Taxi : Chapter 5


It started out as a day pretty much like any other -- but by the time I
got home that night, I had an entirely new perspective on life.

I'd finished a late breakfast, and was headed in the general direction
of one of the busier hotels in town when Dispatch called and let me
know that the Central Hotel had asked for me -- by name.

Now, I've been driving a hack long enough that I get calls like that:
word has gotten around to all the better hotels that I'm somebody that
can be relied on. I've never upset a fare, I'm invariably polite and
helpful, cooperative as all get-out, and all that kind of stuff. As a
consequence, I've gotten more than my share of good fares, some truly
outstanding tips, and had a LOT of 'interesting' experiences. But
absolutely nothing in my career driving a cab prepared me for what
happend that day.

When I got to the Central, the doorman is watching for me, and as soon
as I pull up he comes out and tells me "Find a spot to park, Jim, and
come on in. The manager wants to talk to you for a minute before your
fare comes down."

Okay, different, but not too much so; I get my rig parked, and once
I'm inside, one of the desk clerks I know, Susie, gets on the phone to
let the manager know I'm there. She listens for a few seconds, then
points back to where his office is, letting me know he wants to talk
to me there. Again, different, but not outrageous. When I get to his
office, I knock on the door and hear him say "Come on in, Jim."

I do, and once I'm inside, he stands up and shakes my hand, telling me
"I'm glad you got here as soon as you did. I've got a little bit of a
problem, and I can sure use your help with it."

Now, usually, this guy is polite enough to me, but I can't remember
him ever talking all friendly to me like he is now, so immediately I
start to wonder what the hell is going on, and what I'm getting into.
As if he's reading my mind, he tells me "I suppose you're wondering
what's going on; I know the desk calls you often enough, but I know
you've never been back here in THIS office before. So let me lay it
out for you: one of our guests -- that is, one of our more, uh,
affluent guests -- is in town for the next couple of days. Tomorrow,
she has an appointment at the Stovald Clinic, but today she's just
been staying up in her room, which is fine with us, of course. The
problem is that she's decided that she wants to go out and do some
shopping. Usually, when she comes to town like this, she lets us know
ahead of time so that we can make the appropriate arrangements -- but
this time she didn't, and we've been caught short. You see, she was in
a car accident that left her with some spinal cord damage; while we'd
normally have a special vehicle and driver reserved for her to go out
with, we didn't this time. None of the other places in town has a
vehicle available, and she has simply refused to let one of our staff
drive her in one of OURS. She's a bit on the feisty and stubborn side,
so the best we could manage was for her to agree to be driven in a
cab. She's a very special guest, even aside from her medical problems,
so we want to make sure that she's properly taken care of -- which is
why we called you."

He paused then, and had one of the staff bring us in some coffee
before he continued "Those of our guests that we've called you for
before have been QUITE uniform in their praise of you, so I don't have
any doubt that you would do your best with THIS guest, as well. The
reason I called you in here, really, is to try and give you a little,
ah... forewarning about this particular guest. As I already said, she's
somewhat feisty and stubborn; someone that didn't know her as we do
might even say that she was... difficult."

I'm thinking that if this guy is willing to be buddy-buddy with me,
and talk about a guest like he is, it's likely that this woman can be
more than just 'difficult' -- more like a royal pain in the ass, I'm
figuring. He just confirms my suspicions when he tells me "In light of
how this guest may behave, I want you to know that in addition to
whatever fare is on the meter when you return her here, you will get
that same amount as a tip from us. That will be yours, whether she
chooses to tip you as well, I might add."

He paused to look at me, and I took the opportunity to ask him "Okay,
that's all well and good. But you said this woman is handicapped,
right? So what is it that I'm supposed to be doing, other than just
driving her around?"

"I was rather hoping that you would be agreeable to, ah, accompanying
her during her shopping. Carrying any purchases she might make, that
sort of thing."

Something doesn't sound quite right; I finally figure out what it is,
and ask him straight out "Are you saying that you're wanting me to
push her around? Like in a wheelchair? Doesn't she have one of those
electric jobs?"

He gets this pained look on his face before he admits "Well, yes, that
was what I was hoping you'd do. She does have a battery-powered
wheelchair, but it's large and heavy enough that there really isn't
any way to get it into a regular vehicle. She isn't happy about it,
but she understands that because of the unplanned nature of this
outing, she's going to have to use a more conventional wheelchair. Of
course, with her condition, there would have to be someone to handle
transporting her in it."

I'm finally starting to get the whole picture now. Not only is this
woman likely to be a pain to deal with under normal conditions, but
now she's having to go out without her go-buggy -- and probably pissed
about it. And I'm the poor bastard that's been picked to take care of
her. Lovely.

I think about what this guy has told me, along with the pros and cons
of just telling him to get stuffed; I finally decide that it would be
better all around if I went ahead and did as he wanted. But I decide
that I've still got a little leverage, and that I'm going to get the
best deal I can out this.

