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| Part 4 by Castgimp |
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| Paul might not have slept well the first night he had his leg in a cast, but that second night, after shooting his wad into the back of my throat, he slept like a baby. I was barely done pulling my dick out of his mouth before he was sound asleep. The poor boy was tired. He'd had a very stressful 48 hours, and now it was catching up with him. Lucky me. It gave me an opportunity to study this man in all of his naked glory. He would be, by anyone's judgment I think, an exceptionally handsome guy, but to my eye, with his right leg in a cast, he was just about the most beautiful man I had ever seen. And here I was, next to him in bed while he slept. He was on his back, and I watched the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. His cast had a deep bend at the knee, and without a pillow under it to support it, the weight and angle of the cast pulled his right leg over to the side so that his legs were spread just enough for me to be able to watch his heavy balls resting gently on the mattress. His cast came more than two-thirds of the way down his foot, but it left all five of his long perfectly shaped toes fully exposed. His taped sore hands lay splayed out, palms up, on either side of him. He didn't have a heavy beard, but I could tell from the sandy colored stubble on his chin and cheeks that he hadn't shaved in several days-probably not since he was hit by the car. I wondered what the morning would hold. I wondered how Paul would feel about waking up with me next to him in his bed. I wanted to stay here beside him forever. I tried to imagine helping him shave in the morning. I tried to imagine helping him get dressed. Then I decided to imagine instead that I didn't help him get dressed, preferring the image of him crutching naked around his apartment all day with just his cast for cover. That is the image I held onto as I finally fell asleep next to him. Paul was awake before I was, and in fact I woke up with the jolt to the mattress that Paul caused as he launched himself up out of bed and onto his crutches. I can't say that anything Paul did was actually awkward, but he certainly was not yet graceful with his new hardware. "You OK?" I asked, as I watched his beautiful bum move away from the bed, perfectly framed between the wooden struts of his crutches. "Yeah," he called back over his shoulder. "I gotta take a leak." "You need a hand?" I asked him playfully. My offer was serious, but I was also trying to return to some of the sexiness of the night before, when my assistance in the bathroom had led directly to our romp on his bed. "Nah," he said. "I'll be fine." My heart sank. I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. I wondered if morning-after regret was sinking in, leaving Paul wishing he were alone in his apartment instead of with me. A blow-job after a handful of beers is one thing, but waking up next to each other the next morning is an entirely different world altogether, and one that I couldn't yet judge whether Paul would like. I briefly considered grabbing my clothes and sneaking out of the apartment before he was done in the bathroom, just to avoid the awkwardness of him having to ask me to go. But then I rejected that thought as quickly as it had entered my head. This opportunity was too rare to give it up so easily. I had waited too long. Who knew when I might find myself in bed with a guy with a broken leg again? I knew that the most likely answer to that question was never. So instead of fleeing, I pulled the covers up over my head in a futile attempt to ward off any bad things the new day might be bringing my way. At the very least I wanted to postpone for as long as possible the moment when Paul would ask me to go. I could hear Paul banging around in the bathroom, and wondered if he might actually need a hand. I wondered if I should call out an offer of assistance a second time, but decided that would be too forward. A man in entitled to his privacy in the bathroom, and besides, he could ask me for help if he really needed it. He was taking longer than I imagined it should take to empty even a full morning bladder. I wondered if he was reluctant to come back into the bedroom, naked as he was, with me naked and waiting in his bed. I had just decided to swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pull my clothes on when I heard the distinct sound of a metal toilet paper spool turning as someone pulled on it. My face reddened. Why is it we always feel an instant of shame when we have to acknowledge to another person our need to shit? Well I was glad to know that Paul had somehow figured out how to navigate sitting down on the toilet with his leg in a cast-something that I knew from experience was not always easy. That was a task that I actually had not been looking forward