Yes, I'm still alive, not updating as much as I originally planned to, sorry about that. I'll try to be better :)
A quick update - I'm currently writing the next chapter of 'New Arrangement', I am making every effort to get that done and posted by end of week. No promises though.
The flash fiction exercises have slowed as I haven't been at my computer a lot, and I've been spending a bit more time with no hands/fingers with which to type, so that slows things down as well. I tried writing something quick using only my toes, but it simply didn't work, sadly. I'd need a lot more practice before I can pull that off.
Other than that, we're just enjoying the summer weather and an unusual amount of together-time, as our schedules are somewhat synchronous right now. At least more synchronous than they usually are, with me on my bastardized second shift and her on an overtime-laden first shift.
Thanks to everyone for the emails and such, I'll try my best to keep up with the blog now, as time allows...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
BLOG - so yeah, anyway....
I'm not deleting Heather's post - we were both a little drunk, but I don't think it was that bad. There ARE a lot of pervs in this subculture, if you don't agree you're living in denial. But I've met a lot of really nice people too, and made some good friends, so it balances out, you know?
Had a fun and exciting weekend overall. Did some blindsimming on Saturday and the amputee thing yesterday, a lot of foot play for Heather. The weather was nice so we did go out lot, enjoying the weather, went out to have ice cream together (me in my chair) and all kinds of stuff.
I'll probably try more flash fiction this week, and I've got another full story about halfway done, it's one of those things that I work on when I get inspired.
Had a fun and exciting weekend overall. Did some blindsimming on Saturday and the amputee thing yesterday, a lot of foot play for Heather. The weather was nice so we did go out lot, enjoying the weather, went out to have ice cream together (me in my chair) and all kinds of stuff.
I'll probably try more flash fiction this week, and I've got another full story about halfway done, it's one of those things that I work on when I get inspired.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
blog - typiong with my toes
i am typing this entirelywith my tose - actually with a pencil griped between them. its hard as hell. heather is going nuts over it though.
Hi all you readers. There really is a Heather - that's me. I've got Cathy's arms bound up again, and I just stole the keyboard and there's not a ot she can do about it, LOL. I did it this morning and I'm making her use her feet for everything - EVERYTHING. And no you can't have a picture - stop asking her that!
Ta Ta!
Heather & Cathy
PS - Cathy is yelling at me as I type this, but I do think a lot of you are pervs. Some of you seem really sweet, but I think a lot of you are total pervs. Don't worry, Cathy is too, believe me. She'll probably delete this once I give her her arms back, but for now... LOL!
Hi all you readers. There really is a Heather - that's me. I've got Cathy's arms bound up again, and I just stole the keyboard and there's not a ot she can do about it, LOL. I did it this morning and I'm making her use her feet for everything - EVERYTHING. And no you can't have a picture - stop asking her that!
Ta Ta!
Heather & Cathy
PS - Cathy is yelling at me as I type this, but I do think a lot of you are pervs. Some of you seem really sweet, but I think a lot of you are total pervs. Don't worry, Cathy is too, believe me. She'll probably delete this once I give her her arms back, but for now... LOL!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
BLOG - Another Flash
Did a story today, another 'Flash Fiction' exercise that went a LOT differently than I had thought it would. The concept was simple - I would imagine I was newly injured, low level quadriplegic, and it was my first day back at work after the accident.
Well, it went in a much different direction that I initially thought it would - much more bitter, but much more realistic I think. I don't think I was writing from the standpoint of 'me', the wannabe and fetishist. I actually seemed to almost channel what a 'normal' woman would feel if she were in that situation.
She doesn't actually get to work in the story - it's her morning routine, mostly, and her reflections on her situation. As with the last and my 'rules' for flash fiction, I wrote it in a little over an hour, no edits or rewrites, just a standard spell check.
I'm curious to know what people think.
Well, it went in a much different direction that I initially thought it would - much more bitter, but much more realistic I think. I don't think I was writing from the standpoint of 'me', the wannabe and fetishist. I actually seemed to almost channel what a 'normal' woman would feel if she were in that situation.
She doesn't actually get to work in the story - it's her morning routine, mostly, and her reflections on her situation. As with the last and my 'rules' for flash fiction, I wrote it in a little over an hour, no edits or rewrites, just a standard spell check.
I'm curious to know what people think.
STORY - First Day Back
Flash Fiction - First Day Back by ParaCathy
Cathy used her wrists and palms to grasp the soft sheets, tossing them to the side and uncovering herself. She pushed herself up with some effort, using her forearms and elbows as she learned in rehab, until she was sitting, then pulled her limp, numb lower body a foot, so she was leaning against the oak headboard.
It was her first day back at work since the accident, and she was nervous, couldn't sleep. She woke up an hour before her alarm, which was already set an hour earlier than it had been before... before her jogging accident, before her broken back, before...
She looked to her left, to the chrome and black wheelchair that sat there, wheels locked, ready to carry her, to take her wherever she needed to go. She focused back on her normal routine, the routine that had been drilled into her over weeks and weeks of rehab.
Her braces were first, and she used her wrists and mouth to pull on the nylon and plastic splints, holding her wrists rigid, her lifeless fingers curled against her palm. She pressed the Velcro closures and then went to work on her diaper. It was a bulky overnight diaper that she hated, but also understood she needed. Changing her sheets every other day would be much more taxing - and more embarrassing, considering the reason behind it. She remembered the first time she saw the nurses change her sheets after she had wet them, and blushed a little, embarrassed at the memory.
