Sex On Legs Pt 01

"Sex on legs." Is what she called me.

Which I had honestly never been called before in my life. Nor had I ever considered the possibility of that description fitting me.

But there it was, plain as day in text message format.

Me: You honestly find me attractive?

Natalie: Are you freakin kidding me?! You're practically sex on legs!

It took me a few minutes to reply. And what followed was admittedly quite awkward on my part but I was new to this. I'd never really flirted with anyone other than my wife before and even then it wasn't anything intensely sexual, more intellectual.

I should probably explain a little before anyone paints me as some kind of cheating scumbag.

My wife Samantha and I have been together since our mid to late teens and married just as both of us turned 20. It was admittedly a bit of a rush but we didn't think I had many years left in me so rushing was the order of the day.

See, since puberty I had been sick on and off (mostly on). Weakness and bed-ridden were my bread and butter. It wasn't a comfortable life but it was all I knew so I kept my spirits up and was always jovial and witty when I had the energy. Which is what attracted Sam to me in the first place. Too this day I'll never understand why such an attractive girl fell for sickly old me but I'm not one to question terrific luck.

My condition would take a while to explain and longer to make sense but it was pretty damn rare and auto-immune. Normally it affected adults but I was lucky enough to get throttled with it pre-puberty.

The end result wasn't kind to my body and while I still managed to grow reasonably tall I was nothing but hairless-skin and bones.

The doctors had predicted an end date roughly in my very early 20s so, at 22, when a new doctor came bursting onto the scene shouting things like 'Revolutionary experimental treatment' and 'Effective but risky', Sam and I decided that maybe it was time to take whatever rotten eggs we had left and drop them all into the same basket.

Again, I could explain the details but it would take way too long. The brief version is that the treatment entailed a combination of stem cells and hormone replacement therapy coupled with frequent intense physical therapy.

They did their best to ease me into it but man was that treatment effective. Soon they were fighting to keep me back when it came to the physical therapy and not long after they just straight up quit trying to stop me.

In a matter of two short years I had gone from measuring up my coffin tux to more than doubling my bodyweight in solid muscle (not a hard task honestly given how emaciated I was).

But as much as I loved the training, I was never showy about it. And while my friends and family made occasional comments they never stroked the area where my ego should be so I never thought of myself as anything other than an average, healthy guy. Which is all I ever wanted from life.

My wife however DID seem to be quite appreciative of the change. It wasn't what she signed up for with me originally but she was happy that I was happy.

At least I thought she was happy.

One night, a few years after my recovery we lay in the afterglow following lovemaking and chatted. She was skirting an issue, I could tell, eventually after a little prying she confessed that lately, she had been thinking about us and how long we had been together. How much we had achieved as a couple. How happy we are together. And how neither of us had experienced sex with someone other than each other.

The last one threw me as you can imagine.

I could see where she was coming from though. We were both virgins when we married and it was only with some luck and rubber bands that we managed to consummate our relationship on our wedding night. Shamefully my illness prevented anything else. I had never really had a huge libido anyway, even after the treatment.

But it seems that it was a thing that had been on Sams mind for a while now. She said that she could never have bought it up when I was ill but now, a few years after my, should we say 'reincarnation?' she felt as though we were both in a state of mind where we could branch out without one making the other feel bad.

In our vows I said I would have done anything to make her happy. And after coming up with a set of solid rules a few days after her suggestion, I found myself living up to that vow.

I had a feeling Sam probably had someone lined up immediately and I didn't bother pressing her for details. Our rules stated she would give them to me if I asked but I didn't really want to know for now. Just as long as she was happy.

Personally, it took me a few weeks to make anything resembling a move. And even then it was at Sams behest because she felt bad that she was the only one trying.

Which, shaving off some boring details and embarrassing encounters, leads us to now.

With me, sitting at my cubicle, sweat beading on my brow as I read through the conversation between myself and Natalie.

The girl from the coffee shop in my buildings foyer.

The girl who apparently goes to the same gym as me and "Can't keep her eyes off my body" even though I always train in baggy shirts.

The girl who likes "A man who's as strong as the coffee he drinks."

The girl who "likes strong men because she loves being picked up while she's being fucked."

The girl who "wouldn't mind a lift to the gym after work."

I swallow hard on a dry throat and look longingly over at the water bubbler, knowing that I won't be able to stand up and go get a drink until the thick outline on my growing erection makes its way back from my halfway down my thigh.