“I’ve always wanted to do one of these!” Natalie said eagerly as we strolled up the sidewalk to the art studio. The heel of her shiny, red shoe clicked against the concrete, creating a sharp contrast with the dull thump of the oversized walking boot she wore on her other foot. Click, thump, click, thump, click, thump. “But, with my crazy work schedule, it’s hard to plan a girls’ night out since I’m gone most weekends.”
“Well, this one’s just for couples.” Peeking through the front window as we approached it, I saw a few pairs of people sitting at the easels that had been set up throughout the studio. “I doubt I’ll be any good at painting, but I thought it sounded like something new and different for us to try.”
I had been racking my brain for the better part of a month, trying to come up with a romantic date idea for Valentine’s Day that was more creative than the tired, old cliche of dinner and a movie. A “Paint and Sip” night catered toward couples had seemed like something Natalie would enjoy, but I was still relieved to see her enthusiastic reaction.
“It’ll be fun!” she agreed, grabbing the doorknob with a grin. “After you.” She held the door open for me while I wheeled myself over the threshold, then hobbled after me into the studio, her uneven footsteps amplified by the creaky, wooden floorboards. Click, thump, click, thump, click, thump.
“Welcome!” We were greeted by a smiling, silver-haired woman in a paint-splattered, chambray shirt. “You must be Kevin and Natalie. I’m Carol. Come on in and find an open easel.”
Natalie seemed impressed that she knew us by name, but it was probably only because I had asked about accessibility when I’d called the studio to make our reservation. As I looked around the space, I didn’t see anyone else in a wheelchair. I pushed myself toward a pair of easels in the far back corner, where I wouldn’t be in the way. “Are we gonna be able to see from back here?” Natalie asked as she followed me.
I shrugged. “I just thought it’d be nice for us to have some privacy. You know I hate when people stare at me.”
Natalie nodded. “Good point,” she said, sliding a wooden stool aside so I could park my chair in front of one of the easels.
“Feel free to hang your coats on the hooks up front,” Carol said when she came around to pass out art aprons. “Can I get either of you a glass of wine?”
“Yes, please!” Natalie replied, removing her beige mod coat to reveal the little black dress she wore underneath.
“That would be great,” I agreed as I fumbled with the buttons on the front of my wool coat. “Thanks!”
While Carol poured the wine, Natalie helped me take off my coat and put on my apron. I smoothed the black canvas over my lap, trying to cover as much of my clothing as I could. I didn’t want to have paint all down the front of my dress shirt and pants when Natalie and I went out to dinner afterward. I’d made a reservation at one of Lexington’s finest restaurants and was really looking forward to the rest of the evening.
On our way downtown, we had dropped Mason off at my mother’s house for a Mammaw-Mason Valentine’s Day date. Since Dawn wouldn’t be back in town until the following afternoon, Mom had offered to keep Mason overnight and take him to school in the morning, so Natalie and I could have the whole night to ourselves. “It’s your first Valentine’s Day together. You two deserve to spend some quality time together,” she’d told us with a twinkle in her eye. After the heartbreak I had endured, I knew she was happy to see me in another healthy, committed relationship. I just hoped Natalie’s parents felt the same way.
“So, what do your folks usually do for Valentine’s Day?” I asked her when she returned from hanging up our coats.
Natalie laughed as she squeezed past me, perching on the stool in front of the easel next to mine. “Well, my daddy always buys my momma a box of chocolates and a dozen roses, and she bakes him a cherry pie – his favorite.” As she spoke, she reached back to adjust her apron strings, retying them tighter around her neck. “Then they go out for dinner at the same old restaurant they’ve been eating at for almost forty years. Knowing them, they’re probably on their way there right now.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall and gave me a crooked grin. “They’re creatures of habit.”
Despite the mixed feelings I had for her father, I didn’t like the disdainful tone Natalie used whenever she talked about her “small-town” parents. “Sounds like a nice tradition,” I said, pasting a smile onto my face. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“No, of course not,” Natalie replied quickly, her cheeks reddening as she reached for her wine glass. I hoped she had realized how snobby she sounded when she made those kinds of comments. Yet, deep down, I couldn’t help wondering whether she would have shown the same interest in me if I wasn’t a wealthy musician who had traveled the world. Surely, she must have realized by now that, Backstreet Boy or not, I was just a regular guy who was proud of his rural, Southern roots.
