Wednesday, March 15, 2000

Fractions part 10


Note: To follow the story it is recommended that you first read the previous parts, or from part 2 and forward, where several of the characters mentioned are introduced. 
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Unable to be alone, but also unable to really talk to my family or to Christine, I spent more and more time online. I hardly saw Nano because he was busy catching up with his studies.
I frequented two different chat rooms, really looking for anyone who was willing to listen.
It seemed to help. I had less nightmares, but when I did it would still hit me hard.  Ajje in the doctor's office, in his dark bedroom, and the imaginary images of him in the hotel room…
I only started to learn html out of a necessity, to be able to create a website where I could publish my poetry. I had to get my words out there. I also reached out to other people online who were grieving. 
-I still had that feeling that I needed the grief and needed to express it.
I wasn’t done, I wasn’t ready.
I started helping other people build or modify their websites. One of the ladies that I helped had a paraplegic friend who wanted to update his site, and after fixing his guestbook, we started exchanging poetry.
He was older: Infact, he had been disabled since before I was even born. He looked strong and he was fairly attractive. He was an active multidisciplinary paralympian, with wide shoulders and muscular upper arms. He’d ask me for help posting photos from events, and he always picked the ‘waist up’ pictures where he thought he looked the best.
But most of his poetry was dark, it was about losing abilities and independence and about loneliness and not being loved. He did seem lonely. He didn’t seem to be bothered or intrigued by the fact that nearly all of our conversations involved disability, -rather the opposite, he would sometimes ignore the parts that didn’t.
And it felt good, I got a taste for it, -while I was there, engaged in the conversations and fed my butterflies and my curiosity, I could push away other, negative feelings.


I was fascinated at first because even if there were some small similarities, he must have looked at this disability in a completely different way than Ajje and Nano. He was not so much overcoming as overachieving and living his life through his disability instead of with it.
The conversations became more and more one-sided, and eventually I suppose I just ran out of disability related questions to ask him. And I didn’t know that much about sci’s beforehand. He was the first person I met who seemed to have no real identity beyond the disability.
-I questioned if perhaps this is what happens when you live with a disability for a long time, and I was deterred, entering another “dev low” that would last almost a year.
I didn’t have the answers to the questions What do I really want, and What do I really need?
It was clearly not as simple as listening to my gut and my butterflies which seemed to just point me in any direction where there were wheels. How could I trust that my gut wouldn’t just throw me under a bus?


Jon tried to break me out of my isolation by offering me small jobs designing event websites and leaflets and by inviting me on tour. Still looking out for me. He had a new temp job as an event manager, arranging summer parties in small towns across Sweden and Denmark. And in other news, he and Linn were finally married.


