Mateo
I'm up and ready to do something new today. Yesterday I went to therapy ready to get an hour of mental sparring with the girl I can't get out of my head. Instead I found out that she wouldn't be my therapist. That's disappointing in the sense that I've seen her work with other patients and I know she's more of a ball buster than Jane. I've been thinking that maybe I need that. On the other hand, at least my dirty thoughts about her won't cross the patient/therapist boundary. I can imagine bending her over any surface I want without feeling like a complete pervert.
Things are also looking up a little in the sexual release area. The thoughts about Ashlyn flooding my head have seemed to wake up my dick again. It went from declining every invite to join the party to rising to the occasion at the drop of a hat when I think of her or watch her bending over to change the weight on a machine or twist her hair up as she looks over her files. Oh yea, I'm filling up my brain with many images of her hot body and biting lips that can deliver a sarcastic comment better than any other girl I've met.
I tie my first running shoe in no time flat. It's the second one that takes some maneuvering. The bullets to my femur alone would have severely limited my movement given the way they tore through muscle and ripped the connective tissue separating muscle from bone. Only those bullets had nothing on the one that shattered my kneecap. I'm now the proud owner of a titanium kneecap, and the scar tissue and trauma of the extensive clean up the surgeon had to perform. That really fucked me up.
I wince but push through, bending my leg so that I can reach the laces. My forehead is covered in sweat and I'm chewing Vicodin like it's cereal just minutes before I need to be down the front steps to meet up with Ashlyn. It's time to make a bigger effort at getting my life back. I guess I didn't see the rush to do so until there was a girl that got me thinking about the benefits of being able to move the way I used to. And thinking about Ashlyn naked makes me want to move that way again.
I start the slow hobble down the front steps and barely have a chance to rest before she's at the bottom, a smile on her face. "You meant you'd see me here?" She asks as she pulls her ear buds from her ears and slows to a stop in front of me.
"I've been thinking about it and you're right. I need to do more if I want my movement back." She's already smiling. Her outfit today is going to be torture, but at least it made that trip down the stairs totally worth it. She has on a very tight tank top, the one with a built in sports bra that squishes her tits together and pushes them up to the top rim in the most enticing cleavage I've seen in a long time. Her tight yoga pants cling to her shapely legs and I have the urge to reach out and squeeze her thighs and pull them around me. Fuck. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. I look out at the street to distract myself.
"Great. Let's get started. We can jog really slowly. We don't need to extend our legs or put too much pressure on that new knee. Let's just keep our movements tight and focused. No need to pound." She looks me over and her attention along with all this talk about tightness and pounding I'm pretty sure my dick is about to show her just want kind of pounding he'd like to participate in.
She points up the street and then we're off. It's so much slower than I've ever run before, but it's the first time I've ran since the trauma and it feels good, like progress. She hasn't put her music back in her ears so the only sound between the two of us is our breathing. At first it was awkward, but after a few minutes I'm so in tuned to her inhales and soft breathy exhales I can practically feel them in my groin. It's slow torture. The pain is achy-- an annoying throb that reminds me I'm not a full man. I couldn't run after anyone that tried to grab her. I couldn't even win a fight right now if she needed me too. It's a very drastic change from who I used to be. I'm twenty-two years old and I move like an eighty-year old man. It's embarrassing.
"You're doing good," she encourages from beside me and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "Knee replacement is rough—and that's without the trauma to your thigh. I think the key will be to just keep it moving a little every day."
"My right hip is hurting," I complain.
"It's from the limp. That joint isn't used to the jerky motion."
"I disagree. It's been a while, but that hip has had some practice with jerky motions." I tease, saying the words in my best over the top Ron Burgundy voice. It earns me a delicate laugh and that makes me smile. I look at her quickly because I know it's a mistake. Her skin is shimmering with sweat and each movement causes her tits to bounce and her ass to sway. Fuck it has been way too fucking long. There used to be a girl I'd train with at our last duty station. She wasn't nearly as attractive as Ashlyn, but fucking her was some of the best sex I'd had in my life. We would run until our lungs burned and our blood pounded through our bodies, then we'd tear each other's clothes off and go at it in the shower until our legs just couldn't hold us any longer.
Thinking about all of that makes me angry. I lost my ability to move fluidly when I walk and I for sure lost my ability to hold a girl up in the shower, her legs wrapped around me as I steady our bodies and pound into her until we both lose our minds. The best I can hope for is that I'll someday find a girl that loves to be on top. That's the only way I can even imagine not feeling like a total fucking failure in bed.
We round the last corner and start making our way back up the last block to my place. I don't tell her that the pain is making me want to throw up or that just doing this for a little bit is going to keep me in bed for the rest of the day. When I think I'm just about to call it quits and tell her I have to stop, we slow at my front steps. "Thanks for pushing me to go." She smiles at my words and nods her head.
"I enjoyed it. Take me up to your place." She's winded and I'm mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest. Wait...did she just tell me to take her upstairs? My face must express my questions because she laughs softly. "I'll help you ice your knee and thigh Casanova."
"I can do it," I counter, but she's already making her way up the stairs.
"You don't have to fight everything, you know. A simple thank you would be enough." She waits for me at the top and I start making my way up. My leg does feel a little looser after the run and it shaves at least two minutes from my usual time. It feels like a victory. I show her to my front door and open it, letting her into my dark cave of depression and doubts.
"I'll grab the ice." She heads for the kitchen and I hear her digging through the freezer. "Where are the baggies?" she asks as I take a seat on my couch.
"Bottom right drawer." I almost regret not following her in there to watch her move around in that outfit. When she emerges a few minutes later with two bags of ice, I can't help but wish we were going to be using it for an entirely different purpose. I grab a pillow from the back of the couch, grateful that the lady who sold it to me when I moved in left a few of the small throw pillows I never thought I need. Watching Ashlyn's sleek, tan skin shimmering with sweat in total contrast to the way her nipples are now erect and pushing at the thin fabric of her workout top has me groaning with the sudden force at which the blood in my body rapidly converges in my dick. I'm hard in two seconds flat. Hence the throw pillow across my lap—circa seventh grade.
Ashlyn drops to her knees and I clamp my eyes shut, pressing the pillow down further and willing my dick to calm down so I don't pass out from the loss of blood to my brain. I get it buddy, it's been a long time. Her cold hand slides up the long leg of my shorts, uncovering the scars of my knee surgery. The sensation seems to climb right up my leg and under the pillow. I feel my balls pull tight in response and hope she's too focused on her task to pay any attention to the problem I'm having. When one bag is firmly in place, She slides the shorts leg up higher, but I stop her with my hand by firmly holding her wrist.
"Put it on over the fabric." My eyes are locked with hers, our breaths in sync as we begin to fall back into a pre-workout pattern. I don't want her to see the mangled mess that is my upper thigh. It's bad enough she's seen me struggle to do the simplest gym tasks, I don't want her to see what's left after being at the wrong end of a gun.
She nods her head reluctantly, but sets the bag of ice near the inside of my thigh. The cold should help my throbbing dick problem, but the view I have of her from above and how closely it resembles a girl on her knees for an entirely different purpose doesn't really allow for any humility. The cold sensation rises up and licks at the nerve endings so sensitive and ready to be stroked. When she finishes and looks up at me with her big eyes and that perfect bottom lip trapped between her teeth, I almost come just from the sight.
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