He's been watching me as I think all this through, so he's already
paying attention when I tell him "Okay, I'll do it. But if I'm going
to have to stay with this woman the whole time, I think it would a lot
more reasonable if I got paid for it. Instead of paying the meter and
giving me a tip for the same amount for the driving, I think it would
be fair if I dropped the flag when I left, and it stayed down until I
got back -- seeing as how you've already 'forewarned' me that she's
likely to be a handful. And any tip I get from her is mine, of
course." If I leave the flag down the whole time, it's likely going to
add up to a pretty hefty chunk of change, what with waiting time
charges and all; I know it, and I know HE knows it. But he also knows
that he's asking me to do something that's way beyond just driving a
hack, even for a special guest. Either one of us can 'just say no' to
the deal -- but there's definite downside if we do. For me, there's the
chance he'll get a hair up his ass and I don't get as much -- or maybe
even NO -- business from him and the Central. For him, he's risking the
chance that I get bent out of shape and spread the word about this
little deal, and why I turned it down; if that happens, his (and the
hotels) reputation maybe goes down the crapper: a lot of the cabbies
in town know and respect me -- if I say I felt like was going to get
hosed on a deal, he might discover he has a cab shortage for a while,
which is NOT a good thing for him.

I can see him thinking it over, and he finally agrees. I kinda figured
he would; sure, I was bending him over a barrel -- but it was only a
little bit, and I was willing to grease him up first.

With the details of the deal settled, he tells me who the client is:
Evangeline Towers, 29 years old. Hearing the name, I finally
remembered reading about the accident in the papers some years before:
as a college Senior, she'd been on her way to her before-school job in
a donut joint one early morning when a drunk driver that a bar had let
stay late ran into her little economy car. Her folks hadn't been rich,
but they'd had enough money and foresight to get the best reputable
lawyer they could -- and proceeded to sue the guy that hit her (an
executive with some big company), the bar staff, the bar owners (a
national chain), and the car manufacturer. The drunk driver had been
in a company car, and his history of DUIs was known to his bosses, so
the company he worked for paid rather than try to fight it; the driver
himself had finally been put in prison for a few years. The bar staff
tried to fight, but it was pretty much a losing battle: that they'd
let the guy stay late and admitted they KNEW he was drunk didn't help
them any. After that, the national chain paid off to try and minimize
the bad publicity. The company that made the girls car, though, were
the ones that really got hit in the wallet: after their design had
gotten good crash safety ratings, they'd made some changes that had
decreased the impact worthiness of the vehicle. It came out in a trial
that several of their engineers had warned them about the decrease in
vehicle strength that the changes would cause, but some financial
beancounters had insisted anyway, gambling that any insurance payoffs
would be cheaper.

By the time everything was said and done, the girl had damn near a
hundred MILLION in benefits due her over the course of her lifetime --
and that was in addition to her medical care being paid for. Me, I'd
figured everybody but her got off pretty easy.

I nodded my understanding and remembrance to the manager; he looked at
his watch and said "She'll be coming down pretty much any time now, so
we might as well wait for her in the lobby" before standing up. I
followed his example, and the two of us made our way out to the front
desk to wait for her after he reaches into a drawer in his desk to
hand me a Handicapped parking placard, saying "This should make it
easier for you to find convenient parking. If you get ticketed or
anything anyway, we'll take care of it."

We made small talk with each other for a couple of minutes before one
of the elevators opened up to reveal that the hotels concierge had
gotten her into a non-powered chair (a damn good one, by the look of
it), and down to where we were waiting. When they'd gotten over to
where we were, the manager took a step forward and said "Miss Towers,
this is Jim Stoddard. He's probably the best cab driver in town, and
we've made arrangements for him to guide you around today. He'll not
only be driving you, but helping you get around, as well as carrying
any purchases you make. We think you'll be quite satisfied with him."

As he was talking to her, I took the chance to look her over: it had
been a few years since the accident, and being unable to move much (if
any) hadn't done her any good -- but to my surprise, she still looked
fairly attractive. Her auburn hair was cut short in a style that
complimented her features (and made it easier on whoever took care of
her, I figured). She had lovely hazel eyes, and her face didn't seem
to have suffered any damage in the accident. Her arms and legs were
somewhat thin from lack of exercise, but it was pretty plain that she
was careful enough with her diet and got whatever exercise she could
to keep from gaining too much weight. Dressed in a lightweight
pantsuit, it was easy for me to see that she'd undoubtedly had a very
nice shape: medium-sized breasts, a waist that was doubtless a little
thicker than it had been, and hips that had suffered a similar fate.
All in all, even in a wheelchair, she was still something of a looker.

When the manager had finished his little spiel, she turned her head to
look me over for a few moments before saying "So you're the poor
bastard that's my watchdog today, huh?" Her speech was slightly
slurred, but understandable.

Looking into her eyes, I answered "Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but no,
I'm not your watchdog. Like he said, I'm here to help you get around.
If you want to do something to get yourself arrested or something,
that's your get-go."

