after our ceremony, making us tardy for the reception. I remember thinking in those moments that our bond would be unshakable and unbreakable.

The array of intense memories played on the screen in my mind and my orgasm arrived. And, of course, so did my wife through the door.

Despite the awkward moment and the aborted replay of it to her as we settled into bed, the next morning was completely routine.

She'd been able to shower by herself for a while, much to her own satisfaction, because she didn't like to be naked in the same room with me unless absolutely necessary.

Yes, it was one of her new hang-ups. After she was discharged from the hospital and short-term recovery facility after the accident, I was, of course, her primary caregiver. I helped her to the toilet and cleaned her up. I helped if she needed to change a soiled undergarment. I aided her bathing. I aided her dressing. I helped her with everything she needed until her independence was regained and she no longer required assistance with such matters.

She didn't like me to see her naked unless something required it. She believed the eight-inch-long scar along her back disgusted me. She also thought, since the toned musculature of her runner's legs had faded somewhat, she was no longer feminine and attractive.

The god's honest truth was the narrow wrinkle of reddish-colored scar tissue from below her tailbone to the small of her back did not detract from her beauty in my eyes at all. To me, it was no more a blemish than a pimple. A glimpse of her bare body in appropriate contexts would give me a raging erection in moments, and then even that was denied to me.

I decided that day that something had to give. And I figured it might as well be me. I decided to "man-up" and ask for advice.

I registered a Reddit account, joined a subreddit similar to the "Partners of the Paralyzed" forum, and posed a question to which I'd seen others get close, but not clearly ask.

"My wife suffered a severe disc-prolapsing injury about a year ago causing partial S1/L5-3 incomplete SCI. It happened six months after we were married. She's improved quite a bit and is now able to walk short distances again on crutches. A few weeks ago, she gave all the signs of desire for physical intimacy for the first time since the accident, but it seriously freaked her out. Though she was both mentally and physically aroused, she couldn't feel much.

"When she found she couldn't feel me touch her, she decided it was impossible. She's cut me off from even looking at her body because she's ashamed of the scar on her back from the spinal surgery and she's gained a few pounds because she can't exercise the way she used to. She and I loved to run. She thinks she's repulsive and doesn't believe me when I tell her otherwise.

"I'm desperate for my wife's affection. We're both 25. Other than her injury, my wife is in very good health."

Within only an hour, replies started coming in.

"Go find a fuck-budd--" Deleted .

"What do you look like and where do you live--" Deleted .

"No BJ's or even HJ's? Divorce her. Life's too short for that shi--" Deleted .

"If she can't feel nothin, fuck her when she's asleep--" Deleted !

Over, and over, and over !

I abandoned Reddit as well as the gmail account I'd used for it.

I went back to the forum I'd first joined and posted an abbreviated version of my plight. The responses were much more humane and sane, though it took about a week to receive some.

Talk with her. Tell her. Be candid, honest, and up front with her. Might not work, but it's a start.

Three or four responses were of that sort.

If she didn't feel gentle touches, try a vibrator or other toys. The more intense sensations might make a big difference. Since her injury level is well below T6, autonomic dysreflexia shouldn't be a concern, but she should check with her doctor first.

Instead, I asked her doctor.

He said, "Her condition is improving remarkably, and, quite frankly, it surprises me. At this point, I won't place an upper bound on her prognosis because recovery from incomplete SCI is always impossible to predict. You're exhibiting proper caution to ask, but I believe the risk of AD from genital stimulation or intercourse in her case is marginal. You have obviously studied some literature, so be watchful anyway."

Then I received an e-mail from the lady. She wrote a book as a response. In summary, it read:

I don't know you personally, and of course, I don't know anything more about your wife than you've told us. But I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you what worked for me with my husband.

Let me begin by saying this: You have absolutely no idea what she's going through emotionally.

Your spouse has no idea what you are going through. I do because I've been there, but she hasn't been where you are. And you haven't been where she is.

I also think you're smart enough to know how us women and you men are wired differently emotionally, so this might not help. I can't tell you if it'd work for me if the situation between my husband and I were reversed and I was the one who'd been injured in the wreck instead. But I hope he'd try.

Here goes.