Mitch was one of the company's sound techs; a full time student, musician and producer.
He was short and stubby, with pale icy blue eyes and short dark hair. He was outgoing and charming, -perhaps not handsome, but just different enough. He was half swedish, half american, raised by his single mom and had been living in Africa until he was 11.
He had just been dumped by his girlfriend. He knew loss. He had a messed up family history.  
He listened. He quickly became my new addiction. Once I met him, I also stopped talking to my new online friends. Christine remarked on how I was jumping from guy to guy, but I didn’t listen.
Mitch kept me busy, -he kept me from sitting locked up in my room all day, but he still couldn't stop me from obsessing over Ajje and Patrik.
You can say that it all started with a simple exchange; I could talk to him openly about my loss and even about what the Hansens had done to Patrik. This was rare to me, because I had gotten used to people not wanting to believe me if I mentioned the abuse.
In return, I would listen to him talk about his ex.
He was also very intense: While he told me “I love you” after only four weeks, he was absolutely not over his ex and spoke about her constantly. But when he spoke of her he would always chose his words carefully, and he never revealed anything about her except that she was a much younger, blonde, beautiful singer and that he resented her. Never anything personal or why they broke up.
I remember one evening when he asked me to come with him to her house as support.  Apparently he had borrowed a tape from her that she wanted back, months after the break up. He explained that he didn’t want to see her, and he didn’t want her to notice his car. So we drove up to the house in the dark, where we waited until he was sure that they were all asleep. He was shaky but he got out of the car and ran up to their yard to leave the tape in the mailbox. Afterwards he was sweaty and hyperventilating, and I couldn’t understand why the situation upset him to this degree, why he was acting almost paranoid. I had never been dumped, but this still seemed off to me.
We did have a short break once we reached the frustrated stage where we both felt “Can you please stop talking about your ex?!” But it only lasted 3 days because I couldn’t be alone -I needed him.
He spoiled me rotten with both compliments and gifts. He bought me jewelry, clothes, music, -helped me pick the parts for my first own computer, and even bought me my first mobile phone so that we could talk to each other more often. He would take me out to dinner and on the occasions when we stayed at his place, I would sit back and listen to him work in his home-made studio all night long, all consumed by the music.
The rest of their house was shockingly dirty. They had two cats but there was cat hair and stuff everywhere. They weren't hoarders, but it had gone too far. His mother did not take care of the house, and he had stopped caring as well because of all the arguments and the tension between them. 
I think that she had given up and that neither of them really saw the state the place was in. The third or perhaps the fourth time I came to visit I spent two days cleaning out their two bathrooms and the kitchen. I didn’t mind staying with him but I sure wasn’t gonna use a bathroom that was that dirty. He told me that she was so embarrassed about it that she didn’t want to see me there again. So of course when his mother traveled to Africa for work, we had the whole house to ourselves and I pretty much moved in.
But Mitch didn’t do closeness, he seemed to be more than OK with looking after me when I was down, but I learnt that he didn’t like people touching him.
And perhaps I was too blunt, not careful enough, but there were things like his ex, the house and the subject of touch where he wouldn’t let me in. -He wouldn’t let me look after him in the same way.
We reached a point where he would let me sleep next to him in his bed, but when I approached the subject about me wanting to touch him he would completely freak out.
He seemed to be almost afraid of his own body, basically yelling at me about how disgusting it was to touch one self, -and did I know how much sperm that could get ejaculated at one single time?, Two deciliters!  I was also inexperienced, but I was baffled by his strong reactions.


The relationship was short and intense, and ended abruptly when he called me one day after work, saying that his bosses daughter had been flirting with him. He told me that she had asked him out and that at the time he didn’t have the guts to say no because she was the boss's daughter.  He told me about how she had kissed him, but that he hadn’t kissed her back. Considering our history I did believe him, but the conversation was so confusing, and it turned out to be our last conversation for the next eight or so years.
He texted me after a week of not returning my calls, asking me to return his stuff to his work place. 
I did as he asked, but I never saw Mitch again.


I was angry. But what was much much worse than the relationship ending was the realisation that I had actually let him convince me to destroy all my photos of Patrik, Rick and Ajje.
Convinced me that keeping these photos would stop me from moving forward. Even if he had been right, even though I still believed that Mitch did it to help and support me at the time, I had no way to get the images of my friends back.
I had given up the photos for what?, for him? -How could I have been so incredibly stupid?


Even if Mitch had been messed up in his own ways, it was still safe to say that I would win that race.


After Mitch, I managed to be on my own for over six months which felt like a new record, until I simply decided it was time to loose my virginity once and for all.
I met Jojje online, and after chatting for maybe a month we agreed to meet up for a weekend at his place, where we would both lose our virginity.
I spent 6 hours on a train to reach the town where he lived, where he picked me up at the train station. We rode around in his car for a bit, not knowing where to buy condoms
without embarrassing ourselves.
We stopped at an empty parking lot outside a closed shopping mall, where we found a vending machine. The giggling fit over who would have to go out to buy them broke the ice.
We spent the first night watching movies, talking and laughing and playing video games. He was alright. We finally did sleep together on the second night, but neither of us felt especially different afterwards -but now we had at least done it.
We continued to see each other for a while, despite the long distance. Eventually it would run into the sand, without any hard feelings.