Surprised by my response, she just looked at me for a few seconds
while the manager got a pained look on his face. Finally, she gave me
a small grin and said "Okay, we know where each of us stands -- or
sits, in my case."

Looking at the manager again, she said "Okay, can I go now, Dad?"

Hearing that, I knew that she was jerking the managers chain; it
reaffirmed that she probably could be a real whirling bitch when she
wanted to.

The manager quickly assured her that she could; the concierge and
manager kept her company while I went to get my hack. Once I was in
front of the hotel, the concierge wheeled her out to my cab and the
two of us carefully and gently got her into the back seat. Then he
showed me how the chair would fold up so that I could transport it in
the trunk. As we were doing that, he told me "Jim, she knows that
getting her in and out of this thing isn't easy, so don't worry too
much if putting your hand on her ass is the only way to get her moved.
She doesn't LIKE it, but she understands it." I thanked him for the
information, and after closing the trunk lid, went around and got
behind the wheel. I asked her where she wanted to go first, and after
she told me, started the cab and got us moving.

Ten or fifteen minutes into the ride, I heard her tell me "You don't
have to drive like I'm a bottle of nitroglycerin or something. I'm
crippled, not something you have to worry about breaking."

I looked at her in the mirror before answering "Ma'am, whether you're
crippled or not doesn't have anything to do with how I drive: I'm
driving the same way I do for everybody. He was wrong when he said I'm
probably the best cab driver in town: I am the best, and any honest
driver will tell you the same thing. One of the reasons I'm the best
is because I AM such a good driver. That isn't bragging, it's a fact."

Another quick glance in the mirror let me know that she was surprised
at my response; she didn't have anything else to say the rest of the
way to the store she'd said she wanted to go to.

When we get there, I'm relieved to see that they've got Handicapped
parking spots that are right by the doors, and I pull into one -- to
the surprise of a couple of people outside. When I hang the placard on
the rearview mirror, they get even more surprised; but not as much as
when I get the wheelchair out of the trunk and get it set up before
opening the back door. I take a few moments to look the situation over
so I can try and figure out the best way of getting Evangeline from
the back seat to the chair. Once I've got that worked out, I have at
it; it isn't easy because she's no lightweight. I was surprised to see
that she was able to move her arms and legs, at least a little bit,
when she tried to help. Once she's in the chair and situated to her
satisfaction, I close the door to the cab and start pushing her toward
the store. Along the way, she tells me "I could see that you were
surprised I'm able to move. I'm not totally paralyzed; what happened
was that I suffered a spinal cord injury that only did enough damage
to take away most of the motor control from my shoulders down. Lucky
me."

I didn't bother saying anything -- I mean, what could I say that
wouldn't sound like I was just dismissing her injuries, or worse
still, pitying her?

Once we were inside the store, I noticed that we got more than a few
looks. They seemed to fall into one of two categories: either folks
couldn't seem to resist looking at her as if she was a freak in a
sideshow; or they'd look, and then look away, feeling guilt at the
relief they felt that it wasn't them in a wheelchair. I couldn't help
but watch Evangeline, and realized that she was all too aware of the
reactions she was getting; that got me thinking about what it must
really be like, being handicapped as she was -- the looks, the pity,
and all the rest that goes with it.

We spent a little over an hour in the store before she decided she was
ready to leave with the couple of purchases she'd made. I'd been
pleased to discover that there was a pouch on the back of the chair
that would hold the bags; I wasn't looking forward to trying to push
her AND carry shopping bags at the same time. While she'd been
shopping, all she said to me was to direct me to where she wanted to
go, and to handle getting her credit card in and out of her purse when
she'd bought something.

Once we were back at my cab, getting her into the back seat was pretty
much the reverse of getting her out of it: awkward, something of a
strain on my back, and necessitating that I put my hands places that I
wouldn't ordinarily have.

After I got the cab started again, I looked at her in the mirror and
asked "Where to next, Ma'am?"

She told me, and I got us moving again. Just a minute or two after I
got us on the road, I heard her tell me "I can tell you aren't happy
about having to put your hand on my ass. Truth is, I don't much like
it, either; but I've been in wheelchairs long enough to know that
there really isn't any other way to get me in and out of cars. I know
you're not getting any kind of thrill or anything out of it, so quit
worrying about it. Whatever the hangup is, just let it go."

I give her a quick glance in the mirror and answer "Yes, Ma'am"

Then she tells me "And quit calling me 'Ma'am'. I'm not even 30 yet,
not some old blue-haired grandmother. Call me Miss Towers, if you have
to, or Evangeline. Better still is just Evie."

"Okay... Evie", I answer.