Using her braced wrists and hands, she was able to remove the nighttime diaper and dispose if it, then took out some cleansing wipes and cleaned herself. There was no feeling, no sensation, nothing at all any more, not from her nipples down. Feet, legs, sex, stomach - it was all just numb now, useless. It was still her, of course - her body, her parts - but they were different now. She was different now.
Her panties were next. No more exotic thongs, though. She pulled open her nightstand drawer using the pull-loop that Miranda had added to it for her. Pulled out a pair of pink cotton panties and a 'protective undergarment' - a fancy way to say a small diaper, again in case she didn't cath in time, or her schedule was off a little. She struggled first to pull her limp left leg up until her knee just about hit her chest, then struggled with her mostly useless hands to get the panties on over her curled left foot. She did it, then pulled up the right leg and, after a few tries, finally got that leg into the panties too. Then it was just using her braced wrists to pull the panties up her unmoving legs, until they were up to her thighs. She slipped in the padded diaper insert and pulled them all the way up, rolling her hips side to side clumsily to get them all the way up.
Her bra was next - no more Victoria Secret for her. No way she could manage the clasps. She pulled an adapted bra over her head and pushed her arms through it, then used her braced wrists to pull and push it into place over her full - though half numb - breasts.
This process had already taken a full twenty five minutes and Cathy was feeling frustrated. She hadn't even made it into her wheelchair yet, hadn't even tried getting her stockings on. She had don it a few times in rehab, as she liked wearing stockings and pantyhose, but she knew it would be hard, that she might not even manage it.
She pulled a pair of nude pantyhose from her drawer and began the laborious process of scrunching them up onto her limp hands. First her left leg, floppy dead weight. She pulled the scrunched hose over her curled foot and began pulling it up past her ankle, to her calf, using her wrists and braced palms. Then the same process for the right leg, scrunching the hose over her crippled hands, then pulling the stretchy material over her unfeeling foot, up her leg, matching the level of the left. Then she pulled and slid and manipulated her stockings, her legs, her half-dead hands, to get the hose up her limp legs, up to her hips, tugging and pulling, rolling her hips from side to side like they showed her in rehab. Smoothing the stockings out with her braced hands, her wrists.
It took her another half hour. Thirty two minutes, to be exact - she was keeping track on the digital clock by the bedside. Thirty two minutes to put on a pair of nude colored pantyhose. And they still didn't set right on her right foot, the toe was noticeably crooked, but she didn't have the energy or the patience to fix it. She was just satisfied, even proud, that she had gotten it done all by herself. Something so simple a few months ago, barely a second thought in her daily routine, but now....
Cathy grabbed her smooth transfer board from the bedside and propped it between the bed and her wheelchair, pushing thoughts of 'before' out of her head. It would drive her to madness, thinking of 'before', because with a broken back and a diagnosis of low-level quadriplegic there was no 'before'. There was just 'here and now'. Just ugly words like 'wheelchair' and 'cripple' and 'catheter' and 'assisted devices'.
She began the slow, careful transfer into her wheelchair, first setting the transfer board firmly, moving her buttocks onto it, slipping her already atrophied legs off the bed limply, getting her balance - or what was left of it. She pushed with one braced hand, pulled with the other, slid her bottom over the smooth transfer board into the seat of her wheelchair. Seat belt first - she made that mistake already, second day home, and toppled to the floor. The Velcro belt was secured in place, then she started pulling her legs into the chair's legrests. Positioning them as best she could, though her toes always flopped and pointed in odd directions now. Not very ladylike, but then again was she even still a lady? Or just some 'thing' in a chair, numb and lifeless from her nipples down? The things that made her a woman now foreign to her, familiar yet distant, like an aunt you remember form childhood but haven't seen in decades.
She moved the transfer board back to it's spot by the bed and pushed on the knobbed rims of her manual chair, using the strength in her biceps and triceps to move herself, turning towards the door. She could have had a power chair - probably should have had a power chair. Hell, wished she had a power chair the first time she wheeled over moderate carpet, and Miranda's parent's house. She had to ask for help, she couldn't get the chair moving once it had stopped. Too much resistance from that plush carpeting. She cried that night on the way home. Miranda held her hand, but she barely felt it.
She made it to the bathroom and started that process. Pulling down her pantyhose, then her panties and diaper, took a while, but wasn't as difficult in her chair. She took out the catheter, cleaned everything as she was expected to, and then proceeded to 'do her business'. The color looked OK, no infections or other things to call the doctor about. She still had a hard time getting used to things like that, checking her pee. Just part of the deal now - lots of ways to land back in the hospital when you can't feel two thirds of your body. Infection, pressure sores, circulation problems. The doctors had gone over so many things, showed her films that were more like horror movies than medical treatments. And this was her life now.
She finished, cleaned everything, then took her 'adapted' hairbrush - that would be a regular hairbrush with a loop around the handle that cost $40 instead of the normal $8. She slowly and clumsily brushed her hair, hated the way it looked, brushed it again, made it worse, then finally got it to a point where it was at least passable. Small victories were about the best she hoped for since the accident.
Done in the bathroom she wheeled to her closet, all her clothing now hanging 'wheelchair height', and picked out a very conservative skirt and blouse. The skirt was, of course, 'adaptive clothing' - specially made for someone in a chair, someone who wouldn't be standing up in it. She pulled on the white blouse and used the 'button puller' to get it buttoned up. A simple tool, she actually thought it would have been handy even before her accident, when she could use her hands, because it made buttoning her blouse very simple. After her blouse, she took the skirt - Velcro closures and a specially cut waist helped her to get it on without too much struggle, though it still took her nearly ten minutes to get it on and fastened properly. She pushed herself to the floor length mirror and looked at herself.
