T

HE

M

EASURE

O

F

A M

AN

…When he asked her out to dinner, she started to agree out of

friendly habit, then stopped and looked at him.

He grinned aggressively at her. “Well?”
“I…” Alison stammered. While it wasn’t unexpected, she didn’t

feel quite ready for an official date either. She felt herself blushing and
that didn’t help.

His hazel eyes twinkled. “What did you think…that I’d been

spending all this time with you because I felt sorry for you?”

Trust Crash to bring it out in the open that way—non-hostile but

impossible to dodge. She took a deep breath. Did she feel sorry for
him? It was hard to really. No, she was still hiding from the unknown.

His fingers rested on the back of her hand. “What are you thinking,

Alison?” he asked softly.

“Can you?” she blurted out, then really blushed. “I mean…I’m

sorry…I meant….”

He squeezed her hand and the grin turned lecherous. “I know what

you meant. And you better believe it!”

THE MEASURE

OF A MAN

BY

ANN REGENTIN

A

MBER

Q

UILL

P

RESS

, LLC

http://www.amberquill.com

T

HE

M

EASURE

O

F

A M

AN

A

N

A

MBER

Q

UILL

P

RESS

B

OOK

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters,

locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination,

or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons

living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.amberquill.com

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or

reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in

writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief

excerpts used for the purposes of review.

Copyright © 2004 by Ann Regentin

ISBN 1-59279-244-8

Cover Art © 2004 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Many thanks to the wonderful folks

at ERWA for their help,

and to John and Janet Pomann

for everything.

THE MEASURE OF A MAN

His name was Walter, but they called him Crash because of the way

he handled his wheelchair. Alison never saw him earn his nickname,
but he always seemed to be on the verge of it, moving a bit too quickly,
taking corners a bit too tightly, never colliding with people or objects,
but always seeming to be on the brink of it. He was friendly, an
outrageous flirt, but it offended no one except possibly the other men in
the office, who couldn’t get away with it themselves.

The women, though, flirted back and there was a certain amount of

mock-jealousy at the attention he paid to Alison, whom he was
assigned to train.

“I don’t believe you’re spending all that time with her,” one of the

long-time auditors said with a pout, “when you have the rest of us. A
whole harem, and you pick this new girl.”

“Ah,” Crash said, putting his arm around Alison’s shoulder, “but

she’s so lovely and her very survival in this place depends on me. I
fully intend to take the basest advantage of it that I possibly can.” He

gave Alison a good-natured wink and she laughed. It was fun,
comfortable, and she found herself wishing he wasn’t in a wheelchair.

He was a good teacher, though, and he knew the job inside and out.

For a little while, he hovered at her elbow, watching her carefully. Then
he checked in periodically, going over her mistakes with her until she
got it right. When the end of her sixty days of training came, he asked
her out to lunch.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, surprised.
“You passed the review,” he said, grinning. “I think that calls for a

celebration.”

It was the beginning of a habit that stretched out over weeks, and

then months. In that time, she found out what had happened to Crash.
He’d been in a car accident fifteen years earlier, crushing his spinal
cord at the seventh thoracic vertebra. Sensation and muscle control
stopped in the middle of his body.

“My legs are dead weight,” he told her.
He played basketball. It surprised her, but he invited her to a game

and she saw why he handled his wheelchair the way he did. He was an
athlete, accustomed to a much higher level of performance than most
and with better dexterity and control. Aside from the chairs, it was like
any other amateur basketball game. Some of the men were better
players than others; some better sports. The type and level of
impairment varied, too. The only prerequisites appeared to be a certain
amount of eye-hand coordination and the use of one’s arms.

Alison sat on the bleachers with wives, children, parents, even a

girlfriend, all of whom greeted her warmly. On the sidelines was a man
in a wheelchair, watching, his eyes haunted. A woman sat next to him,
talking softly but urgently, her hand covering his. They left before the
game ended, but not before halftime, when Crash went over to him and
exchanged a few words

“Who was the guy on the sidelines?” she asked later over coffee.
“He’s only been home for a month or so,” Crash said. “His wife’s

been bringing him out to the games, trying to coax some life into him.
Actually, she’s trying to save their marriage, but I don’t think either of
them are thinking about it that way yet.”

“What’s happening?” she asked.
He looked at her. “The usual. He thinks he’s not a man anymore.

She doesn’t agree with him.”

“What did you tell him?”
“To give himself time, not to push too hard, but not to get stuck

either. There’s a process involved and we all have to go through it, but
the key word here is ‘through.’ There is an other side, and when he’s
ready and if he wants to play, we’ll have a place for him.”