As I'm driving, I start thinking about what she said to me, and how
she said it. Like the concierge told me, she knows I'm pretty limited
in how I can get her in and out of my rig; she's admitted she doesn't
like it, but that it's about the only way to make it happen, and she's
okay with it. That's how things are, and she accepts it -- if
reluctantly -- so there's no reason for me to get 'hung up' on it. I
finally decide FIDO: Fuck It, Drive On. As for addressing her by name,
I get the impression that I'm being granted a certain amount of
liberty and informality that she doesn't give everyone that deals with
her; far from it, I suspect.

The rest of the ride is quiet, and we go through pretty much the same
evolution of getting her into the chair as we did at the first place.
The only difference is that it goes a little faster because I'm not so
reluctant about laying my hands on her.

Inside the store, she talks to me a little more as I'm pushing her
here and there and the other place so she can look things over. Again,
I notice the way people are looking at us -- even the sales people, who
seem to be reluctant to come over and help her, as though whatever is
wrong with her that she's in a wheelchair is contagious. It's actually
kind of pissing me off, but I keep my cool. We're in there about half
an hour before Evie decides there's something she's interested in. I
finally have to gesture to a saleswoman that Evie would like some help
before she's willing to come over. Evie finally decides to buy the
thing, and after she gets it paid for, she tells me "I think I'm ready
to try someplace else, Jim." I get her a few feet away before telling
her "Would you mind if I checked something back there at the counter?
It won't take me but a minute or two." She tells me that's fine, and I
go back to where the salewoman is standing with another clerk, and
what looks like a management type.

The saleswoman looks at me expectantly, and I tell her "I don't know
what your problem is, but that young lady was in a car accident some
years ago that banged her up pretty bad. She doesn't have some kind of
disease that you're going to catch, and she isn't some zoo exhibit
that I'm pushing around. She's a human god-damned being, and you
treated her like crap. You don't think I -- and she! -- couldn't see
that you were staying as far away from her as you could? Hell, even
when she said she wanted to look at that blouse closer, you didn't get
nearer than three feet! And you were talking to her like there wasn't
a real, live person inside. For your information, she was in her last
year of college and majoring in Economics when she got hurt -- so it's
pretty likely that she's a HELL of a lot smarter than you seem to be.
The way you treated her, you made yourself and this store, look like
crap. I doubt that she'll ever be in here again, so you've lost at
least ONE customer; and I can damn sure tell you that I'm sure as hell
not going to be telling anyone what good service you offer! Frankly,
she was a hell of a lot more tolerant of your nonsense than I would
have been: if it had been me, I'd have told you to stick that blouse
up your ass!"

The saleswoman and the other clerk are both looking surprised and even
offended at what I said; the other one says "Sir, there's really no
need to speak that way."

I just looked at him for a moment before answering "There isn't? Think
about how you'd feel if it was YOU in that chair instead of her, and
say that!"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again; I just told him "Yeah,
that's what I thought" before turning and going back to where Evie
was. After we were out of the store, she told me "I heard what you
said back there. I know you didn't mean for me to, but I've always had
good hearing, and the accident didn't change that. What in Gods name
ever made you do that?"

By the time she was done, we were at my cab, and she waited patiently
until I was back behind the wheel and had us on our way to the next
place for me to explain "Dammit, I just had to. Even in the last
place, I could see how people were looking at us; well, you, anyway.
Then when she started acting like you were some kind of leper on
wheels, it just made me mad and I couldn't let her get away with it.
I'll admit that I've never really spent any amount of time around
someone that had any kind of handicap, and bugger-all if I know what
the hell I should or shouldn't do or say. But dammit, you're still a
person, no matter WHAT happened to you, or how you get around!"

A quick look via the mirror let me know that she was looking at me
with something akin to interest on her face. Another one a minute
later, and I could see that she was deep in thought about something.

So it surprised me, a little, when she spoke up again and said "You're
one of the few people that seems to get past the chair, and how I
look, and really make an effort to understand that there is somebody
inside. I've gotten so used to being looked at like I'm -- what did you
say? A zoo exhibit? -- that I've pretty much given up on other people
acting any other way. Now I'm surprised when it doesn't happen like
that. As for how YOU treat us gimps, you said it yourself: we're still
people. When I told you I wasn't going to explode or break, and you
said that you were driving me the same way you do for everybody, that
was exactly the right thing to do -- and I believe what you said, too,
because I've been watching you. I can see that you're always watching
the other drivers, and doing everything you can to make the ride as
steady as you can -- you slow down instead of braking when people let
you, and you're just as gentle with the gas pedal." She paused for a
moment, then went on "Anyway, what you're doing is fine, as far as how
you're treating me. You haven't said much to me, but then, I haven't
said much to you; I'll bet you were just waiting to see how much I
wanted us to interact. Us cripples, we're pretty much like everybody
else, in that there simply isn't any ONE way to deal with us any more
than there is everyone else. Some handicapped are perfectly willing to
milk it for all they can get out of it; others just want to find a way
of dealing with it so they can get on with things." She gave a small,
wry, laugh and continued "Me, I've still got a lot of resentment about
what happened, and it still pisses me off sometimes."

