Saturday, March 20, 2010

Devo Diary Chapter 56

Trip part 2

November 2005
I'm standing at a major intersection near my house in the Bayfront neighborhood, waiting to cross the street, when a hot para drives by. He's in a green Dodge Dart convertible, so I can clearly see the sporty wheelchair tossed in the passenger seat, the hand controls, and the skinny legs. This guy is amazingly handsome--tall and lean, long smooth face, brown wiry hair cut short on the sides, kind of standing up a bit on top. I clock all this within seconds as he drives by, my dev instincts in high gear. As he turns the corner, I see his legs flop limply to the side. I feel an intense rush over my entire body just watching him.
He drives away while I stand there and gape after him, wishing there was some way to get to know him. I can't stop thinking about him the entire rest of the day, so late that night, I post a Missed Connections ad on Craigslist, describing him in as non-creepy a way as I can. Why not, right? It worked with the blind guy years ago.
Ok, actually I only met the blind guy after months of staking out his neighborhood, but he later told me that someone told him about the missed connections ad. He could have answered the ad. It was at least a possibility. And I met Trip through the missed connections, however improbably, given that we were neither the person seen nor the person placing the ad.
But sadly no one ever answers my ad and the hipster para in the Dodge Dart convertible remains a mystery.

Speaking of Trip, it's been a few weeks and we still haven't found time to meet again. I'm really just in it for the sex with him, but oh lord the sex was good that first time. I email him again to see if we can find some time in the middle of the day to meet.
At last the stars align and our schedules match up. He writes,
You have to promise not to seduce me and not to kiss my nipples like you do, ok...
I reply,
I promise not to make any effort to seduce you ;) Any kissing that takes place will be purely accidental as the result of an involuntary reflex response.
Even though we make a plan for him to pick me up on campus in his car at lunchtime, I try to manage my expectations by assuming that there's a good chance he will cancel at the last minute. I don't realize until I'm already at work in the morning that I'm wearing the same outfit as when we first met, the brown polyester pants and white oxford shirt with rosebud embroidery. Maybe there is something to this bland but lucky officewear, because our tryst goes as planned.
I loiter at the roundabout at the edge of campus, praying that I won't run into anyone I know, until I see him drive up. As I hop in his car, he gives me a knowing smirk. I grin back at him.
There's no reason to waste time on social niceties like going to a café. We only have a few hours anyway. I give him directions straight back to my house. As he negotiates the maze of crowded one-way streets around campus, he keeps sliding his eyes over to me hungrily.
"I'm glad we promised not to surrender to our baser instincts today," he jokes.
I reply in a mock serious tone, "Forbearance is indeed the watchword of the day. I feel exceedingly virtuous for keeping my vulgar urges in check."
"Slut!" he whispers, like he's hesitant to even use that word as a joke. Whatever, if he gets off on dirty talk, I don't mind it.
As I watch him drag his butt up the steps to my house, I consider that I should really get a ramp. It would be easy to get a big piece of plywood and just lay it down over the steps. Would it be weird to buy a ramp to facilitate his cheating? What if I buy it and he never comes back? I feel like buying a ramp would jinx it somehow.
Once inside, he transfers back up into his chair, and we head straight back to the bedroom. Immediately, I'm all over him before he can even get out of the chair again, kissing him and running my hands through his wild curly hair. I can't straddle his chair because my legs are so short, and his knobby mountain bike tires are so big, so I'm just kind of awkwardly perched over him, sort of half sitting, half leaning. I nip at his ear and he groans loudly, grabbing my ass with his strong callused hands.
Last time was an impulsive tryst, but this time Trip is prepared. Before he transfers out of his chair, he pulls a bottle of water from the backpack on the back of his chair and downs a little blue pill while leering at me.
I watch as he takes his feet off the footrest and places them on the floor one at a time, then places one hand on the side of the bed and swings his butt over. I pull off his shoes for him and help lift his legs onto the bed. Not that he needs my help, but I like to do it, to feel the heavy weight of his legs.
