The Mantis, part 1
I'm so carried away with the excitement over meeting a hot para guy at a fetish club that I start to believe Sarah's jealous comment that I will marry him. He and I barely exchanged a few words but I allow myself to think that maybe he is my perfect match. As fantasies go, this one is particularly short-lived. A day or so after I email him, he replies:
It was nice to meet you the other day at Lollygag. It was my first time there and I wasn't sure what it would be like. It was a great experience, so thanks. But I can't meet you for a date like you asked because I'm married. I thought you realized since I'm wearing a wedding ring. I was surprised when you asked for my phone number. Sorry, I didn't mean to lead you on.
"Well, that's the end of that," Sarah declares, reading over my shoulder.
I'm just sitting there with my mouth open, little cartoon question marks popping above my head. What the hell? Did he have a wedding ring? I can't remember, but it's not something I have ever been in the habit of looking for. Is that something I'm supposed to be checking? How could this happen? And why did I open this email at work?
I try not to let myself get too upset about it. After all, I hardly know him. I'm still hooking up with Atom the Archaeologist and Brenno the Baritone from time to time. More importantly, I just received my acceptance to the internship program I applied to months ago, the one where I purposely sent in an application for six months rather than a year because I was dating Skip. I'm kicking myself for that now, but it's too late, everything is settled. In October, I'll be moving to Taipei for six months. I'm hardly in a position now to start up a new relationship.
And yet. Even knowing that nothing serious can come of it, I can't forget about this guy. Hot wheelers who are also into BDSM and who are submissive don't come along every day. Without telling Sarah, I craft a reply that leaves the door just a little bit open.
I'm really sorry, I had no idea you're married. I honestly didn't notice a ring. I didn't mean to be rude or make you uncomfortable. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want. But I just have to ask, if you're married, what were you doing in that club by yourself?
Again a few days go by before he responds, but he does write back.
Thanks for understanding. What can I say. I went to that club because I've always been interested in SM but my wife doesn't want to do it with me. I just decided it was time to see what it's really like. I wasn't expecting to meet anyone there. How long have you been in the scene?
The door opens just a crack. We start to email back and forth regularly. I tell him right away that I'm a devotee, because what have I got to lose? He's heard of it before. He's never met one before but he's ok with it. I tell him about the Sub Rosa Society and the events I've been to. I start to put on a playful domme role again with him, signing my emails the Cruel Mistress. He signs his wretched worm. Our exchanges start to heat up.
Finally, I make him an offer: a six-month, no strings, Mistress-slave contract. He comes to my place for kinky play but we don't go on dates or have a romantic relationship. When I leave for my internship, that's it, the contract is finished forever.
He doesn't even hesitate, but makes a date to drive up to my roll-in dungeon the very next day.
I'm super excited, of course. I can't believe I'm actually going to get to see him again. At last my shitty but fully accessible apartment starts to seem worth it. But as it gets closer to his arrival, I start to have second thoughts. What am I doing? At least with K, I could justify my actions because his girlfriend knew everything. She may have hated me, but she agreed to the open relationship. But this, this is definitely cheating. He's sneaking out without telling his wife, and she would be upset if she knew. I can't pretend anymore that I'm not a bad person. The idea of topping him is too intoxicating. I just don't care.
But I do care what my friends think of me, so I decide not to tell anyone, especially not Sarah. This is going to be my dirty little secret.
He shows up on a Friday evening and just rolls right in over the threshold, unhindered by any step.
"Hi," I say awkwardly as he sits in the middle of my living room, smiling up at me nervously. I'm not sure if he's expecting me to get into the domme/sub roleplay right away but I'm feeling too inhibited to get into it from the jump, and anyway good play practices dictate that we discuss all possible scenes and limits in advance.
So I keep it vanilla for the moment. I offer him a seat on the sofa, and watch as he transfers gracefully, easily. I straddle him on the sofa and kiss him hard, just like at the club. It's so sweet. He grabs my butt with his enormous hands.
We kiss like that for a while, then I break it off and grab his left hand, pulling it around in front of my face.
"Wait, that's not a wedding ring!" I protest. On his ring finger is a huge red signet ring, gold with a big square jewel, or maybe it's glass, I don't know. But it doesn't look anything like a man's wedding band.
"It was my grandpa's, but it's really my wedding ring," he replies, laughing a little.