to helping him out with. Soon after that I heard the toilet flush, heard the sound of water running in the sink, and then, moments later, saw Paul appear on his crutches in the bedroom doorway. "Good morning," he grinned. "Hey handsome," I fired back at him, feeling the grin growing on my own face. "Hey handsome back at you." We were both smiling like small children on Christmas morning. Internally I sighed a huge sigh of relief. He was not going to throw me out after all-or at least not yet. I was staring at him, taking in his beauty, drinking in the sight of his cast and his nakedness leaning on his crutches. I scrutinized his cock for some sign of a morning erection, but he was completely flaccid. "You wouldn't want to come back to bed for a while, would you?" I asked him as flirtatiously as I could, boldly pulling on my own cock, which was starting to get hard just from his proximity to me. "I would love to," he said, and I could see that his cock was starting to stir as well, "but I really feel grungy. I haven't shaved or showered since I broke my leg. I feel like I'm starting to stink. You wouldn't want to help me get cleaned up would you?" He ducked his head to the side as he said this, suddenly shy as he asked for my help. My heart melted. I could think of nothing I would rather do. I would be content to help this man get cleaned up every morning for the rest of my life, I thought to myself. We started with shaving. He stood at the sink, with his crutches under his arms. I stood immediately behind him, my naked chest and abdomen against his naked back, pinning him to the sink so that he wouldn't fall down. He balanced on one foot, wedged between the sink and the crutches and me. I wrapped one arm around his belly, and rested my own unshaved chin on his shoulder. In the mirror I could see us both-his face covered with white foam, my arm on his stomach, my face on his shoulder, and the crutches stuck up under his armpits as he shaved. I felt completely at home, like this was the space that I was meant to be in-like this was the space I was born to occupy. I was smitten, probably nauseatingly so, but I was loving it. And so was he. Once again my dick started to thicken from the contact with his warm body and the visual pleasure of watching this handsome man shave his beautiful face. He could feel me stiffening between his legs behind him, and he reached around with his free hand and swatted me on the butt. "Watch what you're doing with that thing. You want me to cut my face?" I giggled and shifted my weight, thrusting my hips gently and playfully into his bum. Standing in front of the sink like that, he was able to get himself shaved and get his teeth scrubbed clean without either of us crashing to the bathroom floor. We considered it a minor triumph. The shower thing seemed to be a much bigger challenge. We ruled out a bath. There was no way to hold his cast out of the water, because it covered his entire leg. Keeping it dry in the shower was going to be hard enough, but keeping us both balanced and upright while he washed was going to be even harder. I decided that plastic garbage bags were our only hope. He had a box of big black ones under the kitchen sink. I also grabbed the rolls of white athletic tape I had bought at the drugstore the night before. We put the seat and lid down on the toilet and he perched his naked ass down on a towel on top of the toilet so we could work on his leg. I started by sticking his casted leg into a garbage bag. It came up just over his knee, but didn't begin to cover the whole cast. I took the white tape, and starting at his foot, began wrapping it around his foot and ankle, to hold the plastic bag close to the cast. When I reached the top of the bag, I took a second bag, and tore just a small hole in one corner of it. I pulled this over his foot, poking his foot through the hole, and pulled the second bag up so that the torn opening in the bottom of the bag was just below his knee. The opening was tight against the first bag, and I taped over it carefully to make sure it was sealed where the two bags met, and then I continued taping all the way up his leg to the top of his thigh. When I was done his cast looked like a black and white striped cast, with the plastic bag showing through the white tape in wide candy stripe patches. It was not exactly a work of art, but we both agreed that it should keep the cast dry. Next we had to launch ourselves into the shower itself. I turned on the water and adjusted the temperature and climbed into the shower first. I took Paul's crutches and he sat on the edge of the tub, swinging his hips around so that his legs were facing in toward me. Then I carefully helped him stand up in the tub and handed him his crutches. The wet tub was slick and we were both afraid to move too much. We gingerly worked our way down so that we were both standing under the stream of hot water