Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Fiction, White Couple, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Slow,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Dale has to get his life back in order after a nasty accident at work has left him a paraplegic. His one bright light is his live-in career.
Dale awoke and squinted at the light, as he wondered where he was.
He went to sit up when he felt a hand on his chest gently pushing him back down, “G’day mate, welcome back to the land of the living.”
Dale squinted in the direction of the voice. “Jake?” he asked.
“Yeah mate, you had us all fucking worried for a while, there,” Jake answered.
Dale focused on the big man. He was in his late forties and over 183cm tall. His short-cropped hair had a salt and pepper look, and his face showed the evidence of years working in and out of the sun. His large guts hung over the waistband of his pants and threatened to pop the lower buttons. It was the result of too many years behind a desk and eating camp food on one mine site or another.
“Where the fuck am I?” Dale asked looking around with uncertainty.
“Brisbane Base Hospital, mate. Do you remember much of what happened to ya?” Jake asked.
“Happened?” Dale mumbled. ‘What happened?’ he thought. “The bus? I was on the bus heading back to camp,” he said hazily.
“Yeah, a fucking haul truck cleaned you up. Marty told me you were up the front behind the driver.”
Jake explained that Dale had been trapped and had his hips busted when the work bus he was in had rolled over. The bus driver was given the go-ahead to proceed along the haul road, but there had been a communication breakdown.
The haul truck company hadn’t called in that the trucks were back on the road after a work stoppage over pay and conditions. Dale had the privilege of being the most severely hurt.
The bus didn’t have seatbelts. Their Union had been asking for them but to no avail. When the truck hit the bus, Dale flew into the stairwell that was opposite the seat he had occupied and smashed into the metal stairs.
Dale nodded. “I was half asleep. I don’t really remember anything, just flying and then blank,” he replied. Jake nodded. “Anyone else hurt?” Dale asked.
“Mostly cuts and bruises. Vic gotta busted leg, but he’ll be okay,” Jake said glancing down Dale’s body.
Dale also looked. “Oh fuck! Just how bad am I?” Dale asked with worry.
His left arm was in a cast up to his elbow and throbbed softly. He had seven stitches down the left side of his jaw. His guts ached, and he felt battered and bruised. ‘What the fuck is with my hips and legs?’ he thought.
He tried wiggling his toes, but he couldn’t feel them move. He also realised he could feel his lower back on the bed but not from his arse down. He flipped the sheet back to find a contraption bolted to his hips and down his legs. The bandage hid a row of stitches on the inside of his left hip.
Layers of Bandages covered his upper legs where the bolts entered his body. A tube was coming out from under his guts feeding over to a bag hanging on the side of the bed. Yellow liquid with streaks of pink was dribbling through it. He was pissing in fear, but it wasn’t coming out of his cock.
“Oh fuck!” he whimpered as he looked at his body in horror. “This is not good.”
“Nah, sorry mate. The Doc said you have a bruised kidney, but that layer of fat on your guts, and you having your hard hat on your head, saved a lot of worse damage.”
Dale lay back and let the tears fall. He didn’t cry often, but on this occasion, he felt it was warranted.
Dale looked down his body.
His abdomen wasn’t quite a six pack yet, but if the little Hitler bitch who was his massage therapist and live-in carer had her way, it soon would be. The skin was now taut, and his beige colouring had darkened with the sunshine that she made him get every day.
His dark brown hair had recently been cut into his favourite short back and sides. His vibrant brown eyes reflected his disgust. He had a widish mouth that in better times was prone to be smiling, but not today. His nose was lightly flared and not that prominent.
His jaw was square as was his forehead and his chin indicated a determined nature. He liked to be clean shaven, but he was bristled up with dark stubble by the end of the day. He didn’t consider himself a particularly handsome bloke, but he didn’t always see the appreciative looks women sent his way, despite the wheelchair.
He laughed bitterly. He was fitter now than he had been in years. Sitting at his computer for too many years, and eating junk food or camp food on the job sites, had him rolling around at a good 115kg at the time of his accident seven months earlier.