While we're waiting for the pill to take effect, I show him the dolphin. It's a sleek little light blue silicone sleeve that fits over the pocket rocket. I let Trip pull my clothes off, and he positions himself at the end of the bed while I sprawl out in front of him. He watches with huge eyes while I twist the dolphin on and press it up against my pussy. Just having him here in my bed is such a turn on that I'm ready to go within seconds. I lock eyes with him while I'm coming, and he stares at me with a sort of scientific intensity.
When I'm done with the vibrator, he leans forward, pushing my legs apart and up in a balletic, athletic pose that I am in no way capable of achieving. I feel the tendons between my legs seize up. For the first time, I get a hint of his girlfriend--she must be a dancer or gymnast or something.
"Uh, I'm not that flexible," I say apologetically, bringing my feet back down to the mattress and bending my knees.
"Oh, sorry." He plants his face between my legs and makes me come a few more times.
I could let him stay down there all day but it seems a shame to waste his erection since he went to the trouble of chemically inducing it. I push him back gently, and he rocks back on his hands and knees, then back onto his folded legs. I grab a condom and some lube from the shelf behind my headboard and put it on him since he needs to use his arms to stay upright.
I assumed that I would have to be on top, but no, he would rather be on top. I didn't even think that was possible, but now I'm intrigued to see his technique. I lie down in front of him, and he rocks forward onto his hands and knees, walks his hands forward so he's right over me, then slowly lowers on top of me. Once he's in position, I guide his cock inside me, pulling on his hips to get better leverage. He lifts himself up with his arms and rocks forward and back. I don't know how he does it, but somehow his lower body also stays rigidly in place, so he's balancing on his feet and arms. As he's pulling himself forward and back, the muscles on his rock-hard arms and shoulders pop out right beside my face.
"You're so strong," I murmur appreciatively.
"I have to be," he grunts in the most manly way. I'm in dev heaven.
But as impressive as this feat is, I have to admit that like most women this will not make me come, and what we did earlier was far more satisfying. Since he can't come at all, how do we know when to stop?
The answer is, when his arms get tired and the pill starts to wear off. He rolls off me, his legs following along as lays beside me. I tangle my legs up in his and give his nipples and ears some more attention, gently nipping and licking, enjoying his groans as I find the most sensitive spots.
He grabs the dolphin again hands it to me, so I give him one more show until I really am done.
I flop down next to him, exhausted.
"Good thing you didn't seduce me," he says. "We rose above base corporeal desires and re-affirmed my belief that humans are basically good."
"I agree, you were quite good," I reply, pinching his nipple.
"I would like to spank you though."
"I believe that counts as an elevated, rather than a base corporeal desire. Maybe next time," I suggest.
"So there is to be a next time?"
"My ass awaits your hand."

The next time is just ten days later. I wear the same outfit to work again, which is now starting to feel downright superstitious. Sure enough, by mid-morning Trip is emailing to ask if I can meet later in the afternoon. Yes, I certainly can.
Like before, he picks me up on campus while I again pray that I'm not spotted by any friends who might ask where I'm going.
We're back at my place and naked in bed together in record time. We start the same way--the vibrator, him going down on me, but somehow neither of us is totally feeling it. Usually I can come in under a minute if I'm with a hot para, and keep going on and on, but today it feels like forever to even achieve the first orgasm, and I start to worry that his jaw is getting tired. Finally, I manage to come, but it's kind of lackluster.
"Sorry," I say as he pulls himself up to lie next to me on the pillows. "I don't know why I'm not my usual self today. I think I'm just tired and stressed."
This is not just a line. My life is insane right now. I have less than a month to finish my degree. At the same time, I'm working on campus, applying for jobs like crazy, and rehearsing for another show that opens in a few weeks. So far my job search is feeling even more desperate and futile than before. That feeling I described to Uri as I ran down my car battery, of standing at the edge of an abyss--it's only increasing with every passing day. Even my oblivious and self-absorbed advisor comments that I look like I have lost a lot of weight.