"Come on, who wears a wedding ring like that? At least I don't feel so dumb now for not getting the hint right away." He just shrugs.
"It's very nice of the Mistress to give this wretched worm a chance anyway even though... you know..." he says, half playfully and half self-consciously.
"Yes, it is!" I lift my chin in the air. "You should be grateful that I deign to see you!" He smirks a little. "But if we're going to play together, you need a better name than slave or worm." I stare at him consideringly, looking him up and down. With his long angular limbs, his smallish head, pointed chin, spiky hair and glasses, he really does look like an insect. "You're not a worm," I say slowly. "You look like a praying mantis."
He puts his arms up and lets his hands dangle, just like a praying mantis. We both laugh. "I'm going to call you The Mantis," I declare, and this pleases him.
"The Mantis is your humble servant, Mistress," he murmurs.
I growl and kiss him hard again, holding his wrists down with my hands and pressing his arms into the couch. He obviously loves it when I restrain him, so I pull his arms up, crossing his wrists above his head. With his arms up, his pecs pop out impressively.
"Wow," I comment admiringly, running my hands over his rock-hard chest and shoulders. "Do you work out?" As soon as I say it, I realize how stupid that is. Of course pushing and transferring all day have given him upper body strength far beyond that of most guys. His arms have to do the work of his legs, so of course they are twice as strong.
"Actually I'm a little out of shape now, 'cause it's not basketball season."
"Oh, you play wheelchair basketball?"
"Yeah, I'm on a team but I'm not that serious. Some guys are like, super intense about it, but I just do it for fun."
"I bet you're good though, with those long arms."
He laughs self-consciously. "Yeah, it helps to be able to palm the ball." He holds out a hand and once again I notice his ridiculously long fingers.
With some difficulty, I remind myself that we are not here for idle chit-chat. This is not a date. But as much as I enjoy the Mistress role, I keep slipping out of it, because I prefer to get to know the person I'm with.
To get things back on track, I turn the conversation back to BDSM. Since he has never done this before, I want to make sure he knows the rules. We establish a safeword (strawberry), and I list the things I'm willing and not willing to do. Skip always balked at this part, saying that he didn't want to script out a scene in advance. "It's not a script," I explain. "Think if it as a menu we can choose from, but certain things are not on the menu today, and some are not on the menu ever."
The Mantis nods eagerly.
"Ok, so tell me what's on the menu for you," I prompt.
He looks up at me over the top of his glasses, his pupils wide. "Anything," he whispers.
I swat him on the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, very nice but that's not really helpful." I smirk at him. "I order you to tell me what you like."
"Not ok! Yes Mistress!" I swat him lightly again.
"Yes Mistress! Um, more of that..." he squeezes out with great embarrassment.
"What, being ordered around?"
He nods, blushing.
He nods again, even harder. He says yes to everything that I consider entry-level: restraints, ball gag, blindfold, nipple clamps--the usual.
"Don't worry, I know your ass is delicate," I say. "No spanking, no pegging, ever."
"I can't feel it anyway," he shrugs.
"So you have a complete injury?" He nods.
"What's your injury level?"
"T7. About here," he says, holding his hand near the base of his ribcage.
I've been straddling his lap for this entire conversation, his bony legs shifting back and forth slightly as I squirm around. "Am I too heavy?" I slide onto the couch next to him. I know it's not good to stay in one position for too long.
"Nah, you're fine." He has this kind of flat affect when he's talking that makes me wonder if he's really into me, but I'm starting to get that he's just very shy and nervous. He gives me a tense little smile, but his eyes are full of lust. I suggest moving to the bedroom and he nods eagerly.
I stare openly as he transfers back to his chair, pushes around the corner to the bedroom, then transfers again onto my low double bed.
I can't help but compare him to Rollerboy, the only other SCI guy I have known. I remember Rollerboy saying that transfers are easier for taller people, and I can see now how that's true. His arms are so incredibly long, he can lift his butt easily. Transfers were always hard for Rollerboy, as a quad. Everything had to be positioned exactly right so he could balance, using gravity and momentum to make up for his weak arms. There was always a moment where his butt would hang in the air that made me worry for a split second that he might not make it. But The Mantis makes transfers look almost magically easy, like levitating. He doesn't even place his hands flat, but rests the tips of his fingers on the edge of the bed as he shifts his butt over from his chair effortlessly.