That much weight on his 178cm frame had made him a real lard arse. He would be lucky if he were now as heavy as 85kg. He knew that most of it was now muscle and not fat. His legs were looking better at least.
He now had some serious upper body strength and had little trouble getting around in his wheelchair. He just wished his legs worked. He still got phantom twinges as if his legs were there, but none of the tests the specialist did seem to prove whether they were real feelings or useful for his recovery.
The feelings came and went like little twitches and spasms, the muscles in his legs would shake and then nothing. Sometimes he felt heat and sometimes cold but not in any reliable fashion. He knew it could be worse. He was a glass half full type of bloke.
He was heartily sick of being in and out of hospitals. The first four months had been the worst. At least he could still piss after a fashion and have a crap when required as long as he wasn’t constipated.
His biggest worry was his cock, as it didn’t function otherwise. It let him dribble out the pee but remained flaccid. Yanking on it had no effect what so ever. He could barely even feel if it was attached to him and often thought it was just a remembered sensation.
It certainly didn’t arise from any situation or temptation, and it didn’t even seem to shrink when he was cold, it just hung between his legs with his useless balls. He felt like a lesser man with it not working.
They had flown his mum Kate out of the Isa (Mount Isa, QLD) to see him but she only stayed a couple of days. She couldn’t bear to see him trussed up in bed with all the metal and tubes hanging out of him.
At least she called him once a week. She could talk to him on the phone or Skype; she just couldn’t look at his broken body. He didn’t really blame her, as he hadn’t liked looking at himself either.
As Terry breezed into his room to help him dress for his morning workout, she said cheerfully, “How is my hunk today?”
Dale groaned. Terry had become his therapist four months before when they finally got him out of the casts and the external fixators. They had to operate to remove the pins, and his bones at least were healed.
He had scars in four places on his hips and two on each leg where they had bolted the external fixators. It had been used to keep his hips in place and stop his legs from moving, due to a lower fracture in his left ischium bone (bottom of the hip).
He also had scars front and back and on the left side, where they had opened him up to stabilise the fractured section of his iliac (the top of the hip bone). They had bolted in two plates to hold it back in place, and they would be with him for life.
His lower back above his hips (near the sacrum) often ached, and he had to lie down to ease the pain. His kidney had healed and so had his busted arm so he didn’t piss blood anymore and he had full use of the left arm.
He also had a nice scar on his left jaw. They shaved him after removing the stitches, and he had been delighted. If he let his beard grow a bit he now had a long streak of white hair along the scar. He thought it looked stupid, so it was just as well he didn’t like beards.
He hadn’t enjoyed learning how to use a wheelchair but learn he did. Dale wasn’t the sort of bloke who let things get him down for long. He was a problem solver and had never been shy about doing any job. He treated his rehabilitation as if it was a job that just had to be done.
The physical therapy was murder when Terry had first started working with him. Trying to lift his fat arse off the bed and get into the wheelchair had exhausted him. Getting back into the bed had been a whole lot of other pain and frustration.
He couldn’t lie on his left hip without it aching and being flat on his back for long periods was nearly as bad. He hadn’t been able to sit up until they took the fixators off and even then, he had to stay semi-reclined with a pillow in his lower back to ease the pain.
They had sent him home after four months and assigned him a live-in carer. The first bloke who had been assigned to him had left after six weeks saying he had gotten a better offer. Dale wasn’t that sad to see the wanker go.
The bloke was forever asking for cash to do the shopping, but after a month, Dale had stopped doling it out, as he never got the change back and the bloke never bought as much food as he should have. Dale got his neighbour Sally who was also his housekeeper to shop for him instead.
The wanker wasn’t happy when Dale told him that Sally was doing the shopping. She also cooked meals for him a couple of times a week, after she had copied his diet plan off his fridge. The wanker had rarely followed it, and he had served up some piss-poor meals. It was just as well Dale didn’t have a lot of appetite at the time.