But he was the first and only non-disabled guy I would have sex with, and the last non-disabled guy I (sort of) dated. And while he was abled bodied, his older brother was not.
-I never spoke to his brother other than a quick “Hi”. And while I wasn’t attracted to him, more curious, there was something about the relationship and interactions between them that fascinated me. I never mentioned it to Jojje (There was no way I was ever going to talk to anyone about it!), but it had still been one of the reasons to why I had wanted to get to know him better in the first place.


---


I barely managed to rescue some of my grades just before graduation, building yet another simple website for my girls computer class in lieu of a turning in a final term paper.
I participated in the graduation ceremonies without any real interest, just really glad that it was over: We were free, finally, and the girls and I threw a big party at my mom's house.
But my grades were not enough and I had no plans for college. I knew that I could get another job at the postal service whenever I wanted, but instead, I spent the first part of the summer with Tyke.


He was openly flirty, confident, and perhaps even a little bit too forward for my liking at first.
But when he learnt both how young I was and about my previous loss, he immediately dropped it and I knew that I had gotten under his skin.
He had MS and lived on the countryside in north east England. He had been alone for almost exactly 11 months after the death of his wife, also to MS. He was retired, more than twice my age, and had 3 grownup children who were older than me.
We chatted and eventually spoke on ICQ about loneliness and grief and everyday things.
We didn’t actually talk much about his own MS but he said that if I had questions I could just ask him. 
I knew a little bit about MS and I understood it better from the things that he told me about his wife and how had been caring for her before she had passed unexpectedly.
I hoped that he would see that his disability did not make me uncomfortable. He was also warm, intelligent, respectful and he genuinely cared. He encouraged me, and warned me about becoming consumed by grief. He would leave me funny voice messages that I would find in the mornings when I got up, telling me silly jokes on his highly exaggerated Yorkshire dialect. These messages alone could really turn my day around. He also had bad days, really low days where he would either hide away or yell at me, or not at me of course, but at his situation. I understood exactly where he was.
I was relieved: Here was someone who was going through the same things; and he was an adult. 
He wasn’t some weird teenage girl like me, just a normal person. Did this mean that my grief was normal too?  After I had tried to pick him up after a longer period of bad days he suggest that I should come and visit.
“We need a break from this bad stuff.” as he put it.
He had a business trip with his son planned 4 weeks ahead, but we would still have time to meet before that.


I explained to mom that I would also be going to the UK for a few weeks (I had even told her how old Tyke was and she had only rolled her eyes). Christine was already in Glasgow by now and wouldn’t be that far away -not by Swedish means, where 4 hours isn’t that much.
I made sure that mom had his address and all the phone numbers, and assured her that I had enough cash plus money on the bank to afford to stay at a hotel if I had to, and booked my return ticket to London.  
It was not a crush or a fling, just two people needing a bit of a break.


Tyke waited for me in the arrival hall at Stansted Airport. I had seen his photo and he was the only wheelchair user there so he was very easy to spot.
He had this mane of thick, shiny dark brown hair and deep set brown eyes, and he was wearing glasses that I hadn’t seen before. He was well dressed. -I smiled when I noticed that he had even put on a tie. His legs were folded slightly to his left and he was taller than I had pictured him. He had a big smile on his face as he nervously reached out his hand, then changed his mind, apologized and quickly removed his wheelchair glove before taking my hand.
I apologized for being late, and we made some small talk about how the flight went.