She tried to see 'Cathy' - her face, the curve of her breasts, the fall of her auburn hair. Instead she saw the wheelchair. She saw her useless legs. She saw the braces on her hands. She saw her curled feet. She saw the silver SUV that had thrown her twelve feet into the air as she was jogging, shattering her spine. She saw the rest of her life in a wheelchair. She turned her eyes away.
She wheeled to the kitchen and started the coffee, then took out some bread and slid it into the toaster. Everything was 'adapted' for her, true, but it was still a pain in the ass. Just putting something within easy reach didn't really make it easier for someone who couldn't move or feel her fingers, she thought bitterly, grabbing a coffee mug between her wrists and placing it under the Keurig machine. Once it was heated up, she dropped a K-Cup into the hopper and hit the flashing button, the machine whirring to life and brewing her morning coffee.
She ate her toast and slowly drank her coffee, watching CNN, talking heads debating about something or someone she had never heard of. She used to be so interested in the news, wanting to sound 'informed' and 'worldly'. Now her world was very different, and she really didn't care about those things any more. Her world was about getting through the day without falling out of her wheelchair or spilling her drink all over herself or pissing herself. that was about the biggest deal in world events she could handle at this point.
Things would get better, that was the mantra in rehab. Not her legs, not her hands, but 'things'. They meant, of course, that with practice and rehab and exercise and adherence to a 'program', living with her disability would get better, be more managable, daily tasks would seem less daunting. But that was after years. Maybe three or four of five of them. ans some things she would never 'get used to'. Never just 'accept and move on'. That was from Mike, one of her rehab coaches, who had been a paraplegic for a decade. A decade in a chair, and the only ray of hope he could give her was 'It will get better, but it will take a few years, at least'. Awesome.
And it was her first day back at work.
She wheeled to the door and reached over to the plant stand she had converted to her 'easy-reach shoe storage'. She only had one pair of 'approved' shoes, black leather things that were 'good for her feet' and 'protective' but looked like an elderly librarian had designed them. She lifted her limp left leg first and slipped the shoe onto her curled foot, making sure her toes weren't pinched or twisted, then placed her foot back onto the foot bar. She did the Same for the right, almost dropping the shoe but catching it by pressing it between her left leg and forearm, then struggling to manipulate it back into position. She got it on and placed her foot back on her footrest, trying to position her feet 'normally', but no matter what she tried they always slid or flopped back into looking 'wrong' - curled and turned in at her ankles. She stopped fidgeting with them in annoyed defeat and wheeled to her desk, rummaging through her paperwork, making sure she had her door card, her ID badge. Work had elevators and ramps, she wasn't worried about that nearly as much as what her co-workers would do, what they would say. She was going to feel like she was in an aquarium or zoo exhibit for a few weeks, she was sure.
She told herself she was ready for it, but as the clock ticked closer and closer to the time she had to meet the car they were sending, the wheelchair accessible transport they were providing until she got her license back, she wasn't as sure. She was starting to feel nervous. Afraid.
The clock struck eight thirty and she wheeled out of her apartment, taking her keys and placing her leather bag on her lap. She wheeled down the hall, pushing against the knobs on her rims with her braced palms, and reached the front door. She pressed her door card to the panel on the wall and it swung open for her. She saw the 'car' - an adapted mini-van with the side lift already down and waiting for her - and wheeled up to it , forcing a smile at the driver, and elderly gentleman. He locked her chair to the lift and raised her up eight inches, then she wheeled into the vehicle and loced her chair by the window. The lift folded in and the doors closed, and she was suddenly on her way...
Cathy used her wrists and palms to grasp the soft sheets, tossing them to the side and uncovering herself. She pushed herself up with some effort, using her forearms and elbows as she learned in rehab, until she was sitting, then pulled her limp, numb lower body a foot, so she was leaning against the oak headboard.
It was her first day back at work since the accident, and she was nervous, couldn't sleep. She woke up an hour before her alarm, which was already set an hour earlier than it had been before... before her jogging accident, before her broken back, before...
She looked to her left, to the chrome and black wheelchair that sat there, wheels locked, ready to carry her, to take her wherever she needed to go. She focused back on her normal routine, the routine that had been drilled into her over weeks and weeks of rehab.
Her braces were first, and she used her wrists and mouth to pull on the nylon and plastic splints, holding her wrists rigid, her lifeless fingers curled against her palm. She pressed the Velcro closures and then went to work on her diaper. It was a bulky overnight diaper that she hated, but also understood she needed. Changing her sheets every other day would be much more taxing - and more embarrassing, considering the reason behind it. She remembered the first time she saw the nurses change her sheets after she had wet them, and blushed a little, embarrassed at the memory.
Using her braced wrists and hands, she was able to remove the nighttime diaper and dispose if it, then took out some cleansing wipes and cleaned herself. There was no feeling, no sensation, nothing at all any more, not from her nipples down. Feet, legs, sex, stomach - it was all just numb now, useless. It was still her, of course - her body, her parts - but they were different now. She was different now.
Her panties were next. No more exotic thongs, though. She pulled open her nightstand drawer using the pull-loop that Miranda had added to it for her. Pulled out a pair of pink cotton panties and a 'protective undergarment' - a fancy way to say a small diaper, again in case she didn't cath in time, or her schedule was off a little. She struggled first to pull her limp left leg up until her knee just about hit her chest, then struggled with her mostly useless hands to get the panties on over her curled left foot. She did it, then pulled up the right leg and, after a few tries, finally got that leg into the panties too. Then it was just using her braced wrists to pull the panties up her unmoving legs, until they were up to her thighs. She slipped in the padded diaper insert and pulled them all the way up, rolling her hips side to side clumsily to get them all the way up.
