His thoughts were disturbed by a loud growl from his stomach. Right, time to get some dinner in me. Simon hopped back in his wheelchair and wheeled to the kitchen. Not in the mood to cook anything elaborate he took a look in his freezer and took out a frozen ready-to-eat meal. Chicken, vegetables and potato wedges; that’ll do, he thought, looking at the picture. He tossed it in the microwave and beeped the prescribed four minutes.
While he waited for the ding to tell him he could eat, he stared out of the windows and found his attention going back to his recent uncomfortable realization. Had he only been looking at the guy but at the same time fantasizing about the girl? Was he just staring at the screen but not really watching the movie? He wasn’t sure about it, but deep down inside the answer to these questions stayed the same. He had been pleasuring himself while watching a naked dude.
A loud *ding* brought him back to his dinner. Simon opened the door and picked up the plastic bag containing his dinner.
“Ouch, damn it! Motherfucking stupid piece of shit!” He swore loudly, dropping the bag on the floor.
“Fuck you Simon, why did you pick up that boiling hot bag with your bare hands, you stupid asshole?” he cursed himself. More annoyed about not paying attention than dropping his dinner, he held his hand under the cold water for a minute. With one hand on the rim of his right wheel for stability and a towel in the other hand for protection, he was able to pick his dinner off the floor. Still in one piece; at least it’s not totally screwed up, he thought as he emptied the bag on a plate.
As a proper bachelor he usually ate his dinner on the couch while watching TV. Glad to be able to take his mind of things, Simon put a DVD of Doctor Who in the DVD player and dug into his dinner. When he was finished he put his plate in the dishwasher and decided to spend the rest of the evening back on the couch with nothing more than a beer in his hand and as many episodes of Doctor Who as he could handle. His newfound sexual revelation was pushed to a faraway place in his mind, not bothering him any longer.
Slowly drifting to the surface of reality, Simon opened one eye and glanced at his alarm clock. Nine A.M., not bad. It took him another 30 minutes to wake up enough to get up from bed. He flung the blankets on his king size bed aside and swooped his legs over the side. Pushing himself up to with his arm, he ended up sitting on the edge of the mattress, yawning extensively.
After a lying in bed during the night he always was a bit stiff, so he started bending and twisting his back as much as possible. A pop here, a crack there; the sounds his body sometimes made would make any other person worry, but not Simon. He would be more worried if he didn’t feel or hear anything. With his back stretched and loosened like it was supposed to be, it was time for the final part, stretching his legs.
Simon leaned back with his elbows on his bed and stretched his legs using his CP. Just like every time his spasms kicked in, making his legs stiff as a board and twitching for a few seconds. When they relaxed, Simon could bend his knees and as he slid to the front of the mattress he was able to get on his feet. He didn’t walk much but he could, a little bit. It wasn’t too efficient and quick, and it cost him way more energy than wheeling. The only time he’d walk was to get to and from his bed and bathroom in the morning and evening. He used two crutches as support to catch himself in case he lost his balance, but strictly speaking he could stand and walk a few feet without aide. That only worked when he was alone and on familiar territory. As soon as he had someone watching, his CP and his fear of failure kicked in and make him cramp up enough to really need his crutches.
To be honest, it wasn’t so much walking as it was swaying. Not being able to tell the muscles in his legs and hips to make the right motions, Simon walked using his upper body. As he swayed his torso to the right, his left leg would lift up from the floor and to the left just enough to sway it forward. Gaining momentum, he’d lean forward, and as his left foot would touch the floor, he’d sway to the left, repeating the movements with his right leg. It didn’t look pretty, but it did the trick; so as long as he was home alone Simon would get around like this just fine.
His wheelchair was where he left it, right outside the livingroom door. In one fluid motion he put his crutches against the wall, pushed the door open with one hand, grabbed the doorpost with the other, turned on the spot, and let himself gently fall right on the seat of his wheelchair.