“It must be hard,” she said.
“It is.”
“Is that what happened…?” She knew he was divorced, but that was

all she knew.

“No,” he said matter-of-factly. “Or rather, you’re half right. I didn’t

think I was much of a man anymore and she agreed with me. She
moved out before I got out of the hospital.”

“Oh, my God,” Alison said, appalled. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t

have asked.”

“It’s okay,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You can ask me anything.

At the time, it was awful. I wanted to die. In retrospect, though, it was
probably the best thing. She’d have been worse than no help and it was
best the marriage ended before we had kids. We hadn’t been married
very long. It was ugly, but cleaner than it might’ve been.”

“Do you regret not having had children?”
“She’s not the sort of person I really want for the mother of my

children. Which is not to say that I don’t want kids ever. I’d love to
have a family. I’m just glad I didn’t have to wrangle with her over
custody and visitation. Really, she gave me a chance to start over and
maybe get it right this time.”

“Could you have kids?” Alison was too surprised to be tactful.

“Probably,” he said. “There are issues, but as far as I know, it’s

possible.”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected that. Then again, she didn’t know

much about his type of injury.

He grinned. “Not all the kids in the bleachers tonight were

conceived before their fathers’ accidents.”

“I had no idea,” she said.
“Before the accident, neither did I.”

*

*

*

She lay in bed that night, deep in thought. Was he telling her what

she thought he was? Actually, if he’d been able-bodied, she wouldn’t
have been asking herself that. She would have figured he was interested
after the first few lunch dates.

No, before that.
She had never taken his flirting seriously, and had even participated

in some of the washroom giggling it engendered. The women in the
office spoke of him affectionately, but mostly because they considered
him less of a man. She blushed with pure shame that she was one of
them.

What had he just shown her? Part of his life outside of work. A

glimpse of the possibility an intimate life. She hadn’t been thinking of
Crash in sexual terms, and yet when he had told her why his wife had
left him, she was appalled. If you loved someone, that kind of thing
wasn’t supposed to matter.

How did she feel about Crash? Under other circumstances, she

would have gone to bed with him in a heartbeat. He was grossly
overqualified for his job, but she knew he needed to be twice as good to
get half the credit. As a woman, she could understand that problem. He
was a good man, a good person.

On and off the basketball court, he played hard but fair. He reached

out to people. He had found a way to live with the unthinkable. He had

a killer sense of humor. He was intelligent, unbelievably patient and
very honest with her, very open. He was good-looking, not in a
magazine cover way, but in a friendly, down-to-earth way. The truth
was, she was already deeply involved with him and hadn’t even
noticed.

What is the measure of a man? she wondered. If all of Crash’s

attributes were matched up with a pair of functional legs, she wouldn’t
have hesitated. So why does the disability make such a difference?

She thought of some of the things she had forgiven lovers over the

years. One man had been consistent only in his unreliability. Another
developed a coke habit and it had taken her almost a year to dump him.
Her sex life hadn’t been populated entirely by jerks, but she’d known
her fair share.

What was worse, drug abuse or a crushed spinal cord? That’s a no­

brainer. Whatever weirdness was involved in dealing with paraplegia,
no way was it as bad as dealing with a coke fiend. Surreal, yes.
Possibly gross, too, but not nearly as grim as fending off a ranting,
raving maniac at three in the morning.

She tried to imagine herself in bed with Crash and got stumped. Part

of the problem was that she couldn’t figure out exactly what he’d do.
He had full use of his hands and mouth, but what about the rest? She’d
assumed the accident had rendered him impotent, but if he could have
children, then apparently she’d assumed wrong. She was suddenly,
wildly curious. How much of his plumbing still worked?

The first time will be the hardest, she thought. She lay there

remembering what it was like to reach that peak with another person,
the flood of gratitude and devotion that followed. Yes, in the wake of
orgasm, she had forgiven much, and accepted much. In some cases, it
had been disastrous, but this…this was different. This was the sort of
thing that needed to be accepted. She was still thinking about it when
she went to sleep.

When he asked her out to dinner, she started to agree out of friendly

habit, then stopped and looked at him.

He grinned aggressively at her. “Well?”
“I…” Alison stammered. While it wasn’t unexpected, she didn’t

feel quite ready for an official date either. She felt herself blushing and
that didn’t help.

His hazel eyes twinkled. “What did you think…that I’d been

spending all this time with you because I felt sorry for you?”

Trust Crash to bring it out in the open that way—non-hostile but

impossible to dodge. She took a deep breath. Did she feel sorry for
him? It was hard to really. No, she was still hiding from the unknown.

His fingers rested on the back of her hand. “What are you thinking,

Alison?” he asked softly.