"I have a lean and hungry look," I tell him.
On top of all this, my dating life is even more of a slow-motion train wreck than usual. I'm still talking to Sean on the phone every few weeks, slowly warming up to him again, although I'm still careful not to get too attached. I've been posting on the new Paradevo message board and chatting a lot with the guys there. And I've been messaging even more with other devs. So even when I'm running around like crazy all day, I'm staying up until one or two every morning on the internet or talking on the phone. Even when I try to sleep, I wake up in the early morning hours, gripped with anxiety.
And here I am now getting fucked by some other girl's boyfriend. Well, to be honest Trip is the least of my worries and actually today we decide not to try for insertion, which is a lot of work for not much result.
When I apologize for being too tired, he says no, he's the one who's really tired and off his game. It's him, not me. We chat for a little while in bed, agreeing to try again next time.
He pulls his pants back on lying in the bed, then transfers to his chair. As he's pulling on his shirt, I notice that while we were lying there chatting, he peed in the bed. And not just a little, there's a sizeable wet spot. I stare at it, wondering what to do. I don't want to shame him over a minor annoyance, but then again, I am a little annoyed.
Apparently Trip's strategy is to pretend it hasn't happened. I see him glance at it but he doesn't say anything. He just grabs his things and wheels out the door. I'm so stunned I don't say anything either.
After he leaves, as I'm stripping the bed and sponging the wet spot on the mattress, I regret not commenting on it. Yes, as I keep reminding myself, if you want to be with a SCI guy, you have to be ok with pee. There will be accidents. He's not the first guy to pee in my bed. But to be fair, when it happened with Rollerboy, it was because I carelessly kicked open the valve on his leg bag. He was mortified and apologized profusely. The time before that was Buttboy, when he was drunk. He also apologized over and over, and he cleaned it up himself. What makes Trip think it's ok to pretend like it didn't happen? What an asshole. Why does he have to be so freaking sexy?
And yet the next day, I'm the one to email him and say I want to meet him again. I apologize for my less than stellar performance. He writes back right away, also apologizing for being too tired (although he doesn't mention the pee incident), and brainstorms some ways to spice things up:
Here's an idea...we spoke of it briefly once, women who can ejaculate. You're the fetish queen, with all kinds of perverse behaviors, but I've never done any formal, black-tie and top hat kind of BDSM. I was thinking maybe you and I could find some ejac girl, tie her up and abuse her with toys, make her do you while my tiny manhood is inside you, etc. If that doesn't sound attractive, than we can cogitate...;-)
Honestly this does not really excite me. I reply,
Your manhood is far from tiny :P But I think I'm not ready yet to bring in a third person. At the very least I need to get past that sophomore slump. But if you are interested in some kind of formal SM thing, I'm sure we can think of something.

The next adventure with Trip will have to be postponed until after my show is over. I'm in the Gala concert, a fundraiser for the opera company. I once again descend into the all-consuming routine of rehearsals every night and all weekend, then a week of performances at various theaters. The Gala is always a parody written by people in the company, riffing on well-known musicals. The theme this year is "Hooray for Hollywood" and everyone in the chorus is dressed up like a famous actor, subject to the whims of the costumers, what costumes they have on hand, and what they think might suit us. If they had asked me, I would have requested to dress up like Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz, but they didn't so I am to be 1960s era Liz Taylor. I'm certain they chose this because of my thick eyebrows. I have a very diva-like cry over the ugly short wig. I'm certain the dress and shoes will never fit me, and no one will ever guess who I'm supposed to be.
But I should have had more faith in the costumers, because the ensemble does actually look nice enough. I apologize to the costumers, and they take it in stride. I assume they've seen much worse from some of the leads.