Still a little bit sleepy, Simon made his breakfast on autopilot. Sitting at the kitchen table he ate his toast and drank his tea while reading the newspaper. When he was finished, he finally was fully awake. Time to get my stinky ass in the shower. Simon made his way to his bedroom for a clean set of clothes. He left his wheelchair outside the bathroom and walked in.
In the bathroom stood a small wooden bench he used to sit on to undress, dry off and dress. He lifted his butt up a tiny bit and slipped off his boxers. Now completely naked, he leaned against the sink to brush his teeth. He looked at his upper body, visible in the mirror. A skinny, tall guy with a bit of a stubble looked back at him. Simon didn’t find himself particularly handsome, but it could be worse. The part of his body that he didn’t like was hidden by the sink. He knew how his legs looked from his own perspective and was used to that. But being confronted with an image in a mirror or in a photo of the skinny sticks with bony knees that almost always were pressed together wasn’t something he liked. That was how others saw him. And that was when Simon remembered he looked different. Not different by choice, but different without the ability to change.
That fleeting thought was gone the moment Simon bent down to rinse his mouth. Holding on to the sink, he stepped in the shower, where he had a grab bar to hold on to. He also had a collapsible shower chair, but he only used that for when he had to shave or was too tired to stand. After thoroughly washing every nook and cranny of his body, Simon sat down on the plastic shower chair and took the shaving cream. With a generous amount he lathered up his face. Right from the very first time at age 16 he shaved using cream and a Gillette razor. Not the most obvious choice for someone with CP, but he became quite skilled at it, and only very rarely would he cut himself. Careful not to skip a spot, he shaved his face and rinsed it off. He felt the most-likely-to-miss spots with his fingers and was proud to notice he was perfectly smooth.
If shaving your face with a razor when you have CP wasn’t tricky enough, Simon had raised the stakes years ago by starting to shave his balls too. He had read somewhere that it felt good and had decided to try it sometime. It felt good, smooth and fresh, so Simon had never stopped shaving since. Like a real professional, he applied the shaving gel and pulled the skin straight with his right hand. With the razor in his left hand he carefully made long strokes, leaving a soft and hairless trail. After checking for cuts or missed spots, he rinsed everything off and just sat there for a minute, soaking up the warmth of the water. Isn’t shaving your balls for gays? That question suddenly popped into his head. Oh fuck, not again. Simon sighed. He got out of the shower and started drying himself off. He had this persistent feeling the gay thoughts weren’t going to disappear anytime soon.
Sure enough, the rest of the weekend the topic kept haunting him at inconvenient times. Sunday morning, Simon was wide awake at seven with thoughts racing through his head. What do these feeling and thoughts mean? Am I gay? How long have these feelings been slumbering? Will it pass? Do I have to come out of the closet? He tossed and turned in his bed while trying to find an answer to these questions. He has had a few girlfriends when he was in college, but none of them lasted more than a month. Most of those relationships, if you could even call them that, ended with Simon breaking up saying, “This just isn’t going to work.” Sure, they were hot, he liked kissing them, and they sure made him hard when they sat on his lap. . . .
I guess at least I’m not totally gay, but bisexual at most, he thought, somewhat relieved.
He felt confused, both by the thoughts themselves, and by the fact that he felt uncomfortable and scared. There was no reason to be afraid to be gay or bi. He was a very open-minded person himself, never bothered when he met a gay, disabled, or any other ”different” kind of person. No hate, no resentment, none whatsoever. His parents had raised him to be very liberal, and they had assured him that it would be absolutely no problem if he were gay. “Do not be ashamed or afraid to tell us,” they’d told him. And he had just nodded, never expecting to end up in this situation.
If, and that was a very big if, he was ever to tell his parents he was bi or gay, he needed to be as sure as possible about it. He knew perfectly well how quick people were with labeling others based on too-little information. I already have the disabled label, and I won’t have the gay label put on me when I might just be little bit curious. Before Simon got out of bed he had a last thought that turned out to be an important one: If I want to know if it’s just a thought or if it’s real, I better do something to find out, and not just think and be scared.
But the thought of what kind of an adventure lay ahead made him very scared…