Her bra was next - no more Victoria Secret for her. No way she could manage the clasps. She pulled an adapted bra over her head and pushed her arms through it, then used her braced wrists to pull and push it into place over her full - though half numb - breasts.
This process had already taken a full twenty five minutes and Cathy was feeling frustrated. She hadn't even made it into her wheelchair yet, hadn't even tried getting her stockings on. She had don it a few times in rehab, as she liked wearing stockings and pantyhose, but she knew it would be hard, that she might not even manage it.
She pulled a pair of nude pantyhose from her drawer and began the laborious process of scrunching them up onto her limp hands. First her left leg, floppy dead weight. She pulled the scrunched hose over her curled foot and began pulling it up past her ankle, to her calf, using her wrists and braced palms. Then the same process for the right leg, scrunching the hose over her crippled hands, then pulling the stretchy material over her unfeeling foot, up her leg, matching the level of the left. Then she pulled and slid and manipulated her stockings, her legs, her half-dead hands, to get the hose up her limp legs, up to her hips, tugging and pulling, rolling her hips from side to side like they showed her in rehab. Smoothing the stockings out with her braced hands, her wrists.
It took her another half hour. Thirty two minutes, to be exact - she was keeping track on the digital clock by the bedside. Thirty two minutes to put on a pair of nude colored pantyhose. And they still didn't set right on her right foot, the toe was noticeably crooked, but she didn't have the energy or the patience to fix it. She was just satisfied, even proud, that she had gotten it done all by herself. Something so simple a few months ago, barely a second thought in her daily routine, but now....
Cathy grabbed her smooth transfer board from the bedside and propped it between the bed and her wheelchair, pushing thoughts of 'before' out of her head. It would drive her to madness, thinking of 'before', because with a broken back and a diagnosis of low-level quadriplegic there was no 'before'. There was just 'here and now'. Just ugly words like 'wheelchair' and 'cripple' and 'catheter' and 'assisted devices'.
She began the slow, careful transfer into her wheelchair, first setting the transfer board firmly, moving her buttocks onto it, slipping her already atrophied legs off the bed limply, getting her balance - or what was left of it. She pushed with one braced hand, pulled with the other, slid her bottom over the smooth transfer board into the seat of her wheelchair. Seat belt first - she made that mistake already, second day home, and toppled to the floor. The Velcro belt was secured in place, then she started pulling her legs into the chair's legrests. Positioning them as best she could, though her toes always flopped and pointed in odd directions now. Not very ladylike, but then again was she even still a lady? Or just some 'thing' in a chair, numb and lifeless from her nipples down? The things that made her a woman now foreign to her, familiar yet distant, like an aunt you remember form childhood but haven't seen in decades.
She moved the transfer board back to it's spot by the bed and pushed on the knobbed rims of her manual chair, using the strength in her biceps and triceps to move herself, turning towards the door. She could have had a power chair - probably should have had a power chair. Hell, wished she had a power chair the first time she wheeled over moderate carpet, and Miranda's parent's house. She had to ask for help, she couldn't get the chair moving once it had stopped. Too much resistance from that plush carpeting. She cried that night on the way home. Miranda held her hand, but she barely felt it.
She made it to the bathroom and started that process. Pulling down her pantyhose, then her panties and diaper, took a while, but wasn't as difficult in her chair. She took out the catheter, cleaned everything as she was expected to, and then proceeded to 'do her business'. The color looked OK, no infections or other things to call the doctor about. She still had a hard time getting used to things like that, checking her pee. Just part of the deal now - lots of ways to land back in the hospital when you can't feel two thirds of your body. Infection, pressure sores, circulation problems. The doctors had gone over so many things, showed her films that were more like horror movies than medical treatments. And this was her life now.
She finished, cleaned everything, then took her 'adapted' hairbrush - that would be a regular hairbrush with a loop around the handle that cost $40 instead of the normal $8. She slowly and clumsily brushed her hair, hated the way it looked, brushed it again, made it worse, then finally got it to a point where it was at least passable. Small victories were about the best she hoped for since the accident.
Done in the bathroom she wheeled to her closet, all her clothing now hanging 'wheelchair height', and picked out a very conservative skirt and blouse. The skirt was, of course, 'adaptive clothing' - specially made for someone in a chair, someone who wouldn't be standing up in it. She pulled on the white blouse and used the 'button puller' to get it buttoned up. A simple tool, she actually thought it would have been handy even before her accident, when she could use her hands, because it made buttoning her blouse very simple. After her blouse, she took the skirt - Velcro closures and a specially cut waist helped her to get it on without too much struggle, though it still took her nearly ten minutes to get it on and fastened properly. She pushed herself to the floor length mirror and looked at herself.
She tried to see 'Cathy' - her face, the curve of her breasts, the fall of her auburn hair. Instead she saw the wheelchair. She saw her useless legs. She saw the braces on her hands. She saw her curled feet. She saw the silver SUV that had thrown her twelve feet into the air as she was jogging, shattering her spine. She saw the rest of her life in a wheelchair. She turned her eyes away.
She wheeled to the kitchen and started the coffee, then took out some bread and slid it into the toaster. Everything was 'adapted' for her, true, but it was still a pain in the ass. Just putting something within easy reach didn't really make it easier for someone who couldn't move or feel her fingers, she thought bitterly, grabbing a coffee mug between her wrists and placing it under the Keurig machine. Once it was heated up, she dropped a K-Cup into the hopper and hit the flashing button, the machine whirring to life and brewing her morning coffee.