“Can you?” she blurted out, then really blushed. “I mean…I’m

sorry…I meant….”

He squeezed her hand and the grin turned lecherous. “I know what

you meant. And you better believe it!” Then his face softened. “You
want to talk about it over dinner?”

She looked at him, aware she was standing on the edge of a

precipice. Whatever this became, it would not be ordinary. She wasn’t
sure she was someone who could handle that. Then again, who went
into paraplegia thinking they could handle it? “All right,” she said.

He kissed her hand, smiling broadly. “Wonderful. I’ll pick you up

at seven.”

*

*

*

When they arrived at the restaurant, she got a taste of what things

would be like if she went got involved with him. She was used to being
with Crash in places where he was already known, but here, among
strangers, it was different. People stared. Others glanced at him and
looked away. Some ignored him so stubbornly he might as well have
been invisible. Only a few seemed to be able to accept what they saw—
a man met his eyes and nodded, and a woman smiled.

The waiter was in way over his head. He directed most of what he

had to say to Alison, as though Crash were deaf or mentally
incompetent. Crash simply responded, not exactly aggressive, but not
letting the man create his place for him either. Alison was confused and
frightened by seeing someone she knew to be an intelligent, competent
person treated as an invisible non-entity. She had no idea what to do.
Then Crash caught her eye and winked, and she relaxed. If he could
handle it, so could she.

She learned a lot that night, including the parts of the story he

hadn’t told her before. She already knew the first years had been hard
for him, but not that he’d been miserably depressed and drunk
whenever possible, very dangerous for a paraplegic. Then one day, he
flushed every bit of alcohol in the house down the toilet and called AA.

“What changed?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I only know I wanted to stay alive if I could just

figure out how.”

“You’re amazing,” she said, smiling.
He smiled but shook his head. “Not really. You live or die. It’s that

simple. I know guys who are dying the slow way, just letting their
whole selves atrophy. If they can’t have it all, they won’t have
anything. That’s how I was at first.

“But I also know a guy who can’t move anything but his head. He

controls his chair by blowing into a tube, but he’s an avid and ruthless
chess player. I also know a woman who broke her back in a diving
accident who is having a baby in two months. I want to live.”

The smile turned into a wry grin. “Actually, I’ve probably gone

overboard in the other direction. I push hard, maybe too hard. I’ve had
a few accidents and been hospitalized a few times. The doctors tell me
to be more careful, but past a certain point, I’m sick of careful.” The
wry grin turned into a laugh. “The funny thing is that I’m out there now
more than I was before the accident. I used to be cautious, only
interested if it was a sure bet. Now I’ll try anything.”

“I can’t imagine you cautious,” she said.
“I was,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Is there anything else you

want to know?”

Lots, but she didn’t know how to ask. She was dying of curiosity.

Now that she’d gotten past the initial barrier, she wanted very much to
know what he was like in bed, what he did.

“Hey,” he said, taking her hand. “We need to be able to talk. We’ll

take it as slowly as you like, but I won’t know what you need unless
you tell me.”

He’d turned the tables on her again, letting her know that,

paraplegic or not, he was still a man. She was relieved that the waiter
was ignoring them as much as possible. “I don’t know how to ask,” she
said. “I don’t want to insult or offend you.”

“You can’t,” he said. “Believe me. What do you want to know?”
“Well,” she began, “do you still get…?”
“Hard?” he finished softly, intimately.
She nodded, grateful for their quiet corner.
“Kind of. I use injections if I need them.”
She winced.
He smiled. “I don’t feel them at all and they work great. And I don’t

use them all the time…only when it’s what we both want.”

That was a new one—a man who didn’t always need an erection.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I don’t feel things the way I used to, but I feel something and it’s

very, very nice. It’s hard to explain, but it’s there.”

Fascination was starting to override embarrassment. “Can you

come?”

“Yes.”
“How?”
“Orgasm affects the whole body,” he said. “I still get that.

Nobody’s entirely sure how it works, but I’m not the only one by a
long shot. Both men and women with spinal cord injuries enjoy sex and

masturbation very much. I like sex with a partner the best, though. The
connection and sharing are so much more important. It’s not about
goals anymore. It’s about process. As long as we enjoy each other,
that’s what matters most.” He reached out and brushed her hair back
from her temple. “Ninety percent of sex is in here. I knew that before
the accident, but I actually understand it now.

“In some ways, I have an advantage. The focus is off my

performance and onto pleasure. What do you need? What do I need?
How can we make it happen? Paraplegia doesn’t lend itself well to
mad, impulsive screwing, but there are a lot of other options.”

