cabin with a wary look. “Well, this is … rustic.”
I walked past him, shrugged a duffel bag off my shoulder and to the wooden floor. “It’s ours, alone. We’re lucky.”
Because most of the counselors were women, and two of the other men were married to others, we were able to finagle our own cabin. Being the only wheelchair-using counselor must have helped us get a little bit of special treatment. I still wasn’t sure that Alice, our lead counselor and default boss, completely understood our relationship, or cared. To Everett, it seemed unimportant.
The cabin’s windows were small, with dingy drapes that hid the sunlight. The room’s paneled walls didn’t seem mildewy, but the room felt stuffy.
“Let’s get some air in here.” I opened each of the windows.
“You want the top bunk?” Everett joked as he wheeled toward the two stacked beds. They were as small as twin beds, so it was going to be a tighter fit when we slept. After sharing our larger dorm bed for so many months, the idea of merely sleeping near or above Everett was unthinkable. Going to sleep and waking up by his side had become one of the joyous constants of our new life together. Even so, the bed looked small.
Our first day involved a lot of introductions with the other counselors in the main hall of the camp, poring over mimeographed sheets of instructions, schedules, safety guides and a list of the students’ names and various disabilities.
Barbara, the other lead counselor, seemed to repeatedly eye me, and speak in a somewhat careful tone, as if I might not understand the seriousness of our duties. I got a feeling that she thought I was just along for the ride, that Everett, by being disabled, didn’t need instruction. Not sure who had figured out our relationship, or if any such revelation would be appropriate, I just busied myself by taking notes.
We would be expected to be on call most of the next day when the parents and their kids arrived. We also received short-sleeved shirts with the camp name printed on them.
“Our first night together in the wild,” Everett said as we finally settled into our bed. The single lamp gave the cabin a dim yet unintentionally romantic light.
“Hardly the wild,” I said. “The town’s two miles away.”
“Shh. Was that a coyote?” he joked.
He shifted closer, we smooched, and his hand reached down toward my thickening penis. We lay side by side, kissing, caught up in the new feeling of being together in a strange place. Surprisingly, Everett had removed his catheter and let me touch his dick, which was showing signs of excitement. He must have taken care of it in the tiny yet adapted bathroom.
Clumsily, at first, we negotiated the small bed’s confines. I bumped my head on the bed above, then, in a moment of creative gymnastics, Everett reached up to grip the above bed’s frame and hoisted himself up to sitting, then a higher pull-up position. His penis bobbed close to my face.
“Oh, yes!” He gasped in mocking tone. “We should get bunk beds at home!”
I continued licking and kissing his torso, which tasted of a day’s sweat. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I guided him back to sitting, almost hovering over me. I wanted to just devote my attention to him for a change. His arms flexed, suspended, he snorted out breaths. I caressed his chest, cradled his limp legs into a position around me, and kissed his belly, then lower.
As the familiar erratic spasms made his body shake, my lips clasped around him, tugging, fondling. I took my time as he pulled himself up, then lowered down. I took a hungry pleasure in knowing I might soon bring him to an orgasm, a rare instance. Perhaps it was the new setting that aroused us so quickly.
He let one arm drop, grabbed my head to pull me away, but I insistently clamped my lips around him until I felt, then tasted, a fluid burst in my throat. I felt his weight drop onto my lap as he grabbed my shoulder. I caught him, held
I walked past him, shrugged a duffel bag off my shoulder and to the wooden floor. “It’s ours, alone. We’re lucky.”
Because most of the counselors were women, and two of the other men were married to others, we were able to finagle our own cabin. Being the only wheelchair-using counselor must have helped us get a little bit of special treatment. I still wasn’t sure that Alice, our lead counselor and default boss, completely understood our relationship, or cared. To Everett, it seemed unimportant.
The cabin’s windows were small, with dingy drapes that hid the sunlight. The room’s paneled walls didn’t seem mildewy, but the room felt stuffy.
“Let’s get some air in here.” I opened each of the windows.
“You want the top bunk?” Everett joked as he wheeled toward the two stacked beds. They were as small as twin beds, so it was going to be a tighter fit when we slept. After sharing our larger dorm bed for so many months, the idea of merely sleeping near or above Everett was unthinkable. Going to sleep and waking up by his side had become one of the joyous constants of our new life together. Even so, the bed looked small.
Our first day involved a lot of introductions with the other counselors in the main hall of the camp, poring over mimeographed sheets of instructions, schedules, safety guides and a list of the students’ names and various disabilities.
Barbara, the other lead counselor, seemed to repeatedly eye me, and speak in a somewhat careful tone, as if I might not understand the seriousness of our duties. I got a feeling that she thought I was just along for the ride, that Everett, by being disabled, didn’t need instruction. Not sure who had figured out our relationship, or if any such revelation would be appropriate, I just busied myself by taking notes.
We would be expected to be on call most of the next day when the parents and their kids arrived. We also received short-sleeved shirts with the camp name printed on them.
“Our first night together in the wild,” Everett said as we finally settled into our bed. The single lamp gave the cabin a dim yet unintentionally romantic light.
“Hardly the wild,” I said. “The town’s two miles away.”
“Shh. Was that a coyote?” he joked.
He shifted closer, we smooched, and his hand reached down toward my thickening penis. We lay side by side, kissing, caught up in the new feeling of being together in a strange place. Surprisingly, Everett had removed his catheter and let me touch his dick, which was showing signs of excitement. He must have taken care of it in the tiny yet adapted bathroom.
Clumsily, at first, we negotiated the small bed’s confines. I bumped my head on the bed above, then, in a moment of creative gymnastics, Everett reached up to grip the above bed’s frame and hoisted himself up to sitting, then a higher pull-up position. His penis bobbed close to my face.
“Oh, yes!” He gasped in mocking tone. “We should get bunk beds at home!”
I continued licking and kissing his torso, which tasted of a day’s sweat. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I guided him back to sitting, almost hovering over me. I wanted to just devote my attention to him for a change. His arms flexed, suspended, he snorted out breaths. I caressed his chest, cradled his limp legs into a position around me, and kissed his belly, then lower.
As the familiar erratic spasms made his body shake, my lips clasped around him, tugging, fondling. I took my time as he pulled himself up, then lowered down. I took a hungry pleasure in knowing I might soon bring him to an orgasm, a rare instance. Perhaps it was the new setting that aroused us so quickly.
He let one arm drop, grabbed my head to pull me away, but I insistently clamped my lips around him until I felt, then tasted, a fluid burst in my throat. I felt his weight drop onto my lap as he grabbed my shoulder. I caught him, held
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