He's wearing a dark blue button down shirt with a pocket that contains his keys and phone, the kinds of things an AB guy would keep in his pants pocket. With a slow grin, he empties the contents onto my bedside table, then removes his wire rimmed glasses and puts them down too. Placing a hand under a bony knee, he lifts up each leg one at a time and shifts them onto the bed. With a growl, I jump on him and push him down, ripping his shirt off to reveal his muscled chest. He's a tall skinny guy, so his muscles are not huge, but his arms and chest are solid as a rock.
Despite all our talk, I'm not ready for a hardcore scene yet, so I just kiss him all over, but roughly. When I nip at his ear, he groans and rolls his eyes back in his head, so I do it some more, then move on to his nipples. That gets an even bigger reaction.
I move down his chest, still kissing, until I get to his upper belly, where the sensation ends. I unzip his pants and tug them down, revealing his underwear.
"Do you ever get hard?" Despite what most guys seem to think, I'm not particularly hung up on the cock, and I don't particularly care if it doesn't work, but I want to check how he feels about it.
"Not really. I mean yes if I really jack it hard but I can't feel it so I usually don't bother."
"Ok cool." I yank his pants off, leaving his underwear on. His legs are pale and very thin, with white tube socks pulled all the way up to his knees. When I pull the socks off, I see that his calves are completely hairless, even though his thighs have the normal amount of hair for a guy.
"Dude, what the hell happened to your leg hair?"
"Oh, I, uh, always wear long socks and I guess it rubbed off." He answers in that flat way again, and I can't tell if it's because he's embarrassed or because he thinks it's no big deal.
"Ok, so why the socks?"
"I don't know, they put socks on me in rehab and I just kept wearing them."
"Yeah, but those were probably compression socks. These are just tube socks." He looks at me blankly. "You don't have to pull your socks up to your knees."
"It's just how I wear them."
There's something kind of sweetly eccentric about his answer, so I let it go. He's entitled to his weird fashion choices. The leg hair thing is so strange though. If I could get rid of my leg hair just by wearing socks, I would be pulling tube socks up to my knees every day. But I've been wearing socks my whole life and I'm still super hairy so maybe it has something to do with being paralyzed. It's a mystery.
I sit at the end of the bed, caressing his hairless legs and moving them around in some gentle stretches while he watches me. There's something so sexy about moving part of his body for him when he can't do it himself. He seems to feel the same way, because we lock eyes as I hold up his foot and give it a playful kiss.
Now he's almost naked, and I still have my clothes on. I stand over him on the bed and pull off my jeans and t shirt like I'm doing a sexy striptease as he watches with his eyes as huge as dinner plates. When I'm down to my bra and panties, I sit down straddling him, and pull his arms so he's sitting up facing me. He unhooks my bra and buries his face in my chest.
After that it's like a blur: he kisses me all over, then goes down on me and makes me come again and again. He comes up for air and we wrestle around for a while, then he goes down again.
Eventually I start to feel a bit tired and sore, so I glance at the clock on the nightstand. I thought it was just a few minutes, but it's been four hours. Usually when I have sex with a guy, we're done when he comes. I've learned to time it so I come first, because when the guy is done, we're both done and it's not worth fighting over. Even Rollerboy was fixated on ejaculating every time, even if it was just a reflex. I've never had sex with a guy where his dick was not at all involved.
I push the hair out of my face and look up at The Mantis, glassy-eyed. "How do you know when you're finished?" I ask.
He gives a little half shrug. "I dunno."
I look at the clock again, just to make sure. "It's past midnight. Don't you have to, um, get home, or something....?"
"Nah, I said I was going to see my friend Dave in the city and stay over." He lives two hours south of Raser City, way way down the coast in the middle of nowhere.
"You stay over with him often?"
"Sometimes. It's not, uh, suspicious."
Aaand now I feel gross again. "Well you can't stay over here."
He ducks his head, rolling off me and casting about for his clothes. "I know. I'm gonna go see Dave."
"Ok." I pull my t-shirt back on and hand him his pants from the floor. "Sorry we didn't do a real scene this time. Maybe next time...?"
"Don't apologize, that was awesome. Yes, next time. If it's ok with you."
It is ok with me.
More than ok. I want to do it right next time. A full scene, hard-core with no holding back. We make a tentative plan for the following week.