She ate her toast and slowly drank her coffee, watching CNN, talking heads debating about something or someone she had never heard of. She used to be so interested in the news, wanting to sound 'informed' and 'worldly'. Now her world was very different, and she really didn't care about those things any more. Her world was about getting through the day without falling out of her wheelchair or spilling her drink all over herself or pissing herself. that was about the biggest deal in world events she could handle at this point.
Things would get better, that was the mantra in rehab. Not her legs, not her hands, but 'things'. They meant, of course, that with practice and rehab and exercise and adherence to a 'program', living with her disability would get better, be more managable, daily tasks would seem less daunting. But that was after years. Maybe three or four of five of them. ans some things she would never 'get used to'. Never just 'accept and move on'. That was from Mike, one of her rehab coaches, who had been a paraplegic for a decade. A decade in a chair, and the only ray of hope he could give her was 'It will get better, but it will take a few years, at least'. Awesome.
And it was her first day back at work.
She wheeled to the door and reached over to the plant stand she had converted to her 'easy-reach shoe storage'. She only had one pair of 'approved' shoes, black leather things that were 'good for her feet' and 'protective' but looked like an elderly librarian had designed them. She lifted her limp left leg first and slipped the shoe onto her curled foot, making sure her toes weren't pinched or twisted, then placed her foot back onto the foot bar. She did the Same for the right, almost dropping the shoe but catching it by pressing it between her left leg and forearm, then struggling to manipulate it back into position. She got it on and placed her foot back on her footrest, trying to position her feet 'normally', but no matter what she tried they always slid or flopped back into looking 'wrong' - curled and turned in at her ankles. She stopped fidgeting with them in annoyed defeat and wheeled to her desk, rummaging through her paperwork, making sure she had her door card, her ID badge. Work had elevators and ramps, she wasn't worried about that nearly as much as what her co-workers would do, what they would say. She was going to feel like she was in an aquarium or zoo exhibit for a few weeks, she was sure.
She told herself she was ready for it, but as the clock ticked closer and closer to the time she had to meet the car they were sending, the wheelchair accessible transport they were providing until she got her license back, she wasn't as sure. She was starting to feel nervous. Afraid.
The clock struck eight thirty and she wheeled out of her apartment, taking her keys and placing her leather bag on her lap. She wheeled down the hall, pushing against the knobs on her rims with her braced palms, and reached the front door. She pressed her door card to the panel on the wall and it swung open for her. She saw the 'car' - an adapted mini-van with the side lift already down and waiting for her - and wheeled up to it , forcing a smile at the driver, and elderly gentleman. He locked her chair to the lift and raised her up eight inches, then she wheeled into the vehicle and loced her chair by the window. The lift folded in and the doors closed, and she was suddenly on her way...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Blog - Twitter feed
I'm going to start using Twitter a bit more, and I've linked this blog to my Twitter feed, so any blog post I make should automatically be posted to Twitter as well, in case anyone was following me.
BLOG - Flash Fiction
I've started trying a new idea for my writing. The concept is to just take an idea and create a really short story around it, just write it out in one sitting, no edits or rewrites or rethinks, nothing more than spelling or minor grammar corrections, and then publish it.
I tried it today and I like the result - it's posted in the previous entry. It's called 'Tit for Tat' and I wrote it in about 45 minutes, one sitting, no edits, I just did a spell check at the end and published it. It's extreme and kind of crazy and lacks a lot of detail, but what's there is the pure, raw concept of my idea brought into focus. Two women with a disability fetish and a mean streak, having at one another. Who will win? Well - we all do, I guess :)
I tried it today and I like the result - it's posted in the previous entry. It's called 'Tit for Tat' and I wrote it in about 45 minutes, one sitting, no edits, I just did a spell check at the end and published it. It's extreme and kind of crazy and lacks a lot of detail, but what's there is the pure, raw concept of my idea brought into focus. Two women with a disability fetish and a mean streak, having at one another. Who will win? Well - we all do, I guess :)
STORY - Tit for Tat
Tit for Tat - By Paragirl
I feel my way to the bed, crawling slowly across the floor. My legs are dead - they have been for a week, at least. The eyes are new, though, and I know this blindness is permanent, just like the legs.
I know she's watching me, on the bed trying trying not to make a sound. Her arms - rather her stumps, that was my doing - wiggling and trying to reach her pussy as she watches me struggle. I'm sure she's turned on by it, by my new found helplessness. The legs were one thing - it was pretty kinky actually, waking up numb from my hips down, seeing her fucking my numb pussy with that silver dildo. Fucking my unfeeling ass over and over again while I watched. I could have been OK like that, with my dead limp legs, needing a wheelchair to get around. It still pissed me off, though - that was why I did her arms.
She wasn't as excited or understanding, waking up from her drug-induced slumber to find herself looking at perfectly round arm stumps that wiggled just beneath her shoulders. I fed her and played with her pussy, rubbing her wet clit with my floppy crippled toes, and she started getting into it, but I knew... I could see it in her eyes. I should have been more careful, I guess...
We made love often for a few days, and she really seemed to be enjoying her armless condition. She loved being fed, loved being dressed by me. She said she felt like a doll. I paid lots of attention to her pussy, too - she could feel it at least, so I took good care of her that way. My pussy was dead, numb, like it didn't even exist. I couldn't even control my pee, so I wore bulky diapers. She loved that. She'd use her feet to play with my diaper, pull it off roughly, play with my dead sex and tell me how sexy it felt. How sexy my floppy useless legs looked.