An awkward silence fell as we both sipped our wine, listening to the strains of conversation coming from the other couples seated around us while we waited for the painting class to begin. I kept myself busy by taking one of my universal cuffs out of my bag and wrapping it around my left hand, so I could hold a paintbrush.
“Want some help with that?” Natalie offered, but I shook my head, using my teeth to pull the velcro fastener tight.
Thankfully, the class started right on time. The instructor, Carol, began by showing us an example of the painting we were about to create: a pair of lovebirds sitting on a tree branch, their bodies silhouetted against a full moon that looked like a heart. I had picked this particular class because of the symbolism birds held for both Natalie and me.
First, Carol showed us how to paint the background, using broad strokes with a wide brush to cover the canvas before blending it with other colors. “Now, you can use whatever colors you want,” she said as her practiced hand swept up and down her canvas, quickly filling it with shades of red and pink. “I encourage you to make this piece of art your own.”
I hadn’t painted since my injury, but this part was easy for me, as it required minimal fine motor control. Finding the heart-shaped moon a little hokey, I used light blue and gray to create an overcast winter sky on my canvas. Next to me, Natalie kept the heart but turned hers into a gorgeous sunrise with a gradient of purple, pink, and gold.
“That looks great, babe,” I told her as we waited for the paint to dry.
Natalie beamed. “Thanks! So does yours,” she replied, taking a sip of her wine.
Next, we swapped our wide brushes for narrower ones to paint the tree. Following Carol’s lead, Natalie made curving, black lines across her canvas to create whimsical, flourishing branches, while I left my tree more barren-looking with just a few, short branches extending from its trunk.
As we worked, Carol walked around the studio, offering advice and encouragement. She showed me how to blend horizontal lines of gray and white to make my tree look like a birch with peeling bark and snow clinging to its branches.
It took me a long time to get it just right. “Perfectionism and quadriplegia… bad combination,” I said, heaving a sigh of frustration as I pulled my hand slowly across the canvas, trying not to push too hard and end up with smeared blobs of paint.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, babe,” Natalie told me as she took another sip of wine. “You’re doing great!”
I was doubtful at first, but, despite the difficulty I had controlling my brush, the tree looked pretty good by the time I was done with it.
By that point, the rest of the class had moved on to the hardest part of the painting: the two birds. “Look, it’s just a small circle for the head, a bigger oval for the body, and skinny triangles for the beak and tail feathers,” Natalie said, showing me how she had painted the near-perfect silhouette of a pair of songbirds perched on one of her branches. “Trust me – I’m not artistic at all, so if I can do it, you can do it.”
I may have trusted her, but, no matter how simple she made it sound, I didn’t trust myself not to mess up my painting. “Yeah, but you can move your fingers. I can’t,” I muttered. “Mason could probably paint a better bird than me.”
She flashed me a sympathetic smile. “Do you want me to outline it for you, and you fill it in?”
As I considered her offer, I could practically hear Ellis, my former occupational therapist from the rehab hospital, saying, “Try it first, before you ask for help. Don’t let others do for you what you can do for yourself.”
“Thanks, but no,” I told Natalie, shaking my head. “For better or worse, I wanna do this by myself. That way, it’s really my artwork, you know?”
She nodded. “Of course, baby; I understand. Just take your time. You’ve got this! And, hey, if you can’t do it by hand, you could always try using that talented mouth of yours,” she said with a suggestive wink.
I smirked back at her, feeling a sudden rush of warmth flood my cheeks. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m gonna need a steady hand here.”
Taking a deep breath, I dipped the tip of my brush into the blob of black paint on my palette and leaned closer to my canvas. I placed my right palm under my left wrist to stabilize it and stop my hand from shaking as I raised my brush. Starting with the body, I carefully drew an oblong shape on top of the branch and a smaller, rounder one above that. Once I filled in both ovals, they began to look less like blobs and more like a bird. I made the second bird slightly bigger, leaving a little space between it and its mate for a triangular beak and tail feathers. Then, on sudden inspiration, I went back and added a tiny splotch of red to the smaller bird’s shoulder, turning it into a red-winged blackbird.
“There we are,” I said, leaning back to admire my handiwork. “The blackbird and the crow.”
“Kevin! That looks so good, babe!” Natalie cried. She threw her arm around me and hugged my shoulders. “See? I told you you could do it!”