“-Change of plans: I think I have made a mistake with the car -we have to find a place to stay the night so that I can have it looked at in the morning.” He explained.
We headed outside where he asked me to please help ease him down the steep sidewalk.
-I felt the unmistakable rush through my body as soon as I put my hands on the cold metal bar on the back of his wheelchair.
I had to count to three and swallow to calm down and I know that he felt me hesitating. It was easier to let him believe it was because I felt insecure.
-It was nothing in comparison to actually feeling his weight in my hands as he rolled down…
But then I couldn’t help laughing when we reached his car, because the trunk and the back part of the car was all black with oily soot.
“How nervous were you exactly?” I smiled at him.
“Quiet nervous!” He admitted.
“I was worried that I was going to be late, but I should have known that Ryanair would also be late.”
I didn’t know much about cars, but apparently he had filled the car up with the wrong type of gas, and he explained how he must have been driving with a big black cloud behind him for the last hour.
We put my bag on the backseat and went back to the information desk to find someone who could help us with a hotel.
It wasn’t easy to find a room on such short notice, it was already 7:30 in the evening, and we had to settle for a regular single room at a hotel about 15 minutes away.
The hotel room was small, there was a thick red carpet on the floor and a narrow window towards the road. They had cramped in a bed, sofa, desk and TV, and there wouldn’t even be much space for him to put the chair away for the night.
He asked if I would be OK with sleeping on the sofa, as he needed the bed. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option we had. I checked out the bathroom and told him there was no way he would be able to fit the wheelchair in there.
“We will manage somehow” he assured me.

We sat down to have a small late dinner in the darkly lit hotel restaurant. I was more at ease now that we had a room, but the conversation started slowly. He asked again about the flight. He was nervously fingering the wine list, and I told him how I wasn’t a big wine drinker and that I would let him choose. We spoke about his daughters and that we would need to go grocery shopping the next day as well, because he didn’t know what kind of food I liked.
Later I couldn't help watching his big hands, noticing how rough his skin was and how strong they looked, even if there was a tremor sometimes when he picked up his glass. I didn’t notice how I was sitting there stroking my own wine glass as I was watching him…
He coughed to get my attention and smiled stiffly:
“Today is a good day for me though, sometimes I'm jerking so much that I can't even sit at the table. Once I even turned a table over because my leg jerked so hard!” We laughed and we got an eye from one the waitresses who probably hoped that he wouldn’t create a similar scene tonight.
He leaned in closer and whispered theatrically “You have to wonder what they are thinking.”, nodding in the direction of the waitress: “Us sitting here, and old cripple and a young woman”.
I smiled again and he told me that he usually wore gloves when he was using his manual chair, but that his hands were still rough. He went on to tell me about the route we would take the following day, and again apologizing for the car;  -Unless I wanted to see Birmingham or Manchester?
I agreed that I did want to see Manchester, but perhaps we could make it a day trip?
We finished the last of the bottle of wine, and when we crossed the patio on the way to our room I got to help him with the steps again.
As I had to lean closer I could smell him and his cologne and I couldn’t stop thinking of how badly I wanted to kiss that neck. When we entered the room I couldn't resist touching his shoulder and upper arm as I needed to pass him, and his warmth rushed through me like a bolt.
Tyke waited as I got my things from my bag and I stepped inside the bathroom to undress.
I knew that he would be able to see my hardening nipples through my T-shirt, and I could feel his eyes all over my body when I was done. I started making my bed with the extra sheet and pillows, then I sat down in the sofa and pulled the cover up over my bare legs as a cozy, and pretended to watch TV when I was really watching him.
I watched him take off his shoes, then get up from his chair and take a few unsteady steps towards the bed. He didn’t lift his feet very high, and his back, his hip and his upper legs looked stiff. He didn’t walk straight and perhaps there was even a small curve of his back, it was hard to tell from here.
He sat down on the bed heavily and started loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.He threw them both in the wheelchair. He had a bit of a belly, and his chest was covered with tiny grey and black hairs. He looked up at me apologetically, maybe he thought I was looking at his belly, when I was really wondering how it would feel to run my hands over his chest.
He then made two attempts to get up from the bed, pushing away with his arms, but the bed was way too soft and too low for him to get up from. I stepped up and he asked to borrow my arm.
“Just stand there and hold still”. He hooked on to my arm and pulled himself up, then put his right hand on my shoulder and leaned on me for a second until he could reach the wall with his free hand. He shifted his weight and then leaned on the wall all the way to the bathroom, but his legs trembled heavily.
I could hear him run the water in there, brushing his teeth and maybe washing his face.
He took his time, opened the door and asked me to grab his pants and put them on the wheelchair so that he could have both hands free.
I took them and also folded his shirt more tidy, and then I waited for him to get safely back to the bed. His bare legs were hairy and thin, and when I noticed him watching me watching him again, I grew conscious because I really didn’t want him to think I was looking at him with pity!
“Since you are here, maybe you can help me pull my socks off?” he said instead, and I half attempted a joke about socks being smelly, but did as he asked. He had large flat feet, but kind of bony. I was very tempted to hold them, but I imagined how weird that would be, and he was already pulling the cover over his body, ready to say goodnight.
-I couldn’t exactly stand at the end of the small bed and stare at him so I lied down on my uncomfortable sofa and we pretended to watch some boring show on the TV.