I catch her eye in the mirror, and ask "You've been in a wheelchair,
what, seven years?"

"Actually, a bit over eight - I took classes at school even in the
summer, so I was basically a year ahead. Why?"

"Well, if I can repeat something you said back to you..."

"Go ahead."

"That seems like a pretty reasonable amount of time to get used to it.
I mean, it happened, and there's nothing that can be done to reverse
it or make it unhappen. So like you said to me about putting my hand
on your butt: whatever the hangup is, just let it go."

A quick glance to see how she's going to respond tells me that she's
just sitting there staring at me. A few moments later, I hear her
laugh -- and keep laughing for the next couple of minutes. When she
calms down again, she says "Touché, Jim, touché. I guess I have been
carrying around an attitude and giving people crap for what happened
to me. The only people that did anything wrong were the ones that got
sued, afterwards. It's done, and over; I know I shouldn't be taking it
out on other people, and now I won't. I just realized that other folks
don't know any more about how to deal with my handicap than you said
you did, and that they really are trying to help me the best they know
how. But because I'm no more like any other handicapped person than
anyone else is, it's up to me to show or tell them how I want to be
treated, and how they can actually HELP me with my particular
problems. How did you get smart enough to think that saying that to me
would work -- or even might work -- and not just piss me off?"

We were at a stop light, so I turned to let her see me smile before
facing forward again and answering "You're not the only one that's
been to college, and had to quit."

The light turned green, and I only had time to spare a quick glance to
see she that was surprised before accelerating. Behind me, I heard her
ask "You'll forgive me when I say that I'm a little surprised to hear
that you've been to college, too. What were you studying, and why did
you have to quit?"

At that, I began to tell her how I'd been a philosophy major, and how
I'd dropped out after realizing that my degree wouldn't be worth the
parchment it was printed on. As I was telling it, she interrupted a
few times to ask questions and get me to provide a little more detail.
She'd been going to the same school I had, so when I was able to
describe some of the professors and physical features of the school,
she quickly realized that I was telling her the truth.

By the time I was done, we were at the next place she wanted to go to.
It was in a shopping mall, and after she'd bought a couple of things,
she decided that she was ready for a little lunch. After I asked where
she wanted to go, she told me that the food court was fine. After we'd
gotten our respective meals -- she insisted on buying mine, too -- we
found a table to sit at. I figured I was going to have to feed her,
but wasn't quite sure how to go about it; she saw my predicament and
simply told me "Go ahead and just pick it up, Jim. You haven't been
picking your nose, or anything like that, so I'm going to trust that
your hands are reasonably clean. There's nothing wrong with me other
than what happened from the accident, so whatever germs are on your
hands aren't going to make me sick."

As we were eating, I saw an elderly lady get up from one of the other
tables, and after disposing of her trash, head our direction. I was
surprised when she stopped, and told Evie "It's so good to see that
you have someone willing to help you get around, dear; and it's such a
shame to see someone as pretty as you in a wheelchair!"

I wasn't the one she was talking to, so I kept my mouth shut instead
of telling her any of the things that crossed my mind. As it turned
out, Evie did an ever better job than I would have by answering "I
don't need your approval, and I don't want your pity. How about if you
just fuck off?"

Surprised and offended, the old woman said "Well! I never!"

Evie just grinned and told her "Maybe you should, sometime. There's
nothing like a good fucking to clear the mind -- something you seem to
be in desperate need of!"

At that, the granny-lady turned white before heading away from us at a
nice, fast clip. When I looked at Evie, I could see the amusement and
delight on her face -- and couldn't help laughing softly before telling
her "Nice. Real nice. I'll bet it's a while before she does anything
like that again!", and making her laugh, too.

When we'd finished our meal and I'd thrown away the detritus of our
meal, Evie decided that there was another store she wanted to hit.
While we were there, she told me "I expect this might embarrass you
some, but then again, maybe not. Either way, I need to use a restroom.
And no, I don't need YOUR help, so get that panicked look off your
face", the last with obvious amusement. She went on to say "If you'll
get me into the ladies room -- I'll suggest you get an employee to make
sure it's empty first -- and onto a toilet, then leave me some paper, I
can handle it from there. I can be loud enough to let you know when
you can come back in again; just don't expect it to be too soon."

I'll admit that it was a little embarrassing for me to ask one of the
store employees to check the ladies room so I could help Evie use it --
but that was nothing compared to the relief the employee had on
learning that was all the help we'd need from her.

With the way clear, I got Evie appropriately situated before leaving
the wheelchair in the stall for her and beating a hasty retreat in
favor of 'guarding' the door. As she'd cautioned, it was several
minutes before I heard her letting me know it was okay for me to come
back in. Once she was back in the chair, it was time for her to do a
little more shopping.

As I was slowly pushing her down one of the aisles, I said "You said I
should go ahead and talk to you like a real person, so I am. I'm
curious about something, and if you want to tell me it's none of my
damn business, I won't be offended -- but I'm curious to know: you
don't need a catheter or something like that?"