I smiled, pleased with myself.
“What a lovely piece!” Carol complimented me the next time she came over to our corner. She showed me how to add highlights with a bit of white paint.
Next to me, Natalie was busy putting little, light pink cherry blossoms on the ends of her branches, like Carol had done in her example. I left the leaves off of my tree, preferring the stark look of its bare branches against the wintery backdrop of my painting. Instead, I dipped my brush into the black paint, diluted it with some water, and drew a crooked heart carved into the trunk. Inside, I added our initials: K + N.
Natalie smiled when she saw it. “Aww, babe! That is so sweet!”
“Beautiful work,” Carol added as she looked over my shoulder. “Your painting moves me. Those muted blues and grays make me feel a little bit melancholy, but the birds give me a reason to smile. I love it.”
“Thank you,” I replied, feeling my face redden. A part of me wondered if she was being particularly effusive with her praise because I was in a wheelchair. The chair brought out people’s tendency to treat me like a child.
But, later that night, when I took another look at my finished painting in the soft lamplight of my bedroom, I saw what she was talking about. There was something sad about the barren birch tree set against the bleak, winter sky, yet the sight of the two birds sitting together on one of its branches filled me with a sense of hope. The red crescent on the blackbird’s wing caught my eye and took my mind right back that night in the hospital when I had managed to move my arm for the first time since my accident. “Blackbird, singing in the dead of night… take these broken wings and learn to fly…” To me, the blackbird was a sign of life, just like the crow had become a symbol of love.
I thought about that as I watched Natalie fumble with the zipper on the back of her black dress. She had managed to pull it down partway, enough to expose one wing of the crow tattooed above her shoulder blade, but it seemed to have gotten stuck in the middle. “Need some help?” I offered as she contorted herself into a painful-looking position, one arm bent behind her head while the other reached around her back.
“It’s too tight!” she wailed, dropping her arms to her sides with a sigh of defeat. “I swear, my waistline must have grown two inches over dinner. Why did you let me order dessert?”
“Because it’s Valentine’s Day,” I said, smiling at her. “Wasn’t it delicious?”
“Yes, it was! That’s the problem! I ate every last bite of that cherry cheesecake, on top of a full steak dinner, and now I feel like a sausage stuffed into its casing.” Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom, she turned to the side to study her profile. “I mean, look at this!” she cried, placing her hand on her lower belly. “I look like I’m four months pregnant with a food baby!”
Her normally flat stomach did have a slight curve to it, but I never would have noticed if she hadn’t pointed it out. Nor did I care – I had always preferred a woman with a healthy appetite over one who only picked at her food. Besides, it was nice to be reminded that even people with beautiful, perfect bodies still felt self-conscious sometimes. “Join the club,” I said, patting my quad belly through my clothes.
Natalie gave me a despairing look. “You’re gonna have to cut me out of this dress.” I thought she was kidding at first, but when I saw her trembling chin, I realized she was close to tears. Of course, that could have been the wine talking – she had consumed several more glasses at dinner on top of the two she’d drunk during the painting class, making her more than a little tipsy.
“Don’t cry, babe,” I said, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing. “C’mere. Lemme see what I can do.”
She limped over to me, wobbling a little on her one red, patent leather pump. Click, thump, click, thump, click, thump. The difference in heel height between her shoe and the boot would have made walking a challenge for most people, but Natalie’s impeccable balance had served her well. Only now, at the end of the night, did I notice how unsteady her gait had become.
“Why don’t you sit down, so I can reach you better?” I suggested, patting my knee. “And take off that damn heel before you hurt your other ankle.”
Perching on my lap, Natalie lifted her left foot to loosen the thin strap around her ankle. Watching her reflection in the mirror across the room, I marveled at the way she neatly folded her leg in half, her nimble fingers unfastening the buckle with relative ease. Even in her intoxicated condition, she still had far better flexibility and dexterity than I ever would. It didn’t take her more than a few seconds to kick off her shoe.
The dress was going to take longer. I couldn’t work a zipper with my paralyzed fingers unless it had a ring attached to thread my thumb through. Dawn had put keyrings on my clothing, so I could zip up my coat in cold weather and unzip the fly of my pants to cath. But, of course, the zipper on Natalie’s dress didn’t have one. I would have to use my teeth.