I woke up later that night from Tyke stirring and turning in his bed. When he turned my way and saw that I was awake he reached out his hand, encouraging me to take it.
I took his hand and held it, squeezed it, felt his rough skin to my soft. I let my fingertips wander slowly up and down over his knuckles, and tickled his palm with my long white nails. He was warm, and I admired his big, heavy fingers. I followed the deep lines of his palm with my thumb, and sliding it further and further up his lower arm.
We caressed and massaged each other's hands, with gentle and harder pressure, and I couldn't understand how such a simple touch could feel so passionate and how it affected me.
I took a deep loud breath when I realised he was rubbing his cock with his other hand, under the cover.
He looked at me intensely and pulled me towards him, and I got up from the sofa and sat down on the very narrow edge of the bed. He clumsily tried to move to give me more space. He kept the cover on, but I had full access to his shoulders and the upper part of his chest, that I shyly started to caress in wonder. The tiny little curly hairs were so soft and he was incredibly warm. I noticed and gently touched a scar that ran from his left shoulder and about a decimeter down.
“I was young and stupid, there was a race and my electric wheelchair crashed into a motorbike.” He saw my face and laughed quietly; “And the bike was parked!” I laughed and quickly placed his hand under my T-shirt, over my breast, his hand completely covering it.
He closed his eyes, wet his lips with his tongue, but hesitated until I took the T-shirt off.
I pulled myself closer and started to kiss his chest wherever I could reach.
He whispered “I can't believe I'm getting all of this from just holding hands...”, and smiled.
“Didn’t you know that I have a serious hand fetish?” I said sounding all serious.
I did have a serious “fetish”, but it was all of him, and every single flaw…


