Sling

I grab the headboard and roll onto my side. My complete lack of legs affords me little in the usual ability once done with ease. Pushing against the sheet until upright, I look around the room.

"Morning Yae," Mark says matter of factly as returns from the bathroom. Pausing by the balcony door, he watches the surf crash against the white sands and the luscious bikini clad women strolling casually through the remains of the waves receding back where they came from.

Still undressed, I swing myself onto the cushion of my wheelchair and roll beside him. My hand strokes his thigh and across his hip. "You wish I was still like them, don't you."

He continues to watch the women, probably even the same one I watch - the one with a black thong bottom against nicely tanned skin. Her firm young breasts overflow the matching top. He sighs and I understand his answer. It has been coming for a while and I have struggled with the thought he will leave me. I had hoped this weekend at the coast would help. We had even arrived separately so we could pretend it had been a chance meeting filled with wild passion.

There had been talk for months before my trip for the amputations about why. He never 'got' my need to take such drastic action. The fact that I had to make the trip to Bangkok alone told me that the relationship wasn't going to last. After my return, he made love to me twice, almost begrudgingly, as if a duty, and not because he wanted me. He didn't even bother to kiss me everywhere as he used to love to do, as I loved him to do.

My hand rubs softly over the back of his boxers and inside the leg opening as I think about how I had taken to satisfying my own needs, and how he might never be inside of me again.

"It's over, isn't it?" I quiz as a tear forms. Emotions are uncontrollable and the floodgates soon open. I roll away and begin to dress, not wanting to hear the answer. He stares straight ahead in silence.

I fluff the empty piece of my short skirt in front of me and wiggle to get comfortable on the cushion before asking again. Still there is no answer. Pausing briefly at the door, I turn the chair towards him. "Sorry." The tears blur everything. The door clicks shut behind me and I roll towards the elevator.

As I stow each wheel then the chair into my car, I consider what to do next. A successful author for a dozen years, I can write anywhere. I have money.

The wind blows though the open car widow as I pull away from the hotel parking lot. I think about how I enjoyed the few weeks in Bangkok, I had been born there of Thai parents. After moving away, I had kept my name, both first and last - Yae Cowen. My features had been one of the things that had attracted Mark to me. He loved short, slender, Asian women. I was like that. I still am, just I have no legs.

-

Jen, the wife in the apartment next door, and I are casual friends and have coffee once a week for 'women talk', sometimes more often. I'd confided about the growing distance with Mark, but not the truth about my legs. She, like other women I'd known, was unhappy with her husband. We'd hugged, kissed, necked some, and on occasion, we did more. Now she helps me fill a few boxes and store them a rented storage unit, throw other things in the garbage. I am not a 'collector' of things. It only takes a few hours.

I laugh aloud as I think about the lack of shoes, socks, and stocking or even pants or jeans I've packed as I wave backing out of her driveway. I had promised to write. I will.

Heading west towards the ocean, traffic is light for the next few hours. Sleep and hunger eventually overtake me as night quickly fills the sky. A restless night in a crummy motel after a crummy meal does little to change that. Breakfast is not much better, but I feel free.

Driving north for most of a day, the shore changes from flat sandy beaches of brown sand into rough rocky cliffs with waves crashing up high in loud pounding surges. The road winds and twists though dense forests. Daylight is fading and I am tired as I leave the small village of Sea Crest. Ahead on the left is a sign for a bed and breakfast. I question if it is accessible. Usually they aren't. I even drive past without checking. At the last moment, a wheelchair ramp up to the large wide veranda of the older two-story Victorian home becomes visible. A few dormer windows peak from the steep roof as though there may be a third story. I make a hasty u-turn and pull into the parking area.

The ramp has a shallow slope and it is easy to make my way to the large front door. Inside, there is no counter, but rather a wooden desk in a parlor. A fireplace with a small fire crackles nearby. The man sitting behind the desk looks up and smiles a welcoming smile. "We officially closed for the season yesterday," he says. "I haven't put up the sign." My frown and disappointed look prompt him to say, "I can give you a good rate on a good room if you don't mind that we won't be serving any meals."

"That would be great. I was hoping to stay for a few days, maybe a week."