She looked at him, assumptions scrambling for the exits. This was

not what she would have expected. What was she expecting? A man
without a functional penis was assumed to be not a man, but she’d
jumped to a conclusion thinking his penis wasn’t functional. Even still,
it was obvious that there was a great deal more to him sexually than his
penis. This did not strike Alison as a problem.

His name was Walter, and although he tolerated his nickname with

good humor, he never let himself be called Walt. It suddenly took her
breath away.

“Would you like to go?” he asked.
“Yes.” She realized suddenly that they’d been there for over two

hours and had seen neither hide nor hair of the waiter for most of it.
She looked around. He was off doing something else, his back to them,
and he made sure it stayed that way. Alison didn’t know what to do.

Walter did. He picked up his water glass and slammed it down on

the table, drawing every eye in the room, including that of the waiter,
whom he then deftly signaled.

The man came over to their table, his feet dragging visibly. “Can I

help you?” he asked Alison.

“We’d like the check please,” Walter said.
“Of course.” The waiter scurried off and returned in record time,

only to set the folder down in front of Alison. This time she wasn’t

confused, she was angry.

Walter looked at her, his eyes brimming with mischief. “Want to

give him something to think about?”

“What do you have in mind?”
“Trust me. This’ll kill him.” He put the folder on the side of the

table—his side—took her hand, and started making love to it. He kissed
her fingertips, then her fingers, then unfolded them and pressed her
hand against his cheek. His obvious pleasure affected her as much as
the touch itself. Finally, his eyes locked with hers, his lips settled in the
hollow of her palm, his tongue tickling her, tasting, and she crossed her
legs, bit her lip as the hitherto unimaginable became perfectly
reasonable and she completely forgot about the waiter.

Walter hadn’t. His eyes flickered slightly to his left and she glanced

up. The waiter was back, his face frozen in a polite mask, but behind it,
emotions were visibly seething, outrage warring with curiosity warring
with something akin to horror. Walter’s eyes were dancing wickedly.
He only let go of her hand when they got up to leave.

“Shall I take you home?” he asked once they were settled in his

van.

“No. I think it would be best if we went to your place.”
He smiled broadly, put the van into gear, and hit the accelerator a

little too hard.

By the time they got there, nerves had taken over again, but Walter

seemed to understand. “Sit down,” he said. “Would you like something
to drink?”

“A Coke. Thanks.” She knew there was no alcohol in the house,

although she was thinking she could probably use it.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and vanished into the kitchen.
She sat there wondering if she should offer to help him or if that

would be taken as an insult. She wondered how he could carry things.
When he came back to the living room, she felt like an idiot. She’d
forgotten about the tray on his wheelchair. What was she thinking?

He’d been like that for fifteen years. He could handle it.

“You’ll need to excuse me,” he said.
“All right.”
The living room looked perfectly normal except for the wheelchair

tracks in the carpet. He had a jade plant by the window and a brown
guinea pig was pulling alfalfa out of a holder in a cage in the corner.
The place was surprisingly neat, considering it was inhabited by a
bachelor, then she realized clutter would be a real hazard for him. She
wondered how much of his housework he did himself, and how much
he delegated and to whom.

Alison heard the bathroom door open and watched as he wheeled

himself down the hall. “Anything else you want to know?” he asked as
he parked facing her.

He was starting over again, his patience extraordinary, and she

realized she meant something to him. If all he wanted was sex, there
were easier ways. Courting an ignorant woman wasn’t an economical
use of time or resources. She started to relax again.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I mean, there are things, but…” She

needed to do this, to get through it and find out what was on the other
side. She took a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” he said, taking her hand. “We’ll do this at your pace.

Anytime you want to go home, just say the word.”

It was exactly what she needed; permission to back out freed her to

go forward. He was silent, waiting, and she realized that this time, the
move was hers. Was she ready? She didn’t feel ready.

She took a deep mental breath, set her untouched glass on the coffee

table and lifted his hand to her lips, feeling the strength in it. He did so
much with hands and they were callused in a way that was new to her.
She ran her finger over his palm, felt the marks left by his wheelchair,
pressed it to her cheek and closed her eyes. This felt normal…and yes,
it was a place to start. After a bit, he tilted her chin toward him, and
kissed her.

Her first thought was that if he gave head half as well as he kissed

they’d have a long future together. He used his usual combination of
patience, delicacy and assertiveness with devastating effect, the sort of
first kiss she’d always wanted and so rarely got. He started gently, let it
go hard and intense, almost bruising, and a soft moan caught in her
throat.