“Why don’t you continue? I found that so hot”, I whispered, placing his other hand back under the cover where his cock would be.
He caressed my breasts and my stomach, but then he stopped and placed his hand around my neck, just behind me ear.  And with the gentlest soft caress he followed my neckline, down over my shoulder and back up and down over my breast. I could see and feel his hand and his arm shaking just the slightest, and my whole body shivered with delight. I’m sure that every hair on my body stood right up, and I was amazed at how gentle his touch could be.
He didn’t flinch. “Come closer” He asked and pulled me downwards. I moved up the bed and leaned forward until he could reach my breasts with his mouth. He started out gently, kissing and sucking my nipples, and when I didn’t protest, he played harder. He continued to squeeze them harder and harder, rubbing one nipple with his fingers and tasting the other, until I reached my limit and pressed my breasts up against his face. I could feel the tiny stubble on his cheek in a sharp contrast to his previous touch.
'Wow!' He burst out loud, having to catch his breath. He put his hands under the waistline of my underwear and I quickly undressed and dived under the cover next to him. The bed was so narrow that I had to lie almost on top of him, with one leg over his.
I put my free arm over his chest and let my head rest, and I could feel his chest heave up and down as he was still breathing heavily. I could feel his body trembling, I could feel his heat and how he was trying to push his body even closer to mine. I still hadn’t seen his full naked body.
I wanted to pull the cover off but he stopped me by grabbing my hand, and changed the tone of his voice:
“Look, I... I don’t have full sensation, and sometimes my cock just isn’t hard enough. Sometimes it doesn't stay hard long enough.” He said worryingly.
“I understand” I had actually been expecting it, but didn’t want to bring that up.
“And I'm sorry if I'm jumping you and moving too fast!” I grinned.
“Girl you are so beautiful, don't stop anything, please!” I moved my hand down to massage his thigh, and encouraged him to continue masturbating if it would help.
He said: “I don't want you to get disappointed.”
Instead of replying, I whispered to him with my sexiest voice: “You need me on top right?”
Tyke quickly whispered “Yes!” between his heavy breaths, his eyes widening, as if he wanted me to hurry before I would change my mind.
“I’ve never done it but…” I  explained.
I pulled the cover off and I saw that he was definitely hard enough right now, and his cock was the thickest cock I had ever seen. He was uncut, with a big shiny head and the soft skin of his sack already tightening. It was my turn to burst out in a spontaneous “Wow!”
“It’s so thick! I don’t think you are going to have a problem outlasting me!” I said honestly.
I also had to smile at his soft, greying pubic hairs. I had to touch him, to feel his cock in my hand, and I let my thumb caress the tip of the head. But he didn’t want to let go of the base of his cock yet:  
“I don’t have a ring with me… I don’t want to lose my hard on now.” I wasn’t 100% sure of what he meant, but I didn’t want him to have to go soft either. Instead I asked for a condom.
“ Oh, -I’ve had a vasectomy. I’m sorry, I should have told you that”.
“Yeah, you should have...” I said, more disappointed over the interruption.
I changed the position of his left leg a bit to make room. It was heavy and his knee was slightly bent. 
I slowly straddled him, placing myself quite far up his body.
I took his cock in my hand behind me, and let the tip of it’s head rub against my butt.
He gasped loudly and I moved slightly backwards, letting his tip touch my inner thigh.
Now I was teasing him, moving his thick cock in circles repeatedly and slowly allowing it to get closer and closer to me. I could feel the first few wet drops ooze from his cock and I had to moan.
I moved my hand down to grab his balls while still trying to keep my balance, and he asked me to squeeze harder. I looked into his eyes and I knew that he had to fight to keep them open, to not miss anything of what was in front of him.
I could feel him try hard to press himself closer, and he was eagerly trying to direct his cock with his hand. I kept him away for a little longer, and I could feel his spasming right leg pressing up against me. He muted a “Crap!” that turned into a mutual “Wow!” He had to let me go to press his leg down instead, to try and keep it still, but it was too late, because now his cock had already dipped inside of me.
He said loudly, desperately: “Faster, hurry!”
I positioned myself more safely and quickly pushed down hard so that I could feel his whole cock inside of me. He reached bottom and it felt so tight, he was so thick and I couldn't believe the sensation.
I had never had sex without a condom on before and I wasn’t prepared for the difference; the direct heat, his skin, his softness, the wild hard pulsation and the wetness.
He kept gasping; “Move!, Fast!” and I started to ride him, his big hands all over me, on my hips, on my back, caressing my butt, pushing me closer. “You are so wet!”.
He couldn’t thrust his hips very hard against me, but every little movement brought him deeper and deeper. I couldn't reply, the feeling of his warm cock throbbing against me as it was sliding in between my lips was becoming too intense.
I followed his verbal directions, his hard beating pulse and his breath: I moved around in circles, back and forward. Knowing that he did not have full sensation, I focused everything I had on tightening my pussy around him every time he was deep inside, hitting my bottom.
I wanted more of him, and I leaned forward to be able to touch and kiss his warm chest.
Feeling his whole body beneath me, with his nipple between my lips for just a second, I was far away in my own orgasm when I heard him moaning.
“I need to cum, I need to cum”. I lowered myself back down on him and I could feel him explode inside of me, pulsating, pushing, with the thick cum filling me up even more. Being so sensitive after my first orgasm, I immediately had my second.
“Oh my God!”. -I had never had a man empty inside of me like this before.
I stayed completely still on top of him as he finished and while we tried to calm our breaths down; until we were all too wet and his softening cock slid out of me again. I rolled off him to my side.
We rested for while in silence with our eyes closed, and he whispered:
“I can't believe it. I can’t believe you really made me cum.” He grinned and continued;
“But I lasted longer than you”.
I mimed to him “I told you so” but I wasn’t sure if he could see it in the dark.