The only problem is the shoes, which are missing the plastic tread at the bottom of the terrifyingly high heel, so I'm teetering around on bare metal spikes. I think back on how Uri saved me when I slipped during Tales of Hoffmann, and that was only in character shoes.
Uri and Suzanna are the leads again in the Gala. Everyone finds it so sweet how they kiss on stage. Whatever. At least he's being good to her. But since he's the lead if I slip this time he won't be in the chorus to catch me. I take very careful steps, even during the dancing.
The show goes ok, and during the meet-and-greet afterwards, more than one audience member correctly guesses that I'm supposed to be Liz Taylor. They're all over sixty, but that's fine.

At the same time, I'm spending more and more time on the Paradevo message board. This is not the first devotee group I've participated in, but the lack of straight male devs means it is a much nicer group. Also there are a lot more guys with disabilities participating. I start emailing a few of them, even ones who live far away, although I have decided not to get into a long distance relationship. But I'll probably have to move if I ever manage to find a job, and who knows where I'll end up. Maybe it will even be near one of those guys I'm chatting with online. Who knows.
I start emailing with a quad in Philadelphia who goes by the username Cripster. I write to him because I actually remember him from a different dev egroup a few years back. He remembers me too, and sends me a bunch of photos. Oh my god, he is so hot. He's got long blond hair and blue eyes, a few tattoos and a little goatee. What can I say, I have a type--blond hair and a flat ass. He's in his mid-thirties like me.
Cripster is a C7 quad like Rollerboy, and also like him seems self-unemployed. Before his accident (diving) he was a mechanic but he can't handle tools now. He types with one thumb, and keeps saying how hard it is, but that doesn't stop him from sending me endless long-winded emails that somehow don't say much of anything. Mainly he's into cars and hot chicks. I get the feeling we don't have much in common but I can't help flirting with him anyway. I send him my Betty Page vinyl pants photo, and suddenly he's sending me multiple long emails before I have a chance to even write back.
That Betty Page photo is a few years old now and I've grown my hair out, so I decide to send him some more recent ones sans bangs. As I'm in the middle of composing an email to him with two recent photos attached, I get a phone call from my mother. She wants to confirm that I will not be flying home for either Thanksgiving or winter break. I explain that I need to stay here in case I get a last minute request for a job interview. Thank goodness she's ok with all that; the holidays have never been a big deal for us. But she wants to chat about my job search, and suddenly an hour goes by.
Rather than saving the email like an idiot I leave the message open, then after I hang up the phone I send it to Cripster. Strangely, the email takes forever to send. To my horror, I realize that for some reason while I left the message open for an hour, gmail in an attempt to autosave copied my two attached photos over fifty times and sent them all.
I hastily send an apology to Cripster, but he just laughs it off.
man, i was steaming like a bleeding witch's cauldron as i waited and watched some freaking enormously long e-mail that was downloading for like half hour or something.. i was thinking all kind of deadly thoughts and how i'm gonna go off on some silly bastard who dared to send me such a crash 'bomb'...
then it finally loaded and i saw it was from the chica to whom i have quickly taken a real shine to and i calmed down ;)..and then i read it and i freakin' bloody loved all you wrote... so even the 50 or whatever that number was, copies of the same 2 pix don't bother me hehe... and i looove these photos btw... damn baby you are so sexy...opposites do often attract i think, and i love dark eyed/haired women...
ah shit bambina, how i wish i could meet ya and spend time with  ;((((((
Well, there's no way I can go to Philly right now, between job interviews, finishing up my degree, and regular work. But my family is on the East Coast so presumably I will be going back there at some point. I hint that I can probably find a way to meet him in person someday, and he latches onto that idea. Now for every one message I send, he sends me three or four, all super long.