Evie gestured for me to stop, then move around to be in front of her.
Figuring she probably got tired of having to look up at people, I
squatted down so that we were at the same eye level. I saw a brief
expression of gratitude cross her face before she softly told me "Yes,
it's a little embarrassing for me to hear the question. But if you're
willing to ask it, then I'm going to answer. No, I don't need a
catheter or anything. I've still got enough control that I don't have
to deal with that, thank goodness. And I can still feel most
sensations, too -- stuff like when there's something on my leg, or when
I need to use the toilet, and that kind of thing. The worst problem I
have is being able to move and control my arms and legs. It makes
peeing and taking a crap a lot harder, but damned if I'm going to have
other people wiping my ass for me!", the last with a grin. I grinned
back as I told her "Sure, I can understand that!" before standing up
and going around to get her moving again.

Before we left the store, Evie did find a couple of things she liked --
one of them being a matching bra and panty set that she teasingly
asked me if I liked. Teasing right back, I replied that I couldn't
tell without having them 'properly filled' -- which made her laugh.

The rest of the day went pretty much like that: the two of us chatting
about any number of things, the odd bit of teasing, exchanging jokes,
and so on.

It was getting toward late afternoon by the time Evie decided she was
done for the day. Once we were back in my cab, I got us back to the
Central. The concierge had gone home, so one of the desk staff came
out to help me get Evie into the wheelchair; one of the bellhops took
charge of getting all her purchases up to her room. While all of that
was going on, the manager came out to make sure everything was okay --
even though the amount of time we'd been gone should have told him it
was.

I was a little surprised, and even embarrassed, at how Evie told him
what an excellent job I'd done. I was really surprised, though, when
she asked me to find a place to park and come up to her room. The
manager started to say something, and she turned her head to look at
him before asking "That isn't going to be a problem is it?" -- making
it clear that it had better NOT be. He hastened to tell her that it
wasn't, and she replied "Good. He's coming up as a FRIEND, and at my
invitation, and I would hate to think that he would penalized because
of it -- now, or in the future."

The manager looked over at me, and saw that I was as surprised by her
invitation as he must have been; that seemed to convince him that I
wasn't trying to pull anything.

With that out of the way, Evie let the desk clerk know she was ready
to go to her room. The manager and I were left looking at each other;
I finally just shrugged my shoulders, and got in my cab so I could
find a spot to park it.

Back inside the hotel, my first stop was to drop off the handicapped
placard the manager had lent me; the desk clerk that had gotten Evie
up to her room told me which one it was, and I headed for the
elevators.

When I knocked on the door to Evie's room, it opened slightly, and I
heard her tell me to come in. I did, only to discover that it wasn't
just a room, but a suite. Considering that she was limited to moving
around in a wheelchair of one kind or another, I supposed that she
needed the extra space just to get around without bumping into things.
When she heard me close the door, Evie asked me to put the Do Not
Disturb sign out, and make sure the door was locked. Somewhat baffled,
I did as she asked; after I got back to where she was, I saw that she
was seated in her powered wheelchair. Looking at it, I could see that
the thing wouldn't have begun to fit in anything like a regular car:
it would take a van or something equivalent to haul the thing around.

Seeing me, she smiled and said to go ahead and have a seat. I did, and
the curiosity of why I was there must have been pretty plain to her,
because the first thing she told me was "I asked you to come up here
simply because I had such a good time today -- at least, once we got
past that me being crippled part. I enjoyed your company, and I'm
hoping that you won't mind staying for a little while: you're an
interesting person. Of course, if there are other things you have to
do, I'll understand; but I really do hope you're able to stay, even if
it's just for a little while."

I assured her that I'd gone off-shift before coming up, and that I'd
had a nice time, too. I could see that she was pleased at hearing it,
and couldn't help but wonder about how much time she had to spend with
folks she didn't like being around -- and considering what she'd said
in the cab about giving people crap, how much of that was her doing.
Still, I kept my thoughts to myself, and after a moment she told me
"If you're thirsty, there's stuff in the mini fridge over there; it's
got both sodas and a couple bottles of other things, as well, if you'd
like something stronger."

All things considered, I didn't figure a beer or something would hurt,
and went over to have a look. They had my favorite brand of beer -- in
a bottle, no less -- so I took it back to where I'd been sitting. Once
I'd opened it and taken a swallow, Evie started things going again by
asking me to let her know if there was any trouble about her inviting
me up. I told her I didn't think there would be because I figured the
manager already knew it hadn't been any of my doing. She said I should
still let her know if there was, and I agreed to -- though keeping a
mental pair of fingers crossed. After that, our conversation ranged
far and wide.

With nothing to get in the way of the two of us just talking, we had a
fine time for the next few hours. Suppertime came and went with Evie
deciding that pizza was called for -- and allowing me to pay for it. I
fed her a couple of slices while consuming three, myself. We washed it
down with sodas that I got from the machines the hotel had -- far
cheaper than paying for them from the mini-bar.