I had my way with him, simple as that. I got him into bed as I always had before, and I told him I was going to "eff" him whether he wanted it or not because I loved him and I needed him and I wanted him and I would try to meet his needs any way I could but I was going to take care of my own needs first.

Guys with such an injury can still have what is called a reflex erection, as could my husband. He couldn't reach a climax but I treated him as if he could. I spent a few hours looking things up after reading your post, and females are similar in response. Not identical, but similar. You said she exhibited responses to arousal, and that's important.

My hubby was a little put off. But then I reminded him that he's my husband and still my only lover and it's still his job to attend to me and I needed to know he still loved me even though his plumbing was out of commission and that I'd give him any kind of attention he could stand until we found what works. I reminded him that my physical desire of him and his physical attention to me was hugely important to me and I needed him and only him.

Toys and aids are one thing. But they're no substitute for the physical bond of marriage.

I'll tell you it worked for me. It worked for us. We are finally settling into a balance as he continues to improve. I'll tell you he enjoys experimenting.

I'm sorry if this is rude, but is your wife a vain person? If so, she may need some psychological counseling to move her past that.

I sent a simple reply:

"Thank you. This is a ton of information to absorb, and I appreciate you giving your time to relate your experiences. Seriously, thank you!"

I could hardly believe what I'd read. Yes, I understood what she meant when she wrote that men and women are wired differently. I would have thought any man would be thrilled with a woman who would take the lead like that, but I could also imagine such an event being repellent because a man's perceived loss of ability would be a deeper wound to his masculinity than for a woman to her femininity, but I only had my own frame of reference, thus I had no way to really know with any certainty. Men and women are from Mars and Venus, right?

Her question about my wife's vanity startled me, though. In my mind, it stretched the bounds of incredulity. I never imagined Kaley to be a vain woman. It didn't make sense.

Kaley had never exhibited what I thought would be typical signs. She didn't spend hours primping in front of a mirror. Her wardrobe, though stylish and trendy, was acquired frugally and sensibly. She had maybe a dozen pairs of shoes of various forms. She didn't spend more than the average woman having her hair cut or nails done, and never wore more than simple jewelry or accessories.

If she was vain, I never sensed it. No. Vanity wasn't it.

I started working on a plan. I decided I was going to throw caution to the wind. I wanted my wife to be totally and completely assured that she was not only desirable, but was still completely desired by the man she'd married.

I wanted to bed my lover again. It was as simple as that. I wanted to experience the indescribable closeness and connection that can only be shared between us in lovemaking.

If I had to press, I decided I would. I also decided I'd wait until the time was right, because there were, apparently, misunderstandings which needed to be addressed.

Another month passed.

She'd had a particularly rewarding day at therapy. It was one of several where she stood and walked to the work area without needing her crutches. Her therapist had refocused and redoubled his efforts away from purposefully inciting baton beatings to strengthening her core, which included balance, leg exercises, and more.

I invited him for a beer that evening as a token of my respect and admiration of his persistence.

"Steve, your wife is the toughest, strongest, and driven person I've worked with in a number of years. I'm beginning to think she could completely recover from this."

"You sure?" I asked.

"Of course not. I'm not her doctor. But I work with all sorts of folks like her, and your wife, just between you and me, is much further along than I thought she'd ever get. Do you know what's driving her?"

"I really don't know. I wish I did."

"It's you, Steve. You are," he said, very evenly, before he drank a swig from his longneck.

"Yeah, okay." I scoffed in dismissal.

"Seriously. Listen to me, okay?

"You've always stayed in the work area when I've worked with Kaley. That is, until two weeks ago. That day, when you ran errands or whatever you did while she was working with me, she told me the moment you walked out the door that she's pressing herself because she knows you expect it."

I stared at him. "I thought it was just because she's strong-willed."

"She is. Very. But she's got a goal somewhere in her head which she hasn't reached yet. And if you're that goal, don't let her down. Keep dangling the carrot, or whatever it is, in front of her, because it's working."

"I'll drink to that," I offered. He clanked the neck of his bottle against mine.

A few more months elapsed before I felt the time was right.

Her crutches had barely been touched in weeks. Though she would occasionally wince from a sudden slash of pain, she was able to move more easily through the house on her own feet. On really good days, I could see hints of her former gracefulness in her movements. But what was even more important to me was how her soulful happiness had made a marked comeback.