But I don't mind--the attention is like a bright spot in an otherwise miserable day. My life feels like one long slog right now. My job search is going nowhere. I am so ready to be done with school, every minute I have to spend on schoolwork is like torture. The weather is getting colder, and the heater in my apartment is malfunctioning worse than ever. As I'm sitting in front of my computer, I have to keep jumping up every five minutes to turn it back on. It's freezing in here.
Cripster gives me his phone number, but I'm so busy I can't find a time to call, and the time difference means that evening for me is the middle of the night for him. I give him my number too, then promptly forget.
A few days later, I get a phone call from an unknown number. My heart skips a beat, thinking it might be about a job interview.
"Hello?" I say uncertainly.
"Hi, is this Devo Girl?" a man asks in a German accent.
Oh shit! For a second I panic, wondering who has found out my secret identity. Then a moment later I remember. "This must be Cripster."
"The very same," he says, laughing. He's from Germany and moved to the US as a teenager, so his accent is light but still noticeable. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a nice accent. I know German isn't high on most people's lists, but I like it.
We talk for over three hours the first night. It's true, we have almost nothing in common, but between Paradevo gossip, SCI talk, and movies/TV, we somehow find more than enough to talk about. The conversation ends abruptly when he suddenly realizes he has to go cath immediately. I don't mind; disreflexia is no joke.
Over the next few weeks, suddenly I'm hearing from Cripster a lot--long rambling emails, endless phone conversations. He just never stops talking. I cradle the phone against my ear and do housework, cooking, even schoolwork as I let his delicious accent wash over me, barely even paying attention to the content of his words.
Mostly he talks about his life, all the crazy shit he did in his twenties--drugs, drinking, partying. He also talks about his injury, and current health problems with neuropathic pain, bone loss, spasms. The more he talks, the less I feel like he is someone I should get involved with. The bad boy thing is fun at first but not material for a stable long term relationship, and we really have nothing in common, although I do enjoy chatting with him. I even call him sometimes.
Eventually I start to realize that maybe things have gone a bit too far. He seems to have it in his head that I am definitely coming to visit him, not at any unspecified time, but for one particular car show he wants to go to in June. He sent me a flier, and I told him I can't go that weekend because it's the exact date of my graduation ceremony. I don't care so much about graduation but it's a big deal for my parents. They have already booked a hotel. I explain all this but he still keeps talking about what we will do together at the car show.
Then one day he calls me up saying over and over how I'm going to be disappointed in him, how he's let me down. He rambles on this way for a long time, and I have no idea what he's talking about. I don't expect anything from him at all. How could he possibly disappoint me?
"I started using again," he says.
"Using what?" I'm totally clueless.
"I was clean for almost a year but then I found some cocaine in a drawer that I didn't even know was there, and the next day I was shooting heroin again. I'm so sorry I let you down."
Oh. Using drugs. Duh. Now I know I really have let things go too far with him. He's clearly built up this fantasy version of me that is way more present in his life than I really am. It makes me very uncomfortable that he's using this fantasy version of me as a crutch for his sobriety. I can't take that role for him, and he needs a lot more than I can give him. I let him talk for a while, then gently suggest he needs serious help, but he's clearly high at this very moment and probably won't remember whatever I say right now anyway.
After that very unnerving conversation, I don't hear from him again. He stops posting on Paradevo, and stops calling and emailing. I feel guilty for not following up with him, but there isn't much I can realistically do to help. From how he described his life to me, it sounds like he has a lot of friends and family nearby, so I just hope someone is taking care of him. 
But that's how it is with these online friendships. You sometimes share an intense emotional intimacy but often it's in a fleeting and incomplete way.
Cripster is not the only SCI guy from Paradevo I have been corresponding with. Before I know it I'm regularly emailing back and forth with three or four, exchanging pictures and mild flirtation, sometimes talking on the phone. None of them live nearby, but hey, I'm applying for jobs all over so I could end up anywhere. There's the accountant in the Midwest, the pothead in the Southwest, and the French Canadian who makes custom wheelchairs. His name is Thibault (pronounced Tibo) and I like him the best. He's got dark hair and a handsome face, and an incomplete L1 injury. Around the time I stop hearing from Cripster, things with Tibo start getting more flirty. He likes the Betty Page look. I start talking on the phone more with him, and we discuss me possibly going to visit him someday. Although that won't happen soon, since I'm too busy and have no money.