All in all, it was a pleasant enough way to spend the evening; I
enjoyed her company as much as she seemed to like mine.

So I was completely flummoxed when, seemingly from out of nowhere, she
asked "Jim, do you think I'm still attractive?"

I made a point of letting her see me looking her over before I
answered "Sure. I mean, I can see that your shape has changed some
because of the accident, but you're still a pretty girl. What you look
like now, I can only figure you must have been a knockout before."

She looked pleased, and then promptly left me stunned by asking "Then
would you be willing to go to bed with me?"

She had to have seen the surprise on my face, because she promptly
told me "The worst thing about being handicapped and in this fucking
wheelchair is that people seem to think that I can't possibly have any
kind of sex life -- whether that's because I can't have the desire, or
they mustn't do anything with me, I don't know. All I know is that
before that asshole hit me with his car, I enjoyed the hell out of
sex. I was pretty damn careful about who I went to bed with, but when
I WAS with someone, I liked it -- a lot. Now, I can't even frig myself,
never mind getting someone to actually DO anything with me!"

I could easily understand that someone else might be reluctant to do
anything sexual with her: I was having enough of my own qualms about
it. She'd been pretty damn open with me about it, so I figured I owed
her the courtesy and respect of being just as open in return, and told
her "Evie, God's honest truth, I'm not sure how to respond. Part of it
--a small part! -- is not being sure about having sex with you in the
first place. I mean, you are handicapped, and there's something in me
that says having sex with you would just somehow be wrong -- no matter
HOW clear you were about wanting me to. I hope you'll forgive me, but
I wonder if you aren't just trying to hire a gigolo that you think
would stick his dick in pretty much any body, any time, so you can get
your rocks off. There's the question in my mind about what YOU expect
out of this: are you just looking for a little friendly fornication,
or do you think there's going to be something more develop? Then
there's another part of me that can't help but wonder how much of it
would be US having sex, and how much would just be me fucking you,
like you were some kind of high-end sex doll."

As I was talking, I saw that I'd surprised her by just saying what was
on my mind without trying to dance around. I also noted that some of
what I'd said had hurt, and even offended, her. I regretted causing
both of those reactions, but figured that things had to be clear
between us before anything could happen.

She got herself composed after a few seconds, and I waited patiently
while she got her thoughts together before she finally responded
"Okay, I can appreciate how you would be concerned about that stuff.
First, as far as having sex with me in the first place, I can only
remind you that I'm handicapped -- not dead. We'd probably have to do
things a little differently, but that doesn't change the fact that not
only am I willing to have sex with you, I'm asking you to. So like I
said before: let it go."

She went on to say "I'll admit that it hurts, and more than a little
bit, that you would think I was just trying to hire somebody to fuck
me, like you were some kind of gigolo. I just told you that I was
careful about who I took to bed, and that part of me hasn't changed.
Hell, the reason I get so damn horny is because I'm not someone that's
willing to hire someone else for sex -- I've still got too stinkin'
much pride. I don't doubt that I could find some guy with a
twelve-inch dick that would be more than willing to come in and fuck
me all day long, if I was willing to pay him for it. But that's not
what I want -- at least, not just the sex part. I want it to be with
someone I can care about, and maybe even love a little, and who will
care and love me in return. I want it to be with someone I know and
respect, and who respects ME. You're the first person I've met in a
long, long time that fits all of that: the friendship, the caring, and
the respect."

She took a breath and went on "As for the question of 'afterwards',
I'll just tell you that I don't think I'd mind us being together more
than just this one time -- but I am most emphatically not looking for a
regular boyfriend or anything like that. You've got your life, and
I've got mine, and the two places where we are in our lives aren't
even on the same map. As you so delicately put it, I'm just after a
little 'friendly fornication' -- nothing more, other than the
friendship part. For the last thing you said, about how much I'd be
able to participate... I have to admit that I honestly don't know. I
think that I'd be able to do more than just lay there, like some sex
toy; how much more... that's the question. I've already told you that
we'd probably have to do things differently, but that's pretty
obvious. You know that I still have SOME control over my movements, so
that should give you reason to think that it's not going to be a case
of you just fucking me and me not doing anything. And in case you
didn't catch it the first time, I'll tell you again: I do get horny,
so I know that I'll respond pretty much the way you'd expect to
whatever we do: I have every reason to believe that I'm even able to
have orgasms -- even though I wouldn't be able to play with your dick
the way I'd like to." That last sentence was accompanied by a slightly
lecherous grin on her face, letting me know that she really HAD
enjoyed sex before the accident.

She finished up by telling me "You're the one that was studying
philosophy, and you told me that you like to try and apply what you've
learned out here in the 'real world' to help people. So you think
about what I just told you, and see if there's any valid reason the
two of us can't get together on this." The smile on her face made it
clear that she was all too aware of the bawdy pun she'd just made;
having said her piece, she waited for me to do as she'd said: really
think about it.