At the end of a particularly fulfilling day at work, she informed me she was going to take a shower, and I followed her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm going to take a shower with you."

"No, you aren't," she countered with a chuckle.

"Yes, I am."

"I don't need you in here," she said as we entered the master bathroom.

"I don't care. I want to be with you, and I insist. Your husband is going to enjoy a relaxing hot shower with his wife whether she needs him or not."

"Well, then, I won't take one tonight."

"Listen to me. You're my wife , Kaley. You should know beyond a shadow of any doubt that I love you, and I want to be with you. Come on. I'm joining you."

She looked at me with curiosity in her eyes as she began to remove her clothes.

She didn't speak, but her curious expression remained as she shucked her shirt and brassiere. I didn't touch them. I only smiled broadly when I saw her bared breasts. Unlike the one along her back, for some reason, the small scar visible at her collarbone didn't concern her.

"Kales, you are such an incredibly beautiful woman," I whispered.

After she'd removed her panties, I knelt and kissed along the entire length of the scar on her back.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, sounding perplexed.

"Because I love you. I love every part of you, especially this badge of courage along your back. I'm not going to call it a scar ever again, because the word implies damage. You were horribly injured, honey, but you should never think of yourself as damaged.

"It's simply a left-over. A mark. It's a mark which proves you're an incredibly strong and brave woman who hasn't backed down in the face of an extreme challenge, and I will give it all the attention it so properly deserves," I said and kissed its full length once again.

"I've never once perceived you as narcissistic or conceited in your appearance. Is that why you don't want me to see you naked anymore?"

"No!" she quickly answered. She scowled at me for several seconds before her face softened.

"Then why? What are you ashamed of?" I prodded.

She didn't answer.

"I think you believe you've lost your appeal. Well, I can assure you that you most definitely have not. I love your badge. Though I most definitely wish you didn't need to earn it, you did, and it proves to me how tough you are. To be honest, it kind of turns me on knowing that my wife is as strong as she is," I said as I finished removing my clothes.

Kaley couldn't help but notice my aroused state.

"Whoa," she whispered.

I flexed a certain muscle. She eyed me warily as my tumescent penis bobbed. "See what I mean? Now. Come here," I said as I beckoned her into the steaming shower.

She stared at me with a little angst in her eyes.

"What are you planning to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to wash you up, make sure you're comfortable, and then... I am going to enjoy you."

I knelt to the floor of the shower with her bottle of body wash and a cloth.

"I can do it myself. I don't need your help," she protested.

"I know. Honestly, I'm doing this more for me than you. It's not like I haven't done this before, but now it's different. Since you don't need my help, you know I'm not acting as your caregiver. I'm doing this because I want to, not because you need me to. I want to simply be your husband. Your mate, Kaley. I want to enjoy having and feeling your bare body in my hands again.

"All you need to know is that I'm still horribly attracted to you and still so turned on by you. And... I want to make love to you. Does that bother you?"

"No. It's not that. But you know I can't, don't you?"

"Baby, do you remember when we were dating, I asked you why you wanted to be with me because I thought you were out of my league, and you said you'd be your own judge?"

She silently nodded.

"Well, I'll be the judge of what you can and can't do for me. All I ask of you is that you tell me if you're in pain, because I don't want to hurt you. I'm beyond any doubt that you can still please me. And, if you're patient and willing, I'm sure I can find ways of pleasing you, too."

"If I can't feel it, I don't know how you might."

"Well, let's see what happens."

Her initial objections were correct because she didn't require my assistance. She was completely able to care for herself. I decided to wait out those few additional months because I needed her to grasp in her own mind that my attention was no longer required, no longer a "job," and no longer clinical.

I needed her to fully understand my touch was not a requirement for her hygiene, but instead came from my pure desire to simply touch her, to caress the entirety of her body, to feel its shapes and forms in my hands, to experience... her .

I washed her thoroughly. I washed her hair, massaging her scalp as I did so. I offered her the soap and washcloth and "allowed" her to clean my bits and pieces. She wore a bit of a smirk as she washed my penis and scrotum, but it turned into that long-missed, wonderfully wry, sexy grin as I became erect again in her hands.