Not for the first time, I feel like I'm patching together a real boyfriend experience from interactions with all these various guys. Trip shows up for sex but we never talk on the phone and only email to set up a time to meet. Instead, I talk on the phone with Tibo and other guys, sharing what I did that day, what I've been thinking about. Sometimes we flirt a little but mostly it's just getting to know each other. I can't tell if I'm wasting my time or making important connections. All this emailing and chatting takes a ton of time, but surely it would take just as long to maintain a relationship if I had one.
It's a weirdly hollow sort of emotional intimacy though. I try to be sincere and present, but keeping up with all these emails is exhausting. I find myself cutting and pasting the updates on my personal life.

December 2005
After a final panicked rush to get all the paperwork filed by the deadline, I at last finish my grad degree. It's weirdly anticlimactic. All this time and effort, and for what? I still don't have a job. I've been sending out dozens of applications, and the rejection notices are starting to trickle in. I ride the bus home after filing the last documents, watching the world go by with a feeling of detached unreality. The graduation ceremony won't even be until June, so I don't actually celebrate.
Even though the degree is finished, I'm still working nearly full time on campus. I take three days off work to fly back east for a job interview, but on the way back I get delayed by a snowstorm and have to stay overnight in a hotel. When I get back my boss bitches at me for missing an extra day. Sheesh, you'd think she'd be a little more understanding. Does she really want grad students hanging around campus forever?
Once that interview is done, it's close enough to the holidays that things start winding down. Work lets up, I have no more shows or rehearsals, and most likely no more interviews for a few weeks. As I finally relax just a little, my sex drive kicks back into high gear, and I start trying to meet up with Trip again.
I know I shouldn't, but he's like a drug I don't want to give up. We email back and forth but he's going back to New England to see his family for the holidays. We finally realize that the soonest we can see each other is after he gets back, on January 5th. That's ok, we fix a date with delicious anticipation.
He writes,  
Would it be too rude to say I look forward to violating you?
I reply,
You have offended my delicate sensibilities. Let us have no discussion of violating, or ravishing, or defiling, or other such debauchery. Nor am I in any way anticipating such an event, were it to occur. But if such a thing were to come to pass, for instance on Jan. 5, approximately what time did you have in mind?
Trip responds,
I would like to visit, say, 12 noon. It would be best if I was inside of you shortly thereafter and for the duration of the afternoon period. Oh, wait! I would also like to spank you and see your bum jiggle a bit...oh and please to tickle your little spot with my tongue is also desirable. Wait wait wait! Forgot, I need to see you in many nasty positions. If it's at all possible I would like to see you grimace and pant and several times to lose yourself in shattering orgasms. Of course, all this is platonic.
I write,
Yes, I understand, strictly platonic. Are you sure you covered everything? It would be a shame if you left something out. For instance, your nipples, I would be remiss if they were neglected.
I try to distract myself with thoughts of what we will do together on January 5th. The dolphin gets a thorough workout while I anticipate our next appointment. I spend a quiet Christmas alone. It's ok; after being buried in work for so long it's nice to have time to unwind, clean up the house, cook some real food, and watch tv. I'm also trying to put my social life back together, but all my friends are out of town or busy for the week. I prepare myself to be a hermit for a few days until they return.
Then three days after Christmas, Sean calls and asks if I want to come over. I know I should say no. Part of me is still has not forgiven him. But the bigger, hornier part of me says why not. I tell him yes.


  1. Wow, intense chapter. Loved it. Knew exactly what you meant about the detached reality, hollow intimacy with long distance relationships. Gave my heart a pang .