I crawled now, across the plush rug of the bedroom, - I could feel it against my naked breasts as I dragged myself, though my body 'ended' conspicuously at my navel. I haven't really gotten used to that yet, and now that I was blind, it seemed to heighten my awareness even more - my awareness of my lack of awareness, my lack of feeling, sensation, movement. How my body was just dead weight, dragging behind me, soft and heavy and useless.
I found the bed and I heard the soft sound of a spring changing shape subtly as she shifted her weight in anticipation. I could imagine how hot she was now, seeing me drag myself blindly across the room, seeing my milky white eyes and limp lifeless legs. I assumed they were milky white - that seemed like something she would do, make it more obvious, more pronounced. It was eye drops, I'm pretty sure. Something simple, and she trained herself to use her toes to pull my eyes open while I was unconscious, to drip whatever toxin she had found into both eyes. I was kind of proud, really - she had learned to do so much with her feet and toes in a very short time. That's why they were next.
I reached the bed and slowly, laboriously dragged my dead lower half up. I heard her this time. A small moan and a giggle. I imaged how my legs wiggled and flopped as I struggled up the bed. I reached out and found her foot there, warm and seductive. I used her leg as purchase to pull myself up fully onto the bed, and then crawled towards her. Kissed her legs, her thighs. I moved slowly, sensually. Kissing and licking. Feeling her all over, my fingers replacing my blind eyes. Felt the soft fur of her muff, felt a smooth dimple in her left ass cheek, felt her breathing start to get deeper, heavier.
My fingers found her stumps and I caressed and rubbed them sensually, making her moan even more. I felt her legs shifting under my body and, even though I couldn't feel a thing, couldn't see it, I knew she was playing with my clit. I kissed and caressed her stumps and her breasts and snuck one hand down to her pussy, rubbing it gently, feeling how wet and aroused she was. She was playing with my pussy with her toes and I was sucking her arm stump and fingering her. She was almost ready to cum, I could feel her heartbeat racing, feel her muscles tensing. She was completely mine now, and she let her guard down completely, as I expected.
she didn't suspect anything because I was naked, and I was crippled, and I was blind. She didn't think I was a threat. Didn't see me move my hand around to my back. Didn't see me slip the capped syringe out of my numb ass. Didn't realize what I was doing as I was feeling her ass. Didn't feel the needle slip in during her orgasm. Then she was out cold.
The operation would be more difficult without eyesight, but bilateral amputation of the feet and lower legs wasn't a very tricky procedure. Doing it by feel wouldn't be all that difficult. and the results would be so very, very satisfying...
I smiled and began.
I feel my way to the bed, crawling slowly across the floor. My legs are dead - they have been for a week, at least. The eyes are new, though, and I know this blindness is permanent, just like the legs.
I know she's watching me, on the bed trying trying not to make a sound. Her arms - rather her stumps, that was my doing - wiggling and trying to reach her pussy as she watches me struggle. I'm sure she's turned on by it, by my new found helplessness. The legs were one thing - it was pretty kinky actually, waking up numb from my hips down, seeing her fucking my numb pussy with that silver dildo. Fucking my unfeeling ass over and over again while I watched. I could have been OK like that, with my dead limp legs, needing a wheelchair to get around. It still pissed me off, though - that was why I did her arms.
She wasn't as excited or understanding, waking up from her drug-induced slumber to find herself looking at perfectly round arm stumps that wiggled just beneath her shoulders. I fed her and played with her pussy, rubbing her wet clit with my floppy crippled toes, and she started getting into it, but I knew... I could see it in her eyes. I should have been more careful, I guess...
We made love often for a few days, and she really seemed to be enjoying her armless condition. She loved being fed, loved being dressed by me. She said she felt like a doll. I paid lots of attention to her pussy, too - she could feel it at least, so I took good care of her that way. My pussy was dead, numb, like it didn't even exist. I couldn't even control my pee, so I wore bulky diapers. She loved that. She'd use her feet to play with my diaper, pull it off roughly, play with my dead sex and tell me how sexy it felt. How sexy my floppy useless legs looked.
I crawled now, across the plush rug of the bedroom, - I could feel it against my naked breasts as I dragged myself, though my body 'ended' conspicuously at my navel. I haven't really gotten used to that yet, and now that I was blind, it seemed to heighten my awareness even more - my awareness of my lack of awareness, my lack of feeling, sensation, movement. How my body was just dead weight, dragging behind me, soft and heavy and useless.
I found the bed and I heard the soft sound of a spring changing shape subtly as she shifted her weight in anticipation. I could imagine how hot she was now, seeing me drag myself blindly across the room, seeing my milky white eyes and limp lifeless legs. I assumed they were milky white - that seemed like something she would do, make it more obvious, more pronounced. It was eye drops, I'm pretty sure. Something simple, and she trained herself to use her toes to pull my eyes open while I was unconscious, to drip whatever toxin she had found into both eyes. I was kind of proud, really - she had learned to do so much with her feet and toes in a very short time. That's why they were next.
I reached the bed and slowly, laboriously dragged my dead lower half up. I heard her this time. A small moan and a giggle. I imaged how my legs wiggled and flopped as I struggled up the bed. I reached out and found her foot there, warm and seductive. I used her leg as purchase to pull myself up fully onto the bed, and then crawled towards her. Kissed her legs, her thighs. I moved slowly, sensually. Kissing and licking. Feeling her all over, my fingers replacing my blind eyes. Felt the soft fur of her muff, felt a smooth dimple in her left ass cheek, felt her breathing start to get deeper, heavier.