"I can do that." He hands me a sheet of paper laminated with clear plastic like a menu. Each room has the name of a famous author - Melville, Hawthorne, and so on. He sees the expression on my face. "It seemed like a good idea once."

"I'm an author. It's cool. Which room looks out to the ocean? I was hoping the sounds of the surf might inspire my writing." I laugh.

"That would be the Melville. The Thoreau looks out to the large trees." He chuckles.

He is missing his right hand. With the other, he pushes the registration form towards me. I say nothing as I write.

"All of the downstairs rooms are wheelchair accessible including the bathrooms," he casually remarks.

It is something I just assumed. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have offered me a room I could not get into. "Remarkably nice," I say as I push the form back. "So many B&B's aren't."

"When I bought the place and turned it into an Inn, it seemed like a good idea ... like the names for the rooms." He laughs. "I rarely get anyone that needs that."

"I'm glad I can make it worthwhile." I smile, wondering if there is more that he is not telling me.

He carries my bag and laptop from the car and shows me down a hallway to a large bedroom with the bath off to one side. A queen bed covered with a white quilt is against one wall. Pushed against another wall is a desk, a window looking out to the ocean is centered over the desk. Next to the desk is a wide door that opens onto a veranda. A large fan hangs from the high ceiling, the blades now still for the season.

"This is wonderful. I love the wallpaper and decorations. All of the right period."

"My room is down the hall, number seven, if you need anything." He points with the handless arm. "I usually close up about eight."

"Maybe I'll go back towards town. I saw a cafe. I'll be back before eight."

-

The cafe door slams shut behind me and a metal bell jingles. A single person, a large woman, sits at a table in the center of the room, eating. The fabric of her worn dress stretched tight so that every roll of her body shows. The waitress suggests I sit anywhere and hands me a menu.

"Hey!" the large woman yells. "No use eating alone." Her hand waves me towards her. Reluctantly, I go in that direction.

Pushing a chair out of the way, I park my wheelchair. She studies me intently. "You're 'not' from around here, are-e you?" she says in a voice with a strong accent, American south I guess, but say nothing about it. "Dottie's the name," she roars in a loud voice.

"Yae," I say softly, wondering if she understands what I've said. I consider spelling my name for her, but don't, instead just offer a smile.

"Hamburger, fries, Coke," I tell the waitress. She shakes her head and mentions they only have Pepsi and ice tea. I frown and order ice tea. Happy with my order, the waitress leaves.

"Commies," Dottie whispers. "Not serving Coke ah-h Co-la-a should be a crime. It is back home in Atlanta." She forks a large bite of apple pie into her mouth then some vanilla ice cream. I watch her full mouth move as she chews. "Where 'you' from?" she says, drawing the word 'you' out as she swallows.

"I was born in Bangkok."

"Bang Cock-k ... that always sounds so nasty."

I am tempted to correct her, but know it will be futile. Anyway, she continues before I can say anything.

"Gus, up at the Inn, I suspect that's where you're staying since you're crippled and in that wheelchair, well he was going to marry some Asian woman ... Ping, Pang, names all sound the same to me. Only she didn't want to marry anyone. She was in a wheelchair. No legs, just like you. She went to some foreign country and had them cut off 'cause she wanted it done. Ain't that the queerest thing?"

I was already pissed at the woman, now my rage is uncontrollable. The waitress puts the oval shaped red basket containing my food in front of me, trapping me for a while longer in the company of the dreadful person. I eat in silence, occasionally glaring at Dottie.

"Ah, did I say anything wrong?" Dottie eventually asks with a shrug of both shoulders. She pushes her empty plate away and dabs at her lips with the napkin leaving a smudge while I do not feel compelled to mention.

"I guess you don't realize how offensive a pig you are!" My voice is louder than expected and Dottie lets a harsh grunt escape her mouth followed by some remark I think has to do with me going back where I came from. I am so angry I no longer hear anything she says. The waitress storms over to see what is wrong just as Dottie waddles towards the door.

The door slams shut and the waitress says, "You told her good ... 'bout time someone did." She angrily grabs Dottie's ticket and money. "Dinners on me tonight." I glance at the nametag - Renee. She chuckles then walks into the kitchen.