He had a cap on one front tooth. She hadn’t noticed when he

smiled, but her tongue found the slight edge on the back of it and got
obsessed, playing with it, feeling it scratch. His tongue pushed hers
away, she pushed back, and they both laughed, lightly, their mouths
never disconnecting. The tips of their tongues made peace, then his slid
over the roof of her mouth, a delicious, filthy promise. This time, her
moan didn’t catch; it came out low and clear.

He kissed his way to her ear. “How far do you want to go tonight?”

he whispered.

“All the way,” she said, gasping a little. Otherwise, she might lose

her nerve.

“Are you sure? There’s no rush.”
“I’m sure.”
Walter smiled and stroked her cheek. “You’re a very special lady.”
“You’re pretty special yourself.”
He rolled his eyes slightly, grinning. “Tell me about it!” But before

she could protest, he covered her mouth with his.

“Would you like to get more comfortable?” he asked after a while.
Another deep breath…it felt like stepping off a cliff. “Yes.”
He patted his lap. “Come here.”
She sat, carefully at first, but he simply pulled her in and kissed her

again. That helped. Although his legs were too thin, his upper body was
strong and solid, and she felt safe in his arms.

“Watch your feet,” he said, as he deftly turned the chair and

wheeled them both down the hall.

His bedroom furniture looked fairly normal, but it was sized for

someone who operated at a different height than usual. There was
exercise equipment in the corner. He could probably bench press me.
She wondered about the rest of him. His legs? He’d said something a
while ago about having to work with them to keep them from
atrophying and she wondered how he did it.

His bed. It was large—obviously meant to be shared—and she got

off his lap and sat on it, towards the middle so as not to be in his way.

“You look very appealing in my bed,” he said.
“Do I?” she asked, leaning up on her elbows.
“Yes. Probably lucky for you I’m in this chair. Otherwise, I don’t

think I’d be capable of any restraint at all.”

“Why restrain yourself?” she asked cautiously as he levered himself

into bed. It was interesting to watch. He had no muscle control below a
certain point and he seemed to have to pay attention to where his legs
were, but the movements themselves were easy and automatic.

He settled on his side and reached for her. “I want you to be

speaking to me in the morning.”

“Were you really that much of a bad boy?” Alison asked, enjoying

the banter, but afraid to overstep a boundary. He smelled different, a
faint medical-hospital smell mixed with the usual scents of cologne and
adult male. Not unpleasant, just strange.

“If sufficiently provoked,” he said, stroking her cheek. “And I think

the sight of you in my bed would have been more than sufficient.”

“Yeah?” Her nose was a quarter of an inch from his.
“Yeah.” Then he was kissing her again. She could start from here

easily, from his kiss…that was familiar, comfortable. Her tongue was
drawn back to the cap. His tongue slid in just under hers, and his
fingers played at the corner of her mouth. Nobody had ever done that
before and she found it incredibly sexy.

For a few minutes, things followed the normal course, except she

found she was afraid to touch him below his chest. She wasn’t sure
what she would find or what he would think.

He had no such hesitation and started flicking open the buttons of

her blouse, but when he saw her bra, his face fell. “I hate those,” Walter
said.

“Hate what?”
“Front hooks. They’re all different. Just when I got the hang of the

old-fashioned kind, they started turning bra clasps into Chinese box
puzzles.”

“May I?” she asked, and unhooked it with a quick twist of her

fingers.

“Thank you.” He cupped her breast in his hand, his thumb caressing

the nipple. “What do you like?” he asked.

“That works,” she said softly. Her breath caught as the heat spread

from her hardening nipple into her groin.

“Maybe a bit harder? Softer?”
“A bit harder.” She realized he was showing her how to talk about

what felt good, and what she wanted. Fumbling around was simply not
his style. She unbuttoned his shirt, rested her hand on his chest, and felt
the ripple of muscle under his skin. “What do you like?”

“My nipples are very sensitive,” he said.
Alison toyed with one, and he closed his eyes and groaned.
“Like this?” she asked with a warm smile.
“Exactly like that.” He opened his eyes, breathing hard. “You have

a wonderful touch.” His hand shifted on her breast. He hadn’t needed to
ask. He was on familiar ground, but she was venturing into new
territory. They needed to keep talking.

“What else do you like?” she asked.
“My ribs and the back of my neck are both very sensitive. And

there’s a spot right where the paralysis starts…” He took her hand and
placed it just below his breastbone. “When I’m not aroused, even a
light touch is uncomfortable, but when I am, it’s exquisite.

“Like this?”
“Exactly like that.” Walter sighed happily and pulled her closer, his

hand roaming down her back to the fastenings of her skirt.

“You feel nothing below this point?” She was pushing past her

nervousness.

