Like a Good Neighbor

We'd talked to each other about "things" earlier in the summer and I sort of thought something might happen between us, especially now that I'd seen him watching Mr. Wilson and me on the beach at night. If something was going to happen, though, it would have to be soon. Mostly, I wondered how it could be done with a guy in a wheelchair—and whether he could even do it considering what all was wrong with him.

I had been curious about Jack. He was younger and better looking than Mr. Wilson was. Sometimes while Mr. Wilson was fucking me, I was thinking about Jack. I wondered if he was able to do it or if the paralysis in his legs went up to his waist in every way. He was quite muscular in his torso, needing arm strength, I guessed, to make up for what his legs couldn't do, although he had physical training and kept his legs looking pretty good too. He was in shorts but shirtless, with a towel over his lap, and he aroused me more in physical appearance than Mr. Wilson did. It was too bad he'd been messed up in a war.

I looked out on the deck and saw the binoculars sitting on the railing. I decided to "go there."

"I see you have binoculars out," I said. "Have you been watching the activity on the beach?"

"Yes," he said. "It's about my only pastime other than the computer, and you can only live in the world of the computer for so long at a time."

"They look fancy," I said. "Do they really work well in the dark too?"

"Very well," he said. "They do have nighttime capability, yes. They were a real life-saver in Afghanistan. And even here, there are some interesting and surprising things to see at night on the beach out there."

"Like Mr. Wilson and me the other night—the night of Mrs. Murphey's bridge club?" I asked. There was a pause. "It's OK," I said, "I liked it that you might have been watching us. I don't care if you know. Was seeing us—what we were doing—doing anything for you? I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't be asking that, but I did wonder."

"Did it sexually arouse me? Am I able to be sexually aroused and to perform sexually? Did I get it up and beat it off while I was watching Wilson fuck you?"

"Well, yes. I guess those are the questions."

"The answers are yes. I sometimes beat it off when I think of just you—without Wilson being there. Is that what you want to hear—that I'd like to fuck you too?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm glad to hear that." Make of that what you will, I thought. I'd pushed the envelope on this.

"You're only eighteen, Troy," he said. "I shouldn't—"

"Mr. Wilson took care of that," I said. "I'm old enough to say yes. I can't go back to being a boy after this summer. I can't undo or unlearn what I have learned. What Mr. Wilson has done to me can't be undone."

"No, I suppose not," he said. "Would you rather you hadn't learned it?"

"I don't think I'd want to unlearn any of it, no," I said, "and I wonder what more there could be."

"What more in what way?"

"Well, I know what Mr. Wilson does. He gets into some kinky stuff. I don't know how it would be with someone else, like whether it would be even better with someone younger and better looking than Mr. Wilson is—if someone else could manage it, of course."

"So, are you asking—?"

"Yes, I guess so."

He pulled the towel off his lap and I sucked in air when I saw that he had his shorts unzipped and flared, and he'd been stroking himself with his left hand. His right arm went around my waist and held me to the side of the chair.

"You can see how it is," he said. "I can get hard." I could see that. I also, for the first time, could see that there were condom packets, a bottle of lube, and latex gloves sitting on top of the small table on the other side of his wheelchair. "If you don't want to—"

But I did want to. I leaned down and took his lips with mine in a kiss. I also brushed his hand away from his erection, grasped his cock, and took over the stroking. His left hand, now free, moved to my shorts, and he unzipped me, fished my hardening cock out, and, as we kissed, I stroked him and he stroked me.

"If we continue, I might—"

"We have plenty of time," he said. "We can do it all—if you want to, of course."

"Yes," I said. "I want to . . . oh, shit, I'm going to . . ." I came first, which gave me opportunity to turn and kneel in front of the wheelchair.

"You do this too?" he murmured.

My answer was to take him into my mouth and finish him off with a blow job.

As I finished, I reached over to the table and picked up a condom packet.

"That too? You'll give me that too?" Jack asked.

"Sure," I answered. "You've shown you can get hard and shoot off, so if you want—"

"How much of it? How much of what I've seen Wilson do with you? He's talked to me. He's told me what you'll do." He was touching the latex gloves on the table top. I understood what he was asking.

"Whatever you want. Whatever we can do," I answered.

"Maybe lunch first? Your mother said you were bringing lunch over. And then I really should have a shower. And then—"

"Yes, and then," said. We did it first in the shower. It was understood that he'd need help getting in and out of the shower, where he had a stool to sit in. It wasn't given that I would strip and shower with him, but he didn't complain. He also didn't complain that I'd brought a condom packet with me and that, while he sat on the stool, in the shower, under the cascading water, I sat on his lap, facing him, him inside me, and me rising and falling on his cock.

So, the first fuck was in his shower. That hadn't been the fuck he had asked about doing, though. We did that back out at the open sliding door looking out over the deck to the sand and ocean below. While people cavorted on the beach and in the water, the wheelchair was drawn up just within the shadow line of Jack's living room. He coaxed me down on my belly over his lap and he took his belt, looped it over, and strapped my bare buttocks with it, while the fingers of his other hand play at and in my hole.

Then he turned me to where I was sitting in his lap, my butt cheeks pressed into his paralyzed thighs, my ankles on his shoulders, my hands gripping the tips of the wheelchair's arms, and my torso arched back to the floor. Jack, wearing a greased glove on his right hand and stroking his cock with his left, had his right fist up my channel, fist fucking me. When lust and need overcame him, he pulled the fist out, replaced it with his shaft, grasped my waist between his hands and pulled me on and off his cock to an ejaculation. His torso was strong and well developed, and I enjoyed grasping his bulging biceps as he showed the strength to raise and lower me on his shaft.

All and all, it was more satisfying getting it from the younger Jack than the demanding Mr. Wilson.

Afterward, we showered together again and I rolled him out onto the deck and we passed the binoculars back and forth to see what could be seen on the beach. As the sun descended to the West behind us, lengthening the shadows on the beach while the bathers were gathering up their belongings, Jack said, somewhat wistfully, "People are coming off the beach for the night."

"Yes," I agreed.

"You'll be leaving soon too. Going back to Wilmington, I guess—and to a new school year. You're going to college?"

"Yes, I'll be down in North Carolina, at Duke, in a couple of weeks," I said. "We've already begun to pack out."

"And we . . . this . . . just started. You'll be back next summer?"

"Yes, I suppose. Well, maybe. If I can't find a better summer job somewhere, I'll be back here as a lifeguard on the beach." If we did come back, though, I wouldn't be eighteen anymore. I'd be older; I will have changed. I won't be a high school kid; I'd be a college guy, in a whole different world. I couldn't say how or what that meant. But life changed so much when you were a teenager. I felt bad about his "just started." Jack wasn't going anywhere. He lived here. Whether or not I came back next summer, he'd be here. And he'd still be in a wheelchair, paralyzed, setting by his deck, with his binoculars, watching the world go by.

"You didn't say when Darlene was coming next. Tomorrow? Or Monday?"

"Monday. I'm all alone tomorrow," he said. The way he said it sounded so bleak.

"I could tell my mother there were things you needed to have done for you tonight. I could tell her that, like a good neighbor, I've volunteered to stay the night here with you and help you with what you need. It wouldn't be a lie."

"I'd like that," he answered, his voice no longer sounding bleak. "I'd like that very much."