Ducking my head, I took the tiny zipper between my top and bottom teeth and bit down, tugging gently. At first, I was met with resistance, but after a few tries, I finally managed to free the zipper from whatever it was stuck on and lower it as far as I physically could. “There,” I said, letting go of it. “Is that better?”
Reaching around behind her back, Natalie took hold of the zipper and tugged it the rest of the way down. “Much,” she replied with a sigh of relief. “How’d you do that?”
“I used my teeth,” I said with a triumphant grin. “I guess that talented mouth of mine came in handy tonight after all.”
“See? I told ya!” She giggled. “You can dazzle me with your oral talents anytime you want.”
Taking that as an invitation, I parted the two pieces of fabric with my fists to expose her bare back, revealing both the lacy black bra she had on underneath and the rest of her tattoo. I traced the crow with my thumb before leaning in closer to brush my lips over her shoulder blade, causing goosebumps to erupt up and down her arms. Beneath the sweet, flowery fragrance of her perfume, I could smell the musky scent of my body wash clinging to her warm, soft skin. She must have used it during her shower that day. As I nuzzled the back of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along her spine, I closed my eyes and pictured her standing naked beneath the spray with soap suds and beads of water dripping down her glistening body.
I desperately wished the steamy mental image was enough to make the rest of my body react the way it used to, but I knew it was no use. Without the help of one of my little blue pills and some intense physical stimulation from my Magic Wand, I wouldn’t be able to get the sort of release I craved – yet the scary side effects I had experienced along with my one and only post-injury orgasm had made both Natalie and me reluctant to push my body to that point again. Since that night in Jamaica, we had settled for safer acts of intimacy instead. But we were always searching for new and innovative ways to please each other.
Before we progressed any further, we both went into the bathroom to brush our teeth and prepare for bed. Natalie washed her face and started her nightly skincare routine while I took my pills and began the process of emptying my bladder. As usual, she finished first and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her, so I could pee in private. Now that she was accustomed to assisting with so many other aspects of my personal care, I was no longer embarrassed about catheterizing myself around her. It was just another necessity that had become a normal part of my life. Natalie didn’t seem fazed by it either, but that didn’t mean she wanted to watch me do it.
When I finally wheeled myself out of the bathroom, she was waiting for me in the bedroom, wearing the racy, red chemise I had given her as part of her Valentine’s Day present and looking just as sexy as I had imagined she would when I’d picked it out for her. “What took you so long?” she asked, flashing me a seductive smile as she stroked Colby, who was curled up next to her on the foot of the bed.
“You’re not the only one who drank a lot tonight,” I replied with a smirk. Granted, I had followed each glass of wine with a full glass of water, wanting to flush the alcohol out of my system before I drove us home from the restaurant. Unlike Natalie, I didn’t even have a buzz. But I felt thirstier than ever as I drank in the sight of her, looking like a cranberry cocktail in her crimson lingerie. “You look absolutely incredible in that, by the way.”
“Thanks, baby. It’s beautiful,” she said, smoothing the silky fabric over the tops of her thighs. “And so much classier than that naughty nurse costume you gave me for Christmas.”
As she caught my eye and winked, I cringed, recalling our awkward attempt at role-playing in Jamaica. “I know,” I admitted, feeling my face flush. “Not one of my better ideas, huh?”
“No, it was fun!” she insisted. “I liked dressing up and trying something different. But this is more my style.”
Moving closer to her, I nodded. “Yes, it certainly is.” My pulse fluttered in anticipation as my eyes panned down the length of her body, from the deep side part in her shiny, brown hair to the cherry red polish on her pedicured toenails. She struck a flirty pose as she perched on the foot of my bed, which had been neatly turned down for the night. My new Hoyer lift stood right next to it, ready for a transfer. Noticing the sling spread out on the bed behind her, I added, “Speaking of Nurse Natalie… that needs to go underneath me, remember?”
But it seemed Natalie had other plans for the lift. Following my gaze, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, I know. But I thought maybe I could take a ride in it myself first. Do you mind if I give it a try?”
I raised my eyebrows, taken aback by her request. “What, the Hoyer lift?”
She nodded, an eager expression on her face.
I frowned. “It’s a medical device, Nat, not a toy.” I had been prepared to have this conversation with my five-year-old son, not my full-grown girlfriend.