We nearly fell asleep but I had to go to the bathroom, and when I left the bed he made an attempt to raise himself up to a seated position, and said:
“I should get up and wash myself off too.” We had been soaked in sweat and more, but I looked at him and then I looked down on my own shaky unstable legs and said:
“There is no way you are going to walk on those legs now; just look at my spaghetti legs”
He knew I was right, both his legs were still right now, but he had to be worn out and probably already stiffening.
“OK, but can you hand over my bag please?”. I figured this was code for “I need to take a piss” so I got him his bag and then took extra time in the bathroom, and alerted him when I was coming back out. His scent was still strong in the room.
I had a fresh clean bath towel with me, where I had soaked a large part of a corner in water because I couldn’t find any smaller towels. I sat on the edge of the bed, still naked, and despite his protests I let the water drip down on the lower part of his stomach.
“I can do that myself” He said and continued: “-Please?”
“Of course” I said and smiled without stopping. I washed around his soft cock, then pressed the wet cloth around his balls, carefully making sure that the water didn't drip down any further.
I washed the upper part of his inner thighs and then quickly dried him off.
He was still beautiful, even when he was soft. His cock was a bit smaller now, with the head covered under his foreskin. I wanted to touch it; yes, I wanted to wash his shaft too, but the last thing I wanted to do was humiliate him or say something he would find hurtful, I knew it was an issue for him and I didn’t know how to explain to him that I still liked it.
“Your skin is very soft” I finally said slowly and gave him my widest smile. I cupped my hand around his cock, covering it. I held my hand still, without making any attempt to start playing with it or rub it and I could feel him relax a little. He made no attempt to remove my hand.
“Do you want to clean the rest?” He asked with a low voice.
“Well it’s both of our mess.” I smiled.
It felt very intimate. I held his soft cock up and washed it around its base and up his shaft, then looked up at him asking for approval.
“I think that you can just wash it and dry it, it’s not that sensitive, not even on the head.”
I pulled his foreskin down just a tiny bit and gently patted the head wet.
I finished and took the towel back to the bathroom, and when I went to lie down on the sofa he said:
“So you like to take care of disabled old men?”
“Nuh uh” I denied:
“Only this disabled old man.”


The hotel breakfast wasn’t overwhelming, but I was hungry and still tired, happy, but almost hungover. Tyke made an impression of the hotel manager, but with his Yorkshire dialect that he knew I loved. 
He made me laugh.
“You know, I think this is exactly the kind of break that I needed.”
He had his tea, we checked out, and I waited for him in the lounge while he went to fix the car.


Then he drove up towards Cambridge on some smaller roads so that I could see the surroundings.
“I didn’t expect it to be so green” I noted as we drove past field after field and even the occasional country home. “I mean we are not that far from London.”
It did look different from Sweden. Driving on the wrong side of the road would take some time to get used to, and the houses looked different. Most houses were brick houses here, and they seemed to be smaller in general. We were listening to the radio and he drove back down to Northampton where we changed to the M1. I was reading off the traffic signs with names of towns or areas that I recognised.
“Do you know what all these have in common?” He glanced at me.
“Yes!” I giggled:
“One; I will never be able to learn how to pronounce them correctly,”
“True.” he agreed.
“And Two; -nearly all of them have Swedish players.”
“You watch football?” He asked impressed and I remembered that we probably hadn’t even talked about sports.
“Not so much lately, but yeah, I used to”. I told him about my previous sport journalism dreams, about the world cup, my favorite Swedish team and so on.
“Oh yeah, Tomas Brolin!” He burst out and it was my turn to laugh at his pronunciation.
“What’s your british team?” He asked. I hesitated but replied:
“Sadly, Newcastle.”
“Ah, -yeah.” I noticed his grin while he nodded in condolence towards the traffic.
“So who’s your player?”
“It used to be Ferdinand, -now I’m not sure. Shearer maybe, or Andreas?”


