I was trying really hard to practice my conducting, but the piece I'm learning is tough, and I kept screwing it up. Over and over, in exactly the same place. The meters changed more often than I changed my own clothes, which is to say a real lot! My Babe can help me fix my mistakes, he's always been good at that. He's taught me so much already, but I hate to ask anything of him right now, when he needs his rest so badly.

See, he's got this messed-up leg, and finally decided to do something about it, but it's been hell for him. He had the first operation about seven months ago, a second one three months later, a third one three months after that, and now he's gearing up for the last round. Hasn't been any fun for him at all. In and out of the hospital. Leg in traction for weeks, and then into a full cast until he's well enough to go back and have them work on him some more and put him in traction again. He's tough, though. Doesn't complain, and I know he's got to be hurting. Don't know as I'd be able to be so calm about being in plaster for such a long time. Jeeze, when I busted my leg in high school, it was no big deal - six weeks in a walking cast - but it was a pain getting around. I didn't mind it much, though. People were actually sorta   nice to me for a change!

Maybe this sounds really twisted, but the first time I saw my man in the hospital, in traction and everything, I wanted him like you wouldn't   believe! And sure, when he felt a little more like himself again, I did him (and myself!) a favor, and sucked him off. He said not to do it that way again, though. Too risky. We could shut the door of his private room, but we couldn't lock it, and it wouldn't have been good at all if some bitchy nurse had found us at it. I gave him hand jobs after that, laid down on the bed with him and frenched him until we couldn't breathe. Got my hands up under his shirt and played with his nipples, ran my hands over the contours of his beautiful chest. He's a swimmer, not competitive or anything, but he's got fantastic upper body tone. Took up swimming 'cause he couldn't walk as a kid. Grew up on crutches, and it wasn't until he tried to go horseback riding and broke his arm that he got off them and learned to walk. I saw pictures of him once, from that summer. An elbow crutch on the right side, a full arm cast on the left. There were other pictures, too. A profile, where you could see how beautiful he would get to be someday, and one where he was obviously at the beach, with no shirt on, and had the broken arm in a sling. The cast went from just past his knuckles clear up to his shoulder, and his thumb was in it, too. Must have been one hell of a break, but I don't ever ask him about it. He doesn't like to remember. Not a good time in his life, apparently. But he looked ravishing, nonetheless.

And speaking of ravishing - when he offered himself to me that first time, he had his bad leg all splinted up and wrapped in Ace bandages, 'cause he sprained his ankle the night before. God, I was ready to take him when we got home from the hospital that night, he looked so sexy on his crutches! I'd never seen him like that before. He usually carried a cane and limped real bad. But on crutches, he moved with a sorta fluid grace. Before, with the cane, he was kinda clumsy. Well, duh! He wrecked himself tripping over a  tree root, of all things! If it was me, I'd have been fine, for sure. But that leg of his has always been weak, or so he says. Guess I'd have to believe it, if he could almost break an ankle with such a minor fall.

But I was telling you how my conducting wasn't going well. I guess hearing the music playing on the stereo woke him up, 'cause there he was all of a sudden, and even though it's winter, he had on those great olive green shorts I like so much. The preppy kind, with the cute little pleats over the goods, that instantly make me envision that flat, tight belly of his, just where it begins to descend into the subtle dark of the nether regions. And once I start thinking about  that, I have no trouble picturing his sweet sex, so different from mine. I'd never seen one in its natural state before I met him, and I loved it. I thought, what great fun that must be, sliding the skin back and forth to whack off. 'Course, I would never have said anything about that, or asked him about techniques back then. He was skittish enough about doing anything with me, without my wanting to know such personal details.

Well, anyway, so there I was, trying to conduct, and there he was, in his green shorts and white Oxford shirt, leaning on those black elbow crutches.

"Trying to work out the Requiem again?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound cool and calm, but I could feel myself rising to the occasion, let me tell you!

Much as I hate to see him laid up and having such a tough time and all, I think I'm gonna be a little sorry to see the cast go. He looks great in it. It's real thick, makes that leg look a little more like the other one. Which it's never going to, I might add. It'll always be scrawny and a bit shorter than the other leg, and he'll be in a brace and have to use a cane or a crutch for the rest of his life. But for now, with the cast, he looks like an injured athlete, and it's real sexy.

"Play that part again, and I'll help you," he said, and came into the room.I had a hard time taking my eyes off him, but I went over to the stereo and put the piece back on.

"Come here, Love," he says, and so I do, and then he gets behind me. Drops the crutches and slides his arms along mine, like he always does when he's going to guide my conducting patterns. Oh, yeah, we've done this trick before, but not like this, with him holding on, balancing on his good leg, with the thick plaster pressing against my thigh. "Just do me a favor and catch me if I start to fall," he says.

Maybe I managed to say yeah, or something, I don't remember. I sure as hell couldn't concentrate on the music. Not with his arms on me, and looking down at the full length of that work of art on his leg! I couldn't help tracing the lines of it with my eyes, following the bend of his knee to the rigid contours of his lower leg, then on to the thick, reinforced ankle and around the heel, tapering neatly down to the place where his toes rested, each one carefully immobilized in its own plaster compartment. They'd all been broken in the last operation, and for a month or so, he'd had them strung up in some weird traction-type thing attached to the foot of the cast. It was wretchedly uncomfortable, and he complained about it until they finally realized how much it bothered him. They re-casted him, and it was the result of that effort which I now considered.

I put my hand on his plaster thigh, felt the texture of it, and knew that pit-in-the-stomach feeling of being close to getting off. I moved my hand to rest on his rod, and wished he was naked, so I could just grab hold and do him. I could hear him breathing hard in my ear as he reached into my Levi's and stroked me, and then there was the unyielding pressure of the cast against my thigh. I didn't know for the life of me what felt better! But it didn't take me long to come. Just a few strokes, and I was shooting my stuff all over the place. Then he turned me around and somehow managed to grind himself against me, frenching me with a vengeance, his cock and the cast one as hard as the other.I wondered how he felt, standing there in his cast, trying to make love to me, even though it was so awkward for him, and then, suddenly, I knew what I had to do. As soon as possible...