“Why couldn’t it be both?” she countered, uncrossing her legs. As she slowly scooted backward, I saw that she had nothing on underneath her short nightdress. “I told you it looked like a sex swing. So let’s see if it will work like one.”
“What have you been reading on that Kindle of yours?” I asked jokingly. “Fifty Shades of Grey?”
Natalie’s cheeks flushed pink. “So what if I have? What’s wrong with wanting to experiment with my boyfriend in the bedroom?”
Her words took me back to a different room on another night, more than nine months ago. “I can be pretty adventurous, you know,” I recalled her telling me the first time we had ever talked about sex. “I’m willing to experiment with you whenever you’re ready.” Just that morning, I’d found myself wishing we had more time to do just that. So why was I suddenly filled with doubts?
“Nothing!” I said emphatically, hoping I hadn’t offended her. “I appreciate your willingness to experiment with me. It’s just that… our experiments usually don’t end well.” Our history of sexual mishaps played through my mind like scenes from a Ben Stiller movie. “At best, it’s embarrassing for one of us and disappointing for the other, and at worst… Well, let’s just say I don’t want either of us to end up in the emergency room again.”
“Oh, come on, Kevin. What are you so worried about?” she asked as she centered herself on top of the sling. “You told me this thing was guaranteed to hold four hundred pounds. Even if I did put on five pounds at dinner tonight, I would still only weigh, like, one third of that. If it can hold your weight, it can hold mine.”
“Just yours, though, right? You’re not talking about both of us trying to ride in it at the same time, are you?” I still wasn’t entirely sure what she had in mind.
“What? No!” Natalie replied, her nose wrinkling. “I don’t think there would be enough room for both of us to fit comfortably. I just thought we could use it to try out a new position, since I’m kinda limited in what I can do right now.” As she raised her wrapped right leg in the air, I noticed that she had already removed the bulky boot from her foot. Until then, it hadn’t occurred to me that she was worried about putting weight on her injured ankle while kneeling on top of me in the cowgirl position we usually used, but now, her sudden desire to try a different one made more sense.
“Sorry – for a second there, I almost forgot you were temporarily disabled, too,” I said, flashing her a teasing smile. “I don’t want it to be painful for you, babe. So, okay – let’s see what we can do with the lift.”
Natalie gave me a devilish grin in return as she wrapped the ends of the sling around her legs, reaching over her head to loop each of its straps over one of the hooks hanging from the lift’s cradle. “Okay! Ready for liftoff!” she announced once she’d finished rigging herself into it.
“All right… hold on,” I replied, reaching for the remote. I had to admit, it was kind of fun to be the one in control of the lift for once. I pushed the up arrow, and the arm rose upward, hoisting her slowly off the mattress. The mechanical humming sound spooked Colby, who hissed and leaped off the bed, just like he had that morning. “There goes your kitty,” I remarked as he darted out the bedroom door.
“That’s okay. My other kitty’s right here, waiting for you to pet her.” Natalie’s lips curved into another suggestive smile as her fingers crept up the inside of her thigh and under her chemise.
I laughed, loving the effect a few glasses of wine had on my girlfriend. “Well, then… I guess I’d better make her purr, huh?”
“Uh-huh…” The Hoyer lift grinded to a halt, leaving her dangling a foot above the bed. “I don’t know why you hate this thing so much,” she said as she looked down at me, swinging her legs like a little girl. “It’s actually pretty comfy… and kinda fun!”
“That’s because you’re in a familiar place with someone you know and trust, you’re wearing something sexy, and you’re using it because you want to, not because you have to,” I pointed out as I pulled the mast toward me. “Now try to picture yourself half-naked, being hoisted out of a hospital bed by a total stranger because you can’t move your legs or sit up by yourself. Not so fun, is it?”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her smile fading as I slowly turned her to face me. “When you put it that way, I can see why you wouldn’t wanna use one. That must have been so hard for you.”
I nodded. “It was humiliating. Dehumanizing.”
Natalie knitted her brow, looking stricken. “Well, I sure didn’t mean to make you relive it,” she murmured. “You might as well just let me back down now. This was a dumb idea.”
Her cheeks had darkened to almost the same shade of red as her nightdress. I immediately regretted mentioning the hospital, realizing I had just killed the romantic mood in the room by making her feel bad. Why the hell did you have to go and say that? I scolded myself, feeling my own face flush. You were about to score, and instead, you just fumbled the ball on the five-yard-line!