-

My stomach is upset, but full, as I roll down the hall to my room. A light filters under Gus's door and goes out as my door opens. Soon the glow of my laptop screen bathes my face as I read the last few paragraphs written days ago. My mind, cluttered from Dottie, seems unable to find new words to write. Closing the computer, I sigh.

The trees bend slightly from the offshore wind and the full moon passes the zenith illuminating the area behind the Inn. I remove my clothes to rid myself of the greasy aroma of the cafe and pull on just a man's sleeveless white undershirt.

A rear veranda faces the ocean and the boards creak as the wheelchair wheels roll over them. There is no ramp off as there is in front. It is too far to the bottom step and the ramp would be too steep. I park and listen to the surf crashing far below the cliff.

The cool breeze makes me consider going back inside to change into a sweater, but a door closes and Gus sits on a bench nearby. "This is why I bought the place ... nights just like this." His voice is soft, soothing.

"I could live here forever," I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

The distance between my chair and the bench remains and we separately watch the moon and the ocean.

"I had the 'joy' of meeting Dottie," I say with a large dose of sarcasm.

"Bitch," he says harshly under his breath. We sit in silence for a few minutes. The lights of a freighter travel south. A small patch of fog briefly obscures the ship's lights. "I suspect it was 'cause of her that Ming moved away."

"It sounds like she was in a wheelchair."

"Yes. She was missing both legs ... not when we met, but later. She was a dream woman, beautiful like you."

"Thanks, you're sweet to say that."

"It's true. Where are you from?" He leans back and crosses his legs.

"Bangkok. I moved from there when I was young. My parents moved back when I started college. There were some hard feelings.

We begin another period of silence and I roll closer, leaving my wheelchair parked facing him. He acknowledges what I've done with a large smile and adjusts his position on the bench slightly.

"Beautiful," he whispers, looking at me more closely.

I move a little on the cushion and the undershirt works it way up on one side. I do nothing to pull it back into place.

He smiles and nods. "Her stumps were like that, well there was some thigh left," he whispers softly and I almost don't hear him. "I met her on a trip. We fell crazy in love. White hot sex...." He stops and covers his mouth with his stump. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's okay. I was in love like that not long ago. He had a thing for Asian women, you know, short, slender, long black hair." I run my fingers through my hair a few times and model teasingly for him.

"Yeah-h. Makes me hot when you do that."

"Mark got that way until I had my legs off. I thought he understood. He didn't. Afterwards, we only had lousy sex, only twice."

"God-d, I didn't mind her afterwards. It fueled the fires ... a lot. My hand was gone before I met her. She thought it was cool. She'd hold my stump like a hand when we walked."

He stands then walks to the railing on the veranda and leans against a column. The stump rubs his lips a few times then hangs along side him. I roll closer, take the stump in both hands, and cuddle it.

"It's a nice stump, you know." I look up at him and smile.

"Yeah-h. Most people don't understand."

"What?"

"How a stump can be 'nice'." He chuckles. "For the longest time before, I dreamed about having it. She understood."

"I do too."

"It didn't take long for Ming to confess her fascination with it. She told me about how she wanted to not have legs. We got her a wheelchair." He stops and looks at me as if questioning should he continue. I nod. "We found her a doctor. I made sure she could get around in every room, at least the ones downstairs. I'd carry her upstairs sometimes. The view up there is nicer. I thought we'd never part." He sniffs a few times and wipes his stump over the right eye.

"I understand ... exactly."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. I 'had' my legs off. I hoped he'd stay. He didn't. Not having my legs was far more important."

I rub my hand along the back of his thigh and over his hip a few times before holding his stump again. For a moment, he looks at me before leaning enough to kiss my lips lightly. I quickly return the kiss, rubbing the tip of my tongue against his lips. A warmth rushes over me and I tug at his arm stump while tipping my head towards the door to my room.

"Ah," he mumbles, then follows.

"Leave the door open so we can hear the waves," I tell him, as I move to the bed and begin pulling the undershirt up. He watches and I see a bulge forming in his trousers. I motion with a hand and he steps a little closer, unsure of himself.

"Gus, don't you want too?"

"I still hurt."

"'We' won't soon enough." I snicker, unbuckling the belt and ripping at the zipper. A second later the pants and boxers are around his ankles and the erection points at me.