My fingers found her stumps and I caressed and rubbed them sensually, making her moan even more. I felt her legs shifting under my body and, even though I couldn't feel a thing, couldn't see it, I knew she was playing with my clit. I kissed and caressed her stumps and her breasts and snuck one hand down to her pussy, rubbing it gently, feeling how wet and aroused she was. She was playing with my pussy with her toes and I was sucking her arm stump and fingering her. She was almost ready to cum, I could feel her heartbeat racing, feel her muscles tensing. She was completely mine now, and she let her guard down completely, as I expected.
she didn't suspect anything because I was naked, and I was crippled, and I was blind. She didn't think I was a threat. Didn't see me move my hand around to my back. Didn't see me slip the capped syringe out of my numb ass. Didn't realize what I was doing as I was feeling her ass. Didn't feel the needle slip in during her orgasm. Then she was out cold.
The operation would be more difficult without eyesight, but bilateral amputation of the feet and lower legs wasn't a very tricky procedure. Doing it by feel wouldn't be all that difficult. and the results would be so very, very satisfying...
I smiled and began.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Chatting and Cheating?
So I chat a lot, and often those chats tend to be very sexual, erotic, kinky, just downright naughty. I never really considered that 'cheating' on heather, but lately I'm having second thoughts. Last night I had a long, hot, steamy chat that resulted in multiple orgasms. I have never seen nor met the person I was chatting with, I don't even know what she looks like, or indeed like so many internet chats if 'she' was even a 'she'.
It was just typing, that's what I've always told myself. Typing and reading and masturbating, true - but how is that different from reading some erotic story and masturbating to that? Is it? I'm not sure any more.
the real problem came last night after Heather got home and asked what I had been doing all afternoon - not in a bad way, just typical conversation, a 'how was your day' kind of query - and I lied. Looked right at her, smiled, and lied. Said I checked email and did some laundry and watched some TiVoed episodes of The Closer.
Well, I DID check email, and I DID watch half an episode of The Closer while sitting on the couch basking in the 'afterglow' of multiple orgasms and hot cyber fantasy. But I couldn't tell her. I felt like it somehow crossed a line - that all this sexual chatting crosses a very real line in my very real relationship. I could always insulate myself before, because I have a very very strict policy of never meeting or even calling people I meet online, because of really bad past experience, so I could easily tell myself there was nothing 'real' about it. Just words on a screen, just fantasy.
I don't think that's true anymore. I don't think it ever was. I think that for two-plus hours yesterday afternoon I was cheating on my girlfriend, seriously hardcore cheating on her, and I feel really, really awful about that right now. I'm not sure what's changed, but something has. Something has shifted my perceptions or something.
So what do you think? Are you in a relationship? What if your partner was sitting at home having a long, steamy, erotic chat with someone on the computer, having multiple orgasms? He or she would never plan on meeting this chat partner physically, not even call them on the phone - it's just chat on the computer. Would that matter to you? If you could see them, from some hidden room, watch them type and get naked and stick a dildo in or finger themselves or jerk off, would it feel any less like betrayal than if you were watching them make love to a person physically? Is it different? Is it less wrong just because it's easier?
I love my girlfriend. I hope some day the laws in this nation would be progressive enough to allow her to become my wife. I know what I'm doing is wrong. I guess I always did. So why is it bothering me so much now?
It was just typing, that's what I've always told myself. Typing and reading and masturbating, true - but how is that different from reading some erotic story and masturbating to that? Is it? I'm not sure any more.
the real problem came last night after Heather got home and asked what I had been doing all afternoon - not in a bad way, just typical conversation, a 'how was your day' kind of query - and I lied. Looked right at her, smiled, and lied. Said I checked email and did some laundry and watched some TiVoed episodes of The Closer.
Well, I DID check email, and I DID watch half an episode of The Closer while sitting on the couch basking in the 'afterglow' of multiple orgasms and hot cyber fantasy. But I couldn't tell her. I felt like it somehow crossed a line - that all this sexual chatting crosses a very real line in my very real relationship. I could always insulate myself before, because I have a very very strict policy of never meeting or even calling people I meet online, because of really bad past experience, so I could easily tell myself there was nothing 'real' about it. Just words on a screen, just fantasy.
I don't think that's true anymore. I don't think it ever was. I think that for two-plus hours yesterday afternoon I was cheating on my girlfriend, seriously hardcore cheating on her, and I feel really, really awful about that right now. I'm not sure what's changed, but something has. Something has shifted my perceptions or something.
So what do you think? Are you in a relationship? What if your partner was sitting at home having a long, steamy, erotic chat with someone on the computer, having multiple orgasms? He or she would never plan on meeting this chat partner physically, not even call them on the phone - it's just chat on the computer. Would that matter to you? If you could see them, from some hidden room, watch them type and get naked and stick a dildo in or finger themselves or jerk off, would it feel any less like betrayal than if you were watching them make love to a person physically? Is it different? Is it less wrong just because it's easier?
I love my girlfriend. I hope some day the laws in this nation would be progressive enough to allow her to become my wife. I know what I'm doing is wrong. I guess I always did. So why is it bothering me so much now?
Monday, August 3, 2009
BLOG - Our Vacation
OK, so I've gotten about three dozen emails asking to detail our vacation. I'm not going to go into GREAT detail (I.E. this won't be a porn story) but I can let people know what we did and stuff...
First off, we decided (with the help of the poll I ran here) that I would go in my wheelchair. We had already decided that I would go with a disability, obviously, and Heather was fine with the wheelchair, as she knows that's what I identify with most. We did bring a few extra 'props' of course - don't' leave home without them - but as far as the room and all regular arrangements, I was a wheelchair user. We never said 'paraplegic', just 'wheelchair user'.