Two hours after leaving the hotel we had already passed the exits to Coventry; “-Roland Nilsson, but he is not getting any younger.”,  Birmingham: “Anders Limpar, -He is the only one that I can recall, and only because they dropped him to play for my Swedish team”. And Leicester: “-Pontus K√•mark, Pontus is a darling, he’s very outgoing, he’s so much easier to interview than Brolin; -Brolin hates the press.”


When we stopped to stretch our legs and have a bathroom break in Barnsley, he said:
“I promise you, that I will actually take you to St James’ park: -Even if there are no games, I will take you there, but first, I want to show you my home.”
“-I didn’t know that you were born in southern Yorkshire, I thought you were a northerner.”
He smiled and reached over to rub my shoulder but didn’t say anything. He hadn’t touched me since the previous night.
We drove slowly through the quaint little town, I knew that he hadn’t planned on stopping there, and it was kind of nice.
He pointed out a church and an old school building, then we stopped on a narrow uphill street that was partly cobbled, with stone and weathered yellow-to-white brick buildings on both sides.
The buildings were low and cramped together side by side, with uneven steps below the doors. There were no patios or fences or even parking lots, the houses just sat right on the sidewalk.
“Number 9. But the door used to be black.”
So this was where he grew up. I felt warm inside by his intimate gesture, that he wanted to show me this.
I knew that his parents were not alive anymore, that his dad had died when Tyke was only 17, but he must have many memories from this place.
He waited for a passing car and backed out from the street, and we drove for maybe 4-5 minutes around the bend before I saw the stadium and the white and red signs: Barnsley Football Club.
“You played?” I asked surprised. It must have been within walking distance from his house.
“You don’t need to sound so surprised! I didn’t have any health problems until I was nearly 30.” he said and pretended to be upset.
I nearly blurted something about the fact that I wasn’t even 20 yet, but managed to keep shut.
“This was my home, almost as much as the last house.” he explained. He slowed the car down alongside the field.
“This parking lot didn’t used to be here. They have expanded.”
“Do you want to go in?” I asked when he stopped.
“No, just look here” he said and pointed at a billboard of sort on his right side.


I slowly read it out aloud and laughed: “The Tykes  -Really?” Of course it was the team's nickname.
“Do you know what a Tyke is in Sweden? A busunge, a rascal.- You are way too old to be a busunge” I grinned.
“I do believe, that it is also a Viking name?”
“I wouldn’t know”, I replied, still grinning.
“I really enjoyed this, how long before we are home?” I asked.
“Maybe an hour 45, unless you want to make any more stops?” he replied.
So I got out anyway, peaked inside and found a bathroom by the cafeteria.
I bought a cinnamon roll and picked up an end-of-season leaflet about the team.
“It is pronounced Tyyyk-iii, not Tyke. And hey look: -Your team has a Swedish player too!”.
He laughed and said: “Not possible. -But maybe that explains it.”. He chuckled and referred to the team's bad results.


We passed the outskirts of Leeds where I apparently had enough excitement and fell asleep in the car.


We stopped at the end of a narrow country road somewhere just north of Malton, not too far from where the rivers Rye and Dervent joined together. We where just by the Moors, and only 30 minutes away from the coast.
He lived in a medium sized, modern, white brick bungalow with a detached double garage.
I could smell the rain in the air as I stepped out of the car.
I opened the gate to the backyard and gazed at the endless flowing fields of green, stretching out in all directions.
It was absolutely breathtaking.



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6 comments:

  1. Thank you so much for continuing this story, it has been one of my favorites of everything on the blog <3

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  2. So lovely to see you back here, again, after all this time! Welcome. :)

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  3. thanks guys :) part 11 is almost done too.

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  4. Wow. Has it really been two years? Where has the time gone...glad to see you posting again, Ath. Looking forward to reading your story again!

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  5. Thanks EJ. Yeah it looks like part 9 was posted in September 2014. If only I had spent all this time writing and editing... :)
    But it is a long process and also I didn't want to write about Tyke without his approval.

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  6. This completely blew my mind. Very hot! And I learned what NSFW means. Too late, though ;D
    I want more, please!

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