"Baby-y," I moan. "Great one." I smile and peck a kiss at the large smooth skin over the head. Suckling the head and rubbing my hand over his balls, it swells even more.

"Arrg," he grunts.

A healthy amount slips into my mouth. Lying back with a hand behind his head, legs draped over the edge of the bed, his stump rubs the small of my back. I shift my position so my hips are beside his face as I continue to rub my lips along his shaft. His stump rubs along my slit a few times before I feel his lips kissing there.

-

I awake with the early morning light and Gus is still asleep beside me. The back of his naked body curls nicely against mine. I savor its warmth as my lips kiss the base of his neck.

"Huh?" he grunts, not remembering where he is or that we slept together.

My arm slithers over his side and the hand roams his chest as my lower body rubs his hips.

"Morning darling," I coo between kisses. My fingers curl around his erection and stroke a few times.

"Nice way to start the day."

"What, better than jacking it yourself?" I snicker, but continue.

"Hmmm, not as good as having it inside you." He twists against me and rolls me onto my back then slips easily in.

"Baby-y," I moan as his long slow strokes begin. His mouth sucks my tongue into his and I relish the way his thighs drape past the rounded mounds that are my hips without thighs. The sloshing grows louder with each stroke, yet each pass is measured and patient.

"Where have you been?" He raises himself slightly on out stretched arms to look down into my face.

He rolls me onto his lap, still impaled, and stands, and then carries me around the room rocking me along his chest. "You're so light," he whispers into my ear as one hand holds my hips and the arm stump wraps my waist.

"Ah-h," I moan. The sneaker orgasm overtakes me as do surprise waves that wash people out to sea from the beach. Never has anyone carried me while making love. The feelings are intense. "Ah-h," I repeatedly moan as he casually strolls though the room. Out the back door onto the veranda we go, me still moving up and down his shaft. The cool ocean breeze washes over us and my climax peaks again, or begins anew. I am not sure which. Whatever is happening, it should never stop.

"Ah-h," I begin repeating more rapidly and soon it is over. "Oh god-d, Gus ... fantastic."

"I surprised myself." He laughs as he continues pumping himself inside me. He comes and it drains from me.

"I might make you carry me everywhere," I tease.

He leans against a column, still holding me, and we share the view of the ocean. I peck a few kisses on his cheek and leave a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you provides these services for many of your guests?"

He laughs. "Only the beautiful legless ones." He laughs again. "Are you up for sharing a shower?"

-

I am still slightly damp as he sits me on the bed and kisses the top of my head before standing and taking a long look. "Be right back," he says and leaves. I move to my wheelchair and roll about the room to find clothes to wear then back to the bed to dress. A short black skirt and loose fitting light blue blouse with no under clothes leaves me presentable for the day.

"Hey-y," Gus sings as he enters the room, dressed casually. He flips a canvas sling over his neck and shoulder. A big grin covers his face.

"What's that?" I quiz, rolling closer then stroking his thigh.

He leans down and picks me up, pulling the skirt off and wrapping part of the sling over my hips. "So I can carry you." He finishes adjusting it with me against him. My face is next to his and he extends his lips slightly.

"This is actually comfortable," I say before accepting his lips. My hand rests on his neck. "Will you be my personal Sherpa?" I chuckle.

"If you want. I can't believe how light you are."

"Probably seventy pounds. I was only four-ten before...." I give him a slightly longer kiss. "Did you carry her like this?"

"Some. She was taller and heavier ... she also didn't like being carried."

"It probably made her feel too 'crippled'."

"That what she said."

"Well Gus, I think it's sweet. I just don't want to hurt you."

"We can try it around the house."

"Would you want to carry me out in public?"

He gazes into my eyes for a moment and nods. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you." He pecks at my lips a few times and we say nothing as he carries me to the kitchen. "I can make us some breakfast."

"Hmmm, I can help. I feel like I'm grafted to you." I laugh. "Maybe I'm twisted a little too much in the wrong direction to be of much help."

He places me on a chair at the oak kitchen table and hangs the sling over the chair back. "Later," he whispers.

I watch him step away and open the refrigerator, taking eggs and other ingredients out. "Scrambled or fried?" He asks, his back to me, as he puts the skillet on the gas cook top and twists a knob.

"Yeah," I tease.

"That's the way I like them too."