“No.”
“Tell me when it stops,” she said. She ran one finger slowly down

over his ribs and he hissed, then suddenly his face cleared.

“Right there,” he said.
“Absolutely nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She tried again starting from his chest. Again, if Alison watched his

face, she could see the cut-off. “That is so bizarre,” she said in wonder.

“My spinal cord was crushed. The signals don’t travel at all past

that point.”

She held her breath, rested her hand on his hip and snuggled closer,

letting her legs touch his. He sighed and kissed her hair. “The first time
is always the hardest,” he said.

“It’s easier when we talk about it. You’re so good at that.”
“I had to learn how,” he said. “It took a while. You’re actually

doing better than I did at first.”

“I feel like such an idiot,” she admitted.
“Don’t. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred wouldn’t be here.

They’d be too scared.”

“Who says I’m not scared?” she confessed into his neck.
“I know you are,” he said gently. He stroked her hair. “If our

positions were reversed, I’d be scared, too, but you’re here.”

“I like you,” Alison said. “You’re one of the strongest, bravest men

I’ve ever met.” He was. Whatever condition his body was in, there
wasn’t a thing wrong with the rest of him.

He smiled. “Don’t go overboard, sweetheart.”
She looked at him. “I’m not. I like you. I’m scared, but I want to do

this.”

“Good.” He kissed her hard, his fingers tangling in her hair, and she

responded fully to him, waking, wanting, her body flooded with power
and hunger.

She tasted him, kissing her way from his mouth to his neck to his

chest, digging at his nipple with her tongue. He hissed and dug his
fingers into her scalp. “That’s so nice.” He sighed.

Nothing stirred below his waist, though.
“I want to see you get hard,” she said. Her curiosity had taken on a

new edge.

Walter reached for his bedside table and took out a vial and a

needle.

“No,” she said. “I want to see what happens without it.”
He laughed. “There’s not much to it.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I want to see.”
“I want to see you naked.” He grinned wickedly at her.
So they stripped each other. She thought of tossing her clothes onto

the floor, thought about the wheelchair and the hazard clothes on the
floor could cause, and stopped. He took everything and dumped it in
his wheelchair. She laughed and cuddled next to him before she drew
back to look.

Below the waist, he was pale and horribly thin. No amount of

physical therapy would ever compensate for the lack of normal
movement. He was also badly scarred, and she remembered that his
back wasn’t the only part of him injured in the accident. She ran
delicate fingertips over Walter’s waist, wondering at the fact he
couldn’t feel it. His cock, oddly normal against the atrophy and
scarring, was limp. She traced the shape of it, looked at his face, and
found his eyes dark with desire.

“Show me how,” Alison whispered.
He took her hand and wrapped it around his still-limp penis. He

seemed to need a lot of pressure, but it worked. Although he didn’t get
absolutely rigid, he definitely got hard. It lasted maybe a minute, then
subsided.

“What happened?” she asked.
“The mechanism that causes erections still works, but whatever

sustains them doesn’t. That’s what I need the injections for. I tried
Viagra, but it gave me a splitting headache. I stayed up, but I was too
miserable to care.”

“How long does it last?” she asked.
Walter grinned. “With the injections? A few hours.”
Her jaw dropped. “A few hours?”
The grin got wicked. “Yep. Think that’ll be long enough for you?”
“That should be more than enough,” she said, stunned.
He chuckled. “You can do whatever you want with it for as long as

you like.”

“Can you feel anything with what I’m doing?” she asked as she

fondled his cock and balls. She’d had remarkably little experience with
them in a quiescent state.

“No,” he said. He leaned up on his elbows. “What are you doing?”
She giggled. “Nothing.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think you see me as a

new toy.”

She kissed him. “Well, you have to admit that once you get past the

initial weirdness, it’s fascinating. Sexual response is so automatic you
don’t realize how complex it really is.”

He squeezed her, and being squeezed by Walter was no small thing.

It took her breath away.

“I was wrong about you,” he said. “You’re not one in a hundred,

you’re one in a million.”

“So are you,” she said. “You have a lot of guts and I admire you for

it.”

“I just want to live.”
This time she saw in his eyes what that meant to him.
She curled up with her head on his shoulder, moving her hand to

where he could feel it, running her fingers back and forth over the

border in his body. It was the strangest first night she’d ever had. “How
do you masturbate?” she asked.

“Pretty much how I showed you,” he said, “except that I need

stimulation on my nipple, too, or I can’t come.”

“Do you come quickly?”
“No,” he said. “It’ll go up and down a few times.”
“Do you still ejaculate and everything?”
“Not usually.”
“How do you know when you come?”
“Everything else is there,” he said, “including the tension, and the

peak and release. It’s just that nothing comes out, at least not usually.”