At least he wasn’t paying for all the beer the wanker drank anymore. Dale also hated the fact the bloke had gone through every drawer and cupboard in the house searching for money.
He didn’t have a lot of valuables other than his computers in the house, so there wasn’t much for the wanker to steal. He got Bob, Sally’s husband, to put a lock on the office and took to locking his office just to be safe and he had kept his wallet in there too.
He also made damn sure he never gave the wanker his PIN number for his debit card no matter how often he had asked. Workers Compensation had paid for the wanker’s wages, so he didn’t have to give him anything. Dale had complained about the wanker several times, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Workers Comp, his lawyers, his Company and the Haul Company, were still arguing about just how much he was going to get paid, due to their negligence. At least he still had a job. They weren’t game to sack him from what he could tell.
He couldn’t do the job exactly as he did before, but he was still employable. He was glad that Jake was still his boss. Jake spent more time in town these days and made sure Dale had plenty of work to do. At least working kept him sane.
Workers Comp had trouble locating him a replacement carer when the wanker had finally left. He had tried two different people out, but he had got rid of them within days of them being with him. He refused to have them in his house and sent them on their way.
One bloke was a geriatric and spent the two days he was in the house drinking some disgusting wine that stank up the house. He was even worse than the wanker was. The woman couldn’t lift him to help him. She bitched about everything and left her crap lying around, so it fouled up his wheelchair.
He had to give in when Terry had said that he was going to have to put up with her until they found someone with whom he could live. It had been six weeks of torture as far as Dale was concerned. But he never complained about her because he knew she was doing her job.
He had learned that the wanker and the other two carers hadn’t been following the program that Terry had mapped out for his rehabilitation. Terry had been coming by twice a week to do special therapy sessions with him after he went home. He had dreaded those sessions as she took no crap from him and forced him to exercise.
She’d had a major blowout with the wanker and reported him. So he had left before he got fired, leaving Dale in the lurch. Terry had felt sorry for him and had moved in as a result. She also seemed hell-bent on getting him on his legs and walking again.
She had been working like a demon to stop the muscle atrophy in his legs and to make sure they didn’t look like sticks attached to him. The weird thing was that he often felt the nervous twitches worse after she had worked him over.
It felt like little pinpoints of fire in his legs. As much as they could hurt, he had hope that he might get better. However, neither Terry nor the specialist could find any actual improvement other than his legs didn’t look malnourished anymore.
He looked over at his nemesis. Terry was lucky if she was 153cm tall. She had broad shoulders and muscular arms. The hips were wide and the thighs a little heavy but the arse was firm, and she did have shapely calf muscles.
Dale reckoned that if she ever got a bloke in a leg-lock or a headlock, he wouldn’t be able to break free. She might be small, but she was incredibly strong. She did have a nice set of ‘C’ cups, and while not textbook gorgeous, she wasn’t paper-bag ugly either.
He liked her dark aqua eyes and her pretty little nose. He wanted to stir her up, as she was really cute when she was reading him the riot act. Watching her beautiful round breasts heave was definitely one of the highlights of his day.
Her wacky sense of humour and good cheer had grown on him. The lady had no inhibitions what so ever. Any topic was fair game and freely discussed, and his or her nudity was a non-issue as far as she was concerned.
When she moved in with him, she had warned him that she didn’t like wearing a lot around the house especially in summer. While the above the knees, slip style dresses that she liked to wear in the house were not cut to be particularly sexy, she didn’t wear anything under them.
She often wore her nighties without a robe over the top. Her other favourite outfits were bike shorts and a singlet style top with no bra or a bikini top without the singlet.
She laughed and said she couldn’t leave the house without wearing a bra, but hated them otherwise. Dale hadn’t complained, as he loved the view. She was also a lot better looking than the wanker had been.
She had been with him for two weeks the first time she had got into the shower with him naked. She shocked him with her boldness. He had honestly wished that his cock worked.
