This is a story about how I got back into the swing of things after a life-changing accident. I've been in a wheelchair for more than five years now, after I lost the use of my legs in a skiing accident. I won't get into all the details about the really bad times—when I felt suicidal, when my relationship with my then-girlfriend went sour and finally ended. I'm better now, and this story is part of what helped get me get my groove back. I'm still working hard in therapy, trying to walk again. In the meantime, I'm enjoying life and I really count my blessings. I've got a good job and good friends. I'm a big, good-looking guy, and I've stayed in shape, even in my wheelchair. Plus, I've got an extraordinarily large, thick dick that still works like it always did, thank Christ. How big is it? I've got big hands, but when I grab my pole with two hands as if I'm gripping a baseball bat, there's still three or four inches of cock sticking out. (Don't be jealous—you can walk, and I can't.)
Before my accident, I never had trouble getting women. For a long time afterwards, my self-confidence was so low and my outlook on life was so bitter and negative that I couldn't even bring myself to try. But about a year or so ago, I started feeling differently. I get my hair cut by a really sexy Italian woman named Carmen Trimboli. She's always been nice to me—calls me handsome, touches me flirtatiously when I come in for a trim…but she's like that with everyone, really.
I'm 32. Carmen's a few years older, probably close to forty. But what a woman. Incredible hourglass figure, with a small waist, long legs, and broad shoulders. Not one of your petite, skinny chicks, by any means. More like Sophia Loren, or Anita Ekberg, if you know who that is. But gorgeous, with long, thick hair, full red lips, and dark sexy eyes. Sexy voice too, and stylish glasses. Something about her reminds me of Dr. Melfi on the Sopranos, Tony's shrink. Maybe it's the glasses. Maybe it's the voice—breathy and low. But much sexier. She always shows it off, too. High heels, and skirts that barely stretch over her big round ass, threatening to burst right down the seams. Enormous, heavy, full breasts. I'm talking about huge. So big that you wouldn't believe they could be real, except when you see them jiggling around, soft and natural as God's own creation. And as spectacular as they are, they fit her body perfectly, unlike some of these strippers that look like two soccer balls glued to a stick. Carmen's thick and voluptuous all over, and I was nuts about her. Kept my hair short on purpose so I'd have a reason to go in often. Hell, I even got a manicure a couple of times, just as an excuse to sit there with her holding my hand and looking at me with her sultry Italian eyes.
So I go one day for a haircut, and I pull up and park in the handicapped spot right in front of the shop. I take a long time getting out of the car, so that she comes out to give me a hand. A few years back, I would've parked somewhere else, so that nobody would see me struggling to get out of my car and into my chair. Now, though, I take every advantage I can get. Gives me a chance to see Carmen's hot body jiggling as she bends over. And this time, I really get a show. She's wearing this short black little strapless number—made out of this Lycra-type material that stretches around her curves like the skin of a grape. If she wasn't so damn stacked, the thing wouldn't stay up at all, but it does—resting on top of her gorgeous tit-shelf, and stretched over her big round ass on the bottom.
On her feet, high-heeled black boots, gorgeous fine leather up to her knee, perfectly fitted around her strong calves. She gives me a big smile and touches my arm. She steadies the chair as I shift my weight into it from the car. (How do I drive? Hand-pedals—accelerator and brake, that's how.) Her heavy tits swell out as she bends over and I see a big flash of beautiful breast meat. Her thighs flex—God damn, she looks so strong and ripe with her broad shoulders and long legs. Needless to say, I'm as hard as a lead pipe. I'm wearing linen pants, very loose-fitting and comfortable, and my rod pushes the material up like a huge circus tent. Does she notice? Should I try to hide it? Would she be as nice if she saw me as I really am-- not as Mr. Nice Guy, a harmless cripple, a charity case—but as a man who undressed her with his eyes and imagined fucking her over the hood of a car?
It's late in the day. There's no one else in the store. It smells of incense, hair products, nail polish, and woman. She's got my head back in the sink, washing my hair. I catch a whiff of her as she works, and it's thrilling.
She's cutting my hair. I'm in the barber's chair. We're small-talking as usual. I know she's got a daughter, seventeen years old or so. (Ex-husband's out of the picture.) So I always ask about the daughter, let her do most of the talking. She can be moody, so I'm always a little careful around her. A tough Italian woman from Brooklyn—with that classic fugeddaboutit accent. Opinionated, bossy, fiery, funny as hell. From the way she looks, I know she's got men knocking on her door, but she doesn't give them the time of day. All she cares about these days is getting ahead with her business, making money. With that and raising her daughter she's too busy for any nonsense. I've overheard her talking to other women about this guy or that…"Men!…What do I need that for? Honey, I'm done with all that bullshit…" But in her eyes, sometimes, I sense desire.
I let her talk and watch her in the mirror as she moves. Her ass jiggles as she walks around, swings back and forth like a brass bell. I can see the outline of her tiny g-string through her dress. Her tits brush against my back as she cuts. Just the feeling of them on my shoulder makes me hard as a rock. Makes me want to bite into those huge jugs. Hair's looking good. She takes off the apron. Brushes my neck off, lowers the chair down. She's next to me, her hip right by my shoulder, her legs slightly parted.
Somehow, don't ask me how, I feel the heat coming off of her. I see her face in the mirror, and her breathing seems to be heavy. It's like I can smell the heat of her sex, the way animals can tell when their females go into heat. Or maybe I just figured she wouldn't punch a cripple too hard…Either way, without saying a word, I put my hand between her legs, feeling the inside of her thigh. She started at my touch, like a nervous filly, and then froze, locking eyes with me in the mirror, looking slightly afraid. Then she moaned, softly, and spread her legs farther apart.