Alison bit his neck just behind his ear. “Show me. I want to see.”
“All right,” he said.
So she sat up beside him and had him show her what to do. He’d

been aroused for a while, but it’d had no visible effect on his cock. The
tension in the rest of his body seemed to increase when he was hard,
though, and he was hard when he came, reaching for her, pulling her
down for a kiss as his upper body trembled.

“I’ve never seen a man come without ejaculating,” she said in a soft

voice. She hadn’t even imagined it. “That was amazing.”

“I didn’t know it was possible until after the accident.”
“What about during sex?”
“What we’re doing now is sex.” Walter smiled at her. “If you mean

intercourse, chances are virtually nil. The stimulation is wrong.” Then
he laughed. “I understand women a bit better than I used to.”

She laughed, blushed, and buried her face in his shoulder. “You’re

insane!”

“It’s the only way to live, sweetheart,” he said as his hand drifted

south. “It’s your turn now.”

Alison felt the heat spread up her neck into her face, anticipation

warring with nerves. “What should I do?”

“Just scoot up a bit.”

She did, and he shifted downward, then bent over her and kissed her

vulva, and lapped at her a few times before his tongue dove inside.
Alison squeaked at the intrusion, subtle and delightful, then he
retreated, traced every swollen fold, a slow exploration of her sex that
drove her mad. He was everywhere, except where she most wanted him
to be. Desperation stripped her of the remaining shreds of her self-
consciousness and she was reduced to begging.

“My clit,” she gasped. “Please!”
She heard his soft chuckle, but he gave her what she asked for, that

strong, agile tongue where she needed it, and while it was enough, it
wasn’t everything she wanted. She was too greedy for him. “Your
fingers. Inside!”

He gave her two, then three, like a short, thick cock, his firm, even

thrusts in perfect time with the flicks of his tongue. It took only seconds
before she felt the breathless tingling of her body poised on the edge of
flight.

When Alison climaxed, she thought she’d die from it because it was

almost more than she could stand, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he
pushed her harder, not letting up for a second. It took forever, and for
the first time in her life she pleaded with a man to stop, but she was
glad he ignored her because she came a second time, even harder than
the first, and her hands twisted in his hair.

Afterward, she collapsed, completely spent, her cunt twitching with

aftershocks. “Oh, my God!”

Walter said nothing, only kissed her. She tasted herself on his

mouth and wondered, as she always had, if he liked it. Then she
realized she could ask him.

“Do you like the way women taste?”
“Hmm.” He nuzzled her neck. “I love it. I always have. Drives me

nuts.”

“That’s reassuring,” Alison said, oddly relieved. “Are you tired?”

They’d both come; it might be enough.

“I can’t imagine getting tired of you.” He played with her nipples,

one after the other, rolling them between his fingers and thumb.

“I talk in my sleep.”
“I snore.”
“I get cold feet.”
“I won’t notice.”
“Good point,” she said. Her hands were roaming freely now,

exploring him. She’d been right. In the wake of orgasm, she could
forgive him his damaged body and the things it couldn’t give her, let go
of her own fear, and find herself in bed with a man.

“Are you tired?” Walter asked.
“No.”
He shook his head. “That’s not good. We can’t have that.”
She laughed. “What are you going to do?”
He stroked her cheek, looked down at her. “Want to fuck?”
New heat flashed through her—astonishing given when he’d just

done to her—but the answer was simple. “Yes.”

He reached for the vial and the needle, measured out a small dose,

and injected it at the base of his penis.

It made Alison cringe, but she knew he didn’t feel it. There was no

reaction, no change in his face, only concentration, making sure he did
it right. He wiped the blood away, put a bit of pressure on the site with
his finger, and set everything back on his bedside table. His kiss when
he turned back to her was long and deep, full of anticipation and
promise. She felt him harden against her and instinctively pushed
closer. He purred. He knew what that meant.

“Can you feel it?” she asked.
“In a weird, ghostly sort of way. At least I think so. I’m not sure if

the effect is physical or psychological, but I like being hard.” He toyed
with her clit, not going anywhere with it, just keeping her as she was,
aching and ready.

She pushed him back, straddled his hips, sank down on him, and

filled herself with him. His hands slid down over her ass and under her
to where their bodies joined, his fingers telling him what his cock
couldn’t. He was inside her.

“I want you to come like this,” he said. “Can you?”
“You have got to be kidding!” She wasn’t sure she had any orgasms

left in her.