So we went to a REALLY nice inn/spa in Vermont, a very GLBT friendly place that's actually owned by a really sweet Lesbian couple. We didn't need to book a 'wheelchair accessible' room because it was all one level and all the rooms were set up so that I had no issues with my wheelchair. The toilet even had grab bars, which was nice, and the whole place was laid out in an easy, casual way that made wheeling very easy. No stairs to speak of, a few little 'drops' that Heather had no trouble helping with.
The Inn was a very private 'romantic getaway' kind of place, and we took advantage of that a LOT. We got daily massages together, I got my first ever 'mud wrap' which was interesting, and Heather got a 'hot stone massage' which was like $100 but she said it was so amazing.
We had really nice dinners every night, a few at the inn and others out in town, me always in my chair naturally. We went out on Friday night to a VERY elegant place about 40 minutes away from the spa, someplace the concierge at the inn told us about, and we dressed up really fancy, Heather in a really sexy red dress and thigh-hi stockings and me in a really pretty charcoal dress and complimenting hose, with no shoes. I think we definitely got looks, that's for sure - though probably more for the way we were holding hands and cuddling than me being in a wheelchair.
I did make a few compromises for the week - the biggest was 'no diapers', as Heather just wasn't into that. I was cool with it, as I was being treated as a wheelchair user the whole week and pampered and treated like a queen... And it was mostly Heather paying for it since it was like a $2500 getaway and there's NO WAY I could pay for that on my shitty salary....
Other things we did that might interest people - on Wednesday morning Heather got me a REALLY nice, high-end amazing practically ORGASMIC pedicure (which she say and watched, and I think had a little mini-orgasm from), and then right afterward we went back to our room, put the 'do not disturb' sign on our door, and Heather bound my arms so I was DAE amputee, and I stayed that way until dinner time. Heather spent the whole time making me do things with my newly pedicured feet, like trying to lift a pen, write my name.... eventually I learned to use my feet to use a vibrator on Heather and she came about a dozen times as I used my feet and toes to play with her. That was really hot, I have to admit - armless is fast becoming my second favorite disability fantasy, and I REALLY want to try hooks at some point - not sure that will ever happen, but I'd like to try it... though I know for 'real life disability' wheelchair is the only thing I'd choose.
So we're back now, after a really lovely time. We're still planning a blindsimming weekend getaway soon, probably by mid-august, just need to get the final plans taken care of, and it can't cost a lot, since we spent a LOT on this last vacation. I'm back to working on some new stories, including the 'New Arrangement' series that people seem to enjoy a lot. I'm going other things too, though, don't worry :)
First off, we decided (with the help of the poll I ran here) that I would go in my wheelchair. We had already decided that I would go with a disability, obviously, and Heather was fine with the wheelchair, as she knows that's what I identify with most. We did bring a few extra 'props' of course - don't' leave home without them - but as far as the room and all regular arrangements, I was a wheelchair user. We never said 'paraplegic', just 'wheelchair user'.
So we went to a REALLY nice inn/spa in Vermont, a very GLBT friendly place that's actually owned by a really sweet Lesbian couple. We didn't need to book a 'wheelchair accessible' room because it was all one level and all the rooms were set up so that I had no issues with my wheelchair. The toilet even had grab bars, which was nice, and the whole place was laid out in an easy, casual way that made wheeling very easy. No stairs to speak of, a few little 'drops' that Heather had no trouble helping with.
The Inn was a very private 'romantic getaway' kind of place, and we took advantage of that a LOT. We got daily massages together, I got my first ever 'mud wrap' which was interesting, and Heather got a 'hot stone massage' which was like $100 but she said it was so amazing.
We had really nice dinners every night, a few at the inn and others out in town, me always in my chair naturally. We went out on Friday night to a VERY elegant place about 40 minutes away from the spa, someplace the concierge at the inn told us about, and we dressed up really fancy, Heather in a really sexy red dress and thigh-hi stockings and me in a really pretty charcoal dress and complimenting hose, with no shoes. I think we definitely got looks, that's for sure - though probably more for the way we were holding hands and cuddling than me being in a wheelchair.
I did make a few compromises for the week - the biggest was 'no diapers', as Heather just wasn't into that. I was cool with it, as I was being treated as a wheelchair user the whole week and pampered and treated like a queen... And it was mostly Heather paying for it since it was like a $2500 getaway and there's NO WAY I could pay for that on my shitty salary....
Other things we did that might interest people - on Wednesday morning Heather got me a REALLY nice, high-end amazing practically ORGASMIC pedicure (which she say and watched, and I think had a little mini-orgasm from), and then right afterward we went back to our room, put the 'do not disturb' sign on our door, and Heather bound my arms so I was DAE amputee, and I stayed that way until dinner time. Heather spent the whole time making me do things with my newly pedicured feet, like trying to lift a pen, write my name.... eventually I learned to use my feet to use a vibrator on Heather and she came about a dozen times as I used my feet and toes to play with her. That was really hot, I have to admit - armless is fast becoming my second favorite disability fantasy, and I REALLY want to try hooks at some point - not sure that will ever happen, but I'd like to try it... though I know for 'real life disability' wheelchair is the only thing I'd choose.
So we're back now, after a really lovely time. We're still planning a blindsimming weekend getaway soon, probably by mid-august, just need to get the final plans taken care of, and it can't cost a lot, since we spent a LOT on this last vacation. I'm back to working on some new stories, including the 'New Arrangement' series that people seem to enjoy a lot. I'm going other things too, though, don't worry :)
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