facing each other. I pulled his body gently toward mine so that we were leaning against each other for support, and we stood like that, perfectly balanced, letting the water wash over us. I turned my head to try to look at his face and was startled when our open mouths met. His mouth was fresh with the taste of toothpaste. We kissed for a long time, hungry for each other, amazed at our good luck to be standing next to each in the shower at this very moment in time. We probably would have been willing to go on like that forever, or at least until the hot water ran out, but Paul started choking, having inhaled some of the splash from our faces. We laughed and sputtered and wiped our mouths and tried not to fall over as he recovered and caught his breath. "Listen," he said. "I don't feel too steady on these crutches in here. I think it would be best if I just stood here and you washed, if you don't mind." And so I began with the bar of soap, lathering his chest and back and arms. I reached around behind him and lathered that handsome ass of his, working my fingers between his cheeks as I would if I were washing my own ass. He leaned heavily against me for balance, and I spread my legs apart as far as they would go to give us a broad firm base against the slippery surface of the tub. His dick grew comfortably thick in my hands as I soaped his balls and cock. He scrunched his eyes shut as I shampooed his hair, and we had to scoot down even farther in the shower toward the tap so that he could rinse all of the soap out of his hair. He moved back a bit toward the rear of the shower and out of the main stream of water while I quickly soaped my own body and washed my hair. I could tell he was getting cold without the hot water running directly over him and I hurried to rinse so that we could dry ourselves off. I took a big heavy cotton towel and wrapped it over his shoulders, rubbing him to dry the water from his skin. Trying to dry him while he was perched on his crutches was more awkward than showering had been, and I began to feel that we really would fall over. I hopped out of the tub and dried myself off first, and then helped him sit again on the edge of the tub and swivel around so he could stand up on the bathroom floor. Sitting him back down on the lid of the toilet in the end was the only way that we could manage to get him dry without knocking him over. I thought I could just rip the plastic bags off his cast, but the athletic tape was tough, and I had to go to the kitchen and find a scissors and actually cut it off. We put on two matching heavy white cotton terrycloth bathrobes that he had stolen from the Four Seasons in Vancouver. We might as well have been in the Four Seasons. I certainly felt like I was on vacation. This was all like a dream come true for me. Of course there was no room service, so I settled Paul in his favorite arm chair, with his broken leg propped up on the ottoman, and made us coffee and toast. We read the Saturday morning paper, and the Sunday bits that come on Saturday, and lounged in our robes and drank a whole pot of coffee. I sat on the floor next to him and rested my hand alternately on his cast or on his toes. By noon we made our way back to bed, and spent the afternoon making love. Paul was a gentle and thoughtful lover. We moved slowly over each other's bodies, without the frenzied need to cum that we'd both had the night before, but there was an intensity and a passion in our touching that had not been present the previous evening. Paul had a hard time standing up in the shower, but the immobilization of his leg did not seem to limit his ability to move in bed. He was alternately on top of me and underneath me, and I liked the way he felt in both places. Our bodies seemed to be tuned to exactly the same pitch, and we moved against each other as if we had been making love together for years. The night before we had been strangers and now, suddenly, we were lovers. I liked to have his toes in my mouth, both the toes that were sticking out of his cast, and the toes on his other foot. He liked to chew on my heels and lick the soles of my feet. I liked to chew on his lips and he liked to tongue my face and my ears and the lids of my eyes. I liked to take his balls in my mouth and roll them around with my tongue. He liked for me to play with his ass. He would grind his hips against me as I slowly penetrated his ass with my fingers or my tongue. Sometimes we would fall asleep entwined in each other's arms, and sometimes we would roll away from each other and sleep soundly on opposite sides of the bed. As if by reflex or longstanding habit, our mouths came together whenever we woke up, so that coming out of a half sleep with Paul's open mouth in mine and his hard cast pressing against my leg is my most enduring memory from that first and most intense period of our lives together. Well you get the idea. Being in love is the