She didn’t do anything sexual and had explained she was sick of getting wet when washing him, so she may as well get clean at the same time. She may not have encouraged him, but his hands and brain sure had ideas of what he wanted to do to her.
His eyes had feasted on her body. She wasn’t fat just solid, and he knew most of it was muscle. She hauled his larger frame around as if he weighed nothing. He didn’t particularly like skinny women, so she looked pretty darn good to him.
Dale thought that her hips were definitely designed for a bloke to hang onto. Terry’s short brunette bob had flattened under the water, but the colour matched her thick thatch below. When she moved, he could see the lips of her labia poking out at him, and he really wanted to lick them and suck on them.
He hadn’t been with a woman for over two years, and the sight of her naked made him very horny. The sway of her lovely round tits, the hard hot pink nipples and the water sluicing over them had his cock hard as a post in his mind.
When he looked down and saw his cock lying flaccid in his lap, he burst into tears. It wasn’t until he felt the water on his shoulders cool that Dale realised he had his head buried between those lovely titties he had been admiring, and it had been there for some time.
He went to nuzzle one, and she moved back releasing him. She turned the water off and threw him a towel. He watched while she dried the water off quickly, put on a thin towelling robe and covered her lovely assets.
She was all business, as she helped him get dry and dressed. She left him to find his way to his desk and said she was going to make coffee. She came back a half hour later with their coffees and curled up in the comfortable chair that was in his office.
He noticed she had put her nightie on under the robe. While she talked to him as if nothing had happened, he got the distinct impression she was telling him she was out of bounds. He could understand her reaction, as he didn’t have much to offer her.
He hadn’t been with a lot of women, but her naked body had become etched into his brain. While he knew ninety percent of the sexual act was mental, he couldn’t supply that extra ten percent that was crucial.
It didn’t stop him wanting her.
The weeks that followed continued like the ones before.
Terry had acquired two recumbent cycles. She had tied a board under one of his pedals to one of hers so that when she pedalled hers, it also moved his. They did two, thirty-minute sessions a day.
She then gave him a leg and hip massage to make sure he wasn’t knotting up. He tended to get a lot of painful cramps and uncontrolled twitches since she had started working him harder on the exercises involving his legs and hips.
She had gotten hold of a set of parallel bars, a Weight Bench and a Chin and Dip station so that he could work on his upper body. She taught him how to do push-ups and would brace his knees and lift his hips when he pushed his chest off the floor.
He had feelings to the top of his arse and his hips, but the bottom half and down to his toes were numb. He had noticed he often felt pins and needles sensations in his arse, hamstrings and thighs after this exercise and it had become one of his favourites.
He often fantasised he was fucking her while he did it. He also loved her holding his hips and wished he could feel his arse pressing into her body when she helped pull it up to keep his back straight and work his upper legs.
After six weeks of her intensive workouts, he was amazed at the changes in his body.
Terry worked a five-hour day at the clinic, and the rest of the time, she worked with him.
He had lost a lot of weight in the three months lying in the hospital bed in traction, while his hips healed. Terry had worked a hell of lot more of it off him since. She rubbed creams into his skin to help it shrink, and he had developed real muscles in his shoulders, chest and abdomen.
He wasn’t sorry to see his ‘A’ cup tits change back into pecs that most men would be proud to have. He could now see his cock again without bending over to find it. He didn’t miss the big guts, fat legs and flabby arse one bit.
He did miss the occasional durrie, but he knew little Miss Hitler would chuck a right wobbly if took them back up. With his body having trouble controlling his internal temperature due to the loss of feeling in his legs, he knew he could easily get pneumonia, so he considered them relegated to his old life.
Terry also cooked for him and watched his diet. He certainly had no complaints in this department either. She wasn’t a fancy cook, but what she cooked never left him hungry and her meals were always tasty and well balanced. She also varied the meals, and he had gone a month before she repeated one.
He hadn’t eaten so well since leaving home ten years before when his mother basically pushed him out and told him to get a life at the tender age of eighteen. He had suspected his single mum wanted her lover to move in and he was cramping her lifestyle.