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, scrambling to recover it before I ruined the rest of the evening. “I didn’t mean to go all Debbie Downer on you. Forget I said anything.” I arranged my face into an apologetic smile. “And, for the record, your idea wasn’t dumb. It would be dumb of us not to take advantage of the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day, and we have the house to ourselves for once.”
“Well, all right,” she replied reluctantly, “but only if you’re sure. I mean it, babe – I don’t wanna try anything that will trigger bad memories of the most traumatic time in your life.”
I shook my head. “Listen… the man I was in that hospital bed wouldn’t have believed he would ever have a beautiful, scantily-clad woman in his bedroom again,” I said, glancing over at the blackbird in my painting. “He would be proud of how far I’ve come – and disappointed if I didn’t at least try to make her come, too.” I flashed Natalie an impish grin as she giggled and blushed some more. “So, c’mere,” I said, grasping her good ankle and giving it a gentle tug. “Let’s have a little fun and make some new, happy memories with this thing.”
I slid my hands along her left leg, slowly working my way up from her calf to her thigh. As I reeled her in closer, she hooked her legs over my shoulders and raked her hands through my hair, sending little shivers of pleasure down my spine. From her elevated position, I realized she could easily reach my newfound erogenous zones above the neck at the same time as I explored the ones below her waist. In a weird way, it was perfect for both of us.
I pushed the bottom hem of her chemise up past her hip bones to expose her waxed bikini area, which the lift had put almost at eye level for me. She leaned back in the sling, tilting her pelvis toward me. I leaned forward, placing my head in the space between her legs. Her inner thighs hugged my face, warm and soft against my cheeks. I took a breath, inhaling the sweet, tangy scent of her. It seemed to trigger my most primal instincts, turning me on even more than the sight of her in red lingerie already had. I could tell she was aroused, too; her inflamed, pink folds had begun to glisten like a rosebud after a light rain. I resisted the urge to lap up the beads of moisture with my tongue, wanting to tease her with more foreplay first. Turning my head to the left, I nuzzled her previously-neglected right leg and planted a tender kiss above her knee. As my mouth moved up her leg, leaving a trail of kisses along the curve of her inner thigh, I felt her squirm.
“That tickles,” she said, giggling.
“Sorry,” I said with a grin, giving her one last kiss in the crease between her leg and groin. “Sometimes, I forget how it feels to be ticklish down there.”
“How about up here?” she asked as her fingernails grazed my scalp.
I closed my eyes, concentrating on the tingly feeling her touch gave me. “That doesn’t tickle, but god, does it feel good. Don’t stop.”
“I could play with your hair all night,” she replied, continuing to claw through it. “It’s so soft and silky.”
I chuckled. “Thanks. So’s your leg hair.”
“Stop!” she giggled, giving me a playful smack upside the head. “For your information, I just shaved my legs this morning, so unless I missed a spot, I shouldn’t have any leg hair.”
“Nah, I’m just teasing,” I told her. “Your legs are nice and smooth. Sexy, too.”
“That’s more like it,” she said. I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell by her flirtatious tone of voice that she was smiling. “Now, why don’t you get back to what you were doing before?” Grasping two handfuls of hair, she gently guided my head back to its center position. Her legs tightened around me, pulling us closer together until my lips were finally touching hers. I went on kissing her, savoring the salty taste of her on the tip of my tongue as I flicked it in and out of her folds. “Yes!” she gasped, her nails digging into my scalp. “Keep going!”
She didn’t have to tell me twice – I had no intention of quitting anytime soon. It gave me a sense of satisfaction to hear the passion in her voice, feel her body tremble with pleasure, and know that I was still plenty capable of satisfying her from my chair. As previously requested, I continued to dazzle her with my “oral talents” until she reached her climax, unleashing a guttural cry as wetness gushed from her core. I felt all the tension leave her body, her fingers loosening their grip on my hair, her hands sliding down the sides of my face, her legs hanging heavily over my shoulders as she lay back in the sling, limp and relaxed.
“You were right, babe,” I admitted as I guided the lift back to its original position. “That actually worked surprisingly well.”
“See? I told you! It wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” she said, flashing me a triumphant grin. “Honestly, it was a lot better than having to squat over your face. But how was it for you?”
“I take back everything I said before,” I replied, pressing the button to lower her back to the bed. “I love the Hoyer lift.”
***