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During our relationship, I learned so much about my body. I knew I couldn't feel the exterior of my vagina, but thankfully, I could feel him fingering or making love to me. I also discovered foreplay, which was a huge deal for me.
We saw each other every month. I'd fly to see him or vice-versa. In a typical weekend we probably had sex two or three times, the missionary position usually, with sometimes a side-sex position thrown in for variety. He wasn't deft enough to help me balance on top of him. He sometimes would even prefer cuddling. I secretly always wished for more.
After two years, he dumped me, saying I had cured him of his "devoteeism." After that, I entered a four-year relationship with a local Bible-thumping poet who was eight years my senior. We traveled around the country.
When we broke up, I found myself twenty-five, feeling like I'd missed out again, this time on the "slut phase" most girls go through in their early twenties. I was determined not to miss out. Late last summer, I got a box of condoms and decided I would make up for lost time. I put up my profile on Match.com, OkCupid.com, MySpace, and the Onion Personals. In every profile, I was completely upfront about my disability.
I got dozens of emails every day. Some men overlooked the part where I said I was disabled, others honestly didn't care. Some weren't sure if they could get over it and confessed that to me. I automatically deleted the latter group; it wasn't my job to persuade them to date me.
Every guy asked the same question eventually: "Can you still have sex?" It got so redundant over time that I put it in my profile — "In case you were wondering: Yes, I can still have sex. Yes, I can enjoy it. And yes, I can still have babies." One guy got such a kick out of my bluntness
During the movie, we sat on my automatic bed and made out. |
that he pursued me relentlessly, calling me "Slugger." Another guy insisted on referring to my spinal cord injury not as a "disability" but as a "permanent injury." I think he was in denial.
A guy named Mr. Tattoo had tracked me online for a year. When he saw I had become single, he messaged me. He was gorgeous: dark hair, six-five, and totally my type, with nipple piercings, completely shaved body and a full back tattoo.
We met for coffee. In person, he looked just as good. I was instantly infatuated. I couldn't believe someone so hot was interested in me. Our coffee led to a movie, and I let him feel me up in the theater. We shared a long kiss goodbye outside my van in the parking lot. Despite all this, he didn't return my call. My disability might have weirded him out, but in reflection, I thought it was mainly because he was polyamorous and knew I was on the prowl for a monogamous boyfriend. I decided to try to make him into my fuck buddy. Hell, all my friends had had one in the past, why not me? I asked him, and the next night he came over, bearing the film Closer.
During the movie, we sat on my automatic bed and made out. He leaned over and quickly pulled up my tank, exposing my breasts. He was so deft, so confident, and clearly experienced. I let go at that point and let him explore me at will. I'm a submissive at heart and get turned on from giving up complete control. Being paralyzed makes that very easy to do, which is perhaps the one ironic benefit of my accident.
He reached down into my panties and found my clit in a millisecond. I was shocked. My legs started jumping around as he rubbed it furiously. I had never, ever thought my clit could give me that much pleasure.
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