most intense experience there is, but it is never as much fun to read about someone else's perfect bliss, so I will spare you any more of the gory details. Suffice it to say that we spent that first weekend together mostly naked and mostly in bed. From time to time I ventured out of his apartment to forage for food, always hurrying back to be close to my hobbled lover. I even called in sick on Monday, unable as we were to pull ourselves away from each other. You can probably figure out the rest of the story yourself. Later that week I moved out of my temporary residence and into Paul's apartment. I did return to work, but left our home each morning with a heavy heart and hurried home each evening anxious to again rest in Paul's company. As his hands healed and he began to feel more confident about getting around on his crutches, we would go out together. Often we went out to dinner, and sometimes to a bar afterwards for a drink or two. We went to the mall at Crystal City and even took the train up to New York City one weekend to see a play together. We stayed overnight in the Paramount Hotel on 46th Street, and had amazing sex in a very funky platform bed. I loved walking the streets of Manhattan with Paul next to me on crutches with his leg in a cast. Paul was out of work the whole time he had the long leg cast on, which was just over eight weeks. By the end of that time he was going mad with boredom, and even our frequent lovemaking was not enough to keep him happy. The day he came home from the clinic with just a short cast that covered his ankle and foot and stopped just below his knee I thought I would cry. It was silly, of course, but I was startled-I hadn't expected it. He'd been in for a routine check-up, and was supposed to wear the long leg cast for a total of twelve weeks, but the doctor decided he was mending well and that the bones were knitting exactly as they were supposed to and he took the big cast off almost four weeks ahead of schedule. I thought I would miss the long cast, and I did, but having a new cast to play with and a new cast to look at turned out to be a lot of fun. Paul in an slc turned out to be every bit as sexy as Paul in an llc. And the best part for Paul was that he could finally go back to work. He couldn't take up his coaching responsibilities yet, but he could get back into the classroom and start teaching again, and that was the best thing that could have happened to him. Paul was always a happy person, even in the days immediately after he broke his leg, but the change that came over him when he went back to teaching was amazing. He was exhausted at the end of every day-tired from teaching and talking, and tired from hauling himself all over the school on his crutches, but he was a pure joy to be with. He had missed the students and the daily challenge of teaching, and hard as it was to jump back into it with his leg in a cast, he was thrilled to be out of the house and back into his professional routine. The short leg cast lasted another six weeks, so in the end Paul wore a cast of one sort or another for just over fourteen weeks. I knew the day the short leg cast was coming off and I had tried to prepare myself for that emotionally. I had, however, developed the stupid idea in the back of my mind that somehow when the last cast came off our relationship would change, and maybe even end. It had begun with my attraction to his cast, and I was afraid that it would not survive Paul's return to a normal two-legged existence. Of course I was wildly wrong, and now thirteen years later we are still together. His casts were gone, but what we had developed between the two of us endured. It was like a long slow perfect dance that just goes on forever and ever. There was a point in my life where I had certainly despaired that I would ever find a man I could love-just as I had doubted that I would ever have a chance to spend intimate time with a man with his leg in a cast. But on both counts, the wait had been worth it. There is nothing quite like delayed gratification. Of course Paul's broken leg was not the only time we had a cast in our lives. I remember that phone call so clearly. "Paul, it's me." I was panting and short of breath. "Tom, what's wrong?" His voice was suddenly full of panic. "I'm at the hospital Paul." I was lying on a gurney in the emergency room, with my cell phone cradled to my ear. I was fighting back tears in the corners of my eyes. "I'm O.K. But they think..." The EMTs had splinted my ankle before they had transported me. Just now there was a sharp jolt of pain shooting up my leg and it took my breath away. I had to stop talking mid-sentence until I could catch my breath again. "What's wrong? What hospital?" Paul was shouting into the phone. "I'm O.K. Paul, but they think I've broken my ankle." But that, of course, is a story for another day! |
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