He had moved to Brisbane and scored a well-paying job that also paid him to complete his Engineering Degree. He found a cheap three bedroom house on the north side of Brisbane to buy five years later. He had saved his money, and the better pay from side jobs ensured he didn’t need to borrow much to buy it.
The retired couple next door, Tom and Sally, did a bit of housekeeping for him and looked after the yard when he was away for weeks at a time. He was now glad he had bought the house and had such great neighbours.
The only modifications he had done since the accident was to rip out the bathtub and replace it with a generous showering area. Old Tom next door had been a builder, and he had done it for him.
He had added rails in the shower and the loo for him too. The area was now big enough to let him get from his wheelchair to the bathing chair. He could easily turn his chair around to use the loo now with little difficulty.
Tom had also placed small ramps at each doorway so he could get into the house. Tom even added a rail down the hallway and one along the wall to the kitchen. So he could use them to get from his office on his modified office wheelie-chair.
When he had first moved into the house, the master bedroom had an old-fashioned four-poster king-sized waterbed in it. It required dismantling to move it, and the previous owner hadn’t bothered.
He had replaced the bladder with a mattress years ago, and Tom was able to bolt a tubular X-frame to hang some handles on, so he could get in and out of bed and into his chair. He could also use the ones on the back to help pull himself up in bed.
Sally still did the bulk of the housekeeping for him, and it meant that Terry didn’t have to. She had her hands full cooking for and looking after him and doing her other paid job. She also got on with his neighbours better than the wanker did. Sally and Bob had given their approval, so Dale was happy.
He had turned the smallest room into his office, and Terry had the large spare room. They had enough room in the double carport to put the exercise equipment and massage table. Terry had him buy thick foam mats so if he fell he didn’t land on the concrete floor. He had learned to appreciate the mats over time.
One of the things that had started to bother him during the time that Terry had been looking after him was that she didn’t go on any dates, and he couldn’t understand why. She was happy enough to go to functions he had to attend as part of his job, but she never went out unless she was dining with her father on Sundays or going to work.
He had learned that her parents divorced when she was ten, and she had been living with her dad for the last sixteen years. Her dad had an old Queenslander, and they had built her a flat underneath when she was in high school. They still shared the central kitchen and dining room if neither were entertaining a guest.
She had laughed and told him her dad had two regular girlfriends that she knew of and was amazed the randy ol’ bugger kept up with them. She knew they both knew of each other, but they still turned up for their regular nights him and had done so for years.
She was glad she had the flat downstairs and wasn’t in her old room, or she wouldn’t get any sleep. She still got to hear enough bumping in the night as it was. Dale had found her frankness about sex and nudity a little hard to get used to at first, but she had grown on him as the weeks past.
They had some of the most amazing conversations that often left him with a lot to think over. He was learning that Terry was very much, a live and let live, type of person. She didn’t give a rat’s arse about your colour, race, religion or sexual orientation. She tended to judge people by their actions and what they said rather than who they were.
She still wore her shift dresses or singlets and shorts in the house, and he still wished he could fuck her. He had also come to realise that he didn’t want her dating anyone else, even if he couldn’t have her.
He had found he was listening for her to come home from work in the afternoons and worried if she was late. He missed her around the house during the day and looked forward to the weekends and evenings when he had her undivided attention.
He had already said no to, two different carers that they had sent for him to check out. He didn’t want anyone else as long as he could have Terry. They had settled into a routine, and she seemed happy enough to stay with him for now. He dreaded her leaving him.
He was beginning to suspect that he had fallen in love with her. He loved it when she gave him an occasional hug when he had achieved a milestone. Pleasing Terry had become his favourite pastime.
She still got into the shower with him naked, and he just loved watching her moving around him and washing him. He wished he was game enough to touch her, but he didn’t. The one thing that pissed him off more than anything was the fact he couldn’t even masturbate when he dreamed of her.
He woke every morning with a limp cock, and it stayed that way no matter how much he fantasised about her.