“Oh, come on!” His voice was coaxing with a hint of that ever-

present mischief. “I thought that was one of the advantages to being
female, this multiple orgasm thing. I bet you’ve got one more in you.”
He slipped his hand between their bodies, rolling Alison’s clit under his
middle finger.

“Walter, I can’t!”
“Do you want me to stop?”
The mix of sensations was driving her slowly insane. “No, but…”
“But what?”
“It’ll take me ages to get there. I’ve already come twice.”
“We have a few hours.”
Oh, God, so they did. She whimpered and gave in.
“Show me exactly what you need,” he said.
She put her hand over his and showed him how she touched herself.

Alison felt feral, elementally female doing it while impaled on him, as
he filled her almost beyond what her skin could hold. Walter lay
watching her, feeding on her pleasure and feeding it, feeding her. She
forgot everything but him in the dizzying sweet friction inside and in
his eyes, soft and coaxing, then dark with a purely sexual joy as she
came one more time.

She collapsed on his chest and he held her close. She could almost

have fallen asleep like that, but his persistent erection became
disconcerting after a while. She slid off him and took another look.
Stiff as a post. She couldn’t think when she’d ever encountered a cock
that hard. She ran her finger down the length of it. “What do we do?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Ignore it and it will go away.”

“Isn’t that bad for you?” She’d heard somewhere that being too

hard for too long could do damage.

“Only if it doesn’t go down at all.”
“Has that ever happened?”
“Only once. It took a while to refine the dose.”
“Why do you do it if you can’t feel it?”
Walter stroked her cheek. “You can feel it just fine. I like knowing

that’s happening and I love to watch your face. It gets all flushed and
your eyes go wide. So beautiful.”

Alison blushed furiously. “What do you like best? For yourself, I

mean.”

“Oral sex,” he said with his familiar, wicked grin. “I can feel

everything.”

“You’re very good at it.”
“I’ve always liked it. Before the accident, I used to be able to come

doing it, if I was feeling hot enough. Now it’s my favorite way to get
my partner off because I can see, smell, and feel everything that
happens.”

“You are such a lech,” she said, laughing.
“Sweetheart, my spinal cord wasn’t crushed nearly high enough to

kill that.”

“I think you’d need your skull crushed,” she said, smothering a

yawn. She was too tired and happy to be tactful.

He chuckled. “Tired yet?”
“God, yes!” Alison suddenly understood the male impulse to roll

over and snore.

“I need to stay up for a while. Do you mind if I stay here and keep a

light on?”

“No,” she said, yawning. She’d sleep through a train wreck.

“Why?”

He smiled wryly. “Certain bodily functions are more complicated

than they used to be. I should pee before I sleep and I need to wait until

this goes down.”

“How do you deal with that?”
“Catheter.”
Alison winced, then remembered he couldn’t feel it. “How often do

you need to do that?”

“Every few hours, except overnight. The habit of going before I

sleep is so ingrained now that I won’t sleep if I don’t.” He glanced at
his still-hard cock. “I’ve never catheterized myself with an erection and
I don’t want to try it now.”

Funny thing about good sex. The gory details no longer mattered.

“I’ll stay up with you.”

“You don’t look like you can.”
She yawned again. “I suppose you’re pleased with yourself.”
He kissed her. “I want you to stay. I want you to come back.”
She ran her fingers over his face, through his hair. In the cracks of

his humor was the unbearable vulnerability that lay beneath, and she
loved them both. It’s a foolish world, she thought, that dismisses a man
because of an accident, and I’d have been a fool to give in to it. It
wouldn’t be easy, but it could be good if she let it, if they made it good.
“I want to be with you. I like you.”

“I like you, too. I liked you the moment I saw you. Go to sleep now,

sweetheart. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t have much choice. She snuggled close in the crook of his

arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder. The smell of him had become
comfortable, beloved, and she drifted off, sated and content.

She woke briefly when he got up, again when he came to bed, and

the only thing that registered was the fact that he was back, where he
belonged.

A

NN

R

EGENTIN

Ann Regentin started writing steamy fiction in her ninth grade biology
class and has since gone on to write reading comprehension tests,
reference material, articles, poetry and music as well as erotica. Her
work has appeared in various places both online and in print including
the Albion Review, the International Journal of Erotica, and online at
Hip Mama, Scarlet Letters, Slow Trains, the Erotica Readers and
Writers Association fiction galleries, and Clean Sheets, where she is a
Contributing Editor, and she will have stories in six upcoming
anthologies, including Best S/M Erotica 2 and Best Women’s Erotica
2005. She lives in the American Midwest with her son, her parrots and
an elderly Gibson guitar. If you want to know more, you can visit her
website: http://home.earthlink net/~pabaillie/Home htm.

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