After several minutes went by, I finally told her "I'm a little
ashamed to admit that I had to be reminded that you are still a
person, even with your handicap -- and that basically took care of the
problem I was having about whether or not I should do anything
physical with you after you made it more than clear that's what you
wanted. Your point about being able to pay someone to just have sex
with you was well made, and I apologize for the hurt I caused by
bringing it up. For the reasons you made so clearly about the why, and
any 'afterwards', I feel much the same way. I trust that you
understand WHY I felt I had to bring it up. As for the 'what' and
'how'..."

I could see the mix of hope and concern on her face as I took a breath
before saying "Well, I have to figure that's part of the first time
any couple are intimate with each other; with us, it'll just be a
bigger part, is all."

It took her a couple of seconds to fully realize that I'd just agreed
to the two of us having a physical relationship to go with our social
and intellectual ones. When she did, though, the expression of delight
she got lit up her whole face. It was quickly replaced with one of
nervousness at the realization that I had agreed -- and what it meant:
both of us naked, both of us being physical with each other, and both
of us learning each other's bodies and responses.

Seeing it, I quickly assured her "It'll be okay, Evie. Even though
your body doesn't do everything most other people's does, I'm figuring
you've still got the same parts in the same places as other women. If
you don't look the same as before, well, hell, you've been in a bitch
of a car accident and got hurt in it -- and hurt pretty badly. There's
no reason in the world for me to think you're going to be some
flawless beauty, or that you're going to look like you did before. I
already told you that I think you're still attractive, and you saw me
looking at ALL of you, so there's no reason for you to think I don't
have some idea of what you're going to look like. As for anything
else... well, that part is going to be a learning experience for both of
us. If you can be patient while I learn, then I know I can be patient
while YOU do the same. Fair enough?"

It was obvious that what I'd said calmed her considerably before she
told me "Thank you. As much as I wanted this, I never really thought
about how it would actually happen. I'm still nervous -- nervous as
hell, honestly -- but I know it'll work out. I can't do everything I
want to, but the stuff I CAN do... well, I don't think you'll be sorry."

I got up and went over to where she was, then squatted down before
leaning over to give her a soft kiss. When our lips parted, I looked
into her eyes and told her "I don't think I will, either."

I could see the affection and gratitude in her eyes when she told me
"If you'll get the hell out of my way, I'll show you where the bed
is."

I stood up again, and stepped to the side with the comment "Lead on,
MacDuff!", making her laugh.

It turned out that the bedroom of the suite was as spacious as the
other room had been, leaving her plenty of room to maneuver her
wheelchair until she was next to the bed and facing me. She seemed to
have a brief bout of shyness before flipping a switch on the arm of
the wheelchair and looking up to tell me "I don't have enough control
to be able to walk or anything, but I've still got enough strength
that if I have something to brace or steady myself, I can stand up for
a few seconds -- long enough to get onto the bed, or take care of my
own bathroom needs, and that kind of stuff. I just turned the power
off on the chair, so it would be easier for you to get it out of the
way; normally, I'd leave it turned on so it didn't move and I could
use it as a support. Now you'll have to come over here so I can use
you, instead."

When I'd moved to stand in front of her, I waited a few seconds as she
got herself organized to get out of the chair. She obviously knew what
to do, and how to do it, so I simply waited until she was standing
before putting my arms around her and supporting her. To my surprise,
she was just an inch or so shorter than I was -- which made it easy for
me to kiss her when she tilted her head up slightly to look at me. She
looked pleased at what I'd done, so I did it again; that time, she was
ready for it, and didn't dawdle about kissing me back. I could feel
her putting her arms around me, and waited a few seconds until she'd
managed to give me a somewhat awkward hug before kissing her again.

When the kiss ended, she told me "If you'll put me down, you can get
that damn chair out of the way, and we won't have to worry about
bumping into it by accident."

Looking into her eyes, I slid one hand down her back to give one of
her ass cheeks a gentle squeeze before saying "Well, I suppose if I
have to...", and bringing a look of anticipation to her. I let most of
her weight down so she could control how and when we moved, and it
wasn't but a few moments before she'd gotten turned around so she
could sit on the bed. I wasn't overly surprised to learn that she
could hold herself in a sitting position before she told me "Just go
around to the back of it and push it over in the corner. I'm told that
it isn't that much harder than pushing a regular wheelchair with me in
it."

She proved to be right, and it didn't take me long to get it to where
it was out of the way, but still easy to get to. That done, I went
back to where she was sitting and got myself parked next to her,
taking one of her hands in mine. Looking into her eyes again, I lifted
her hand and kissed it before lowering it and holding it with both of
mine. She looked delighted at what I'd done, and told me "I can't help
but envy any woman you've taken to bed with you. You're obviously as
affectionate as any woman could want, gentle as you could be, and
still able to play and tease and have fun without getting too carried
away with it. I can only hope that I help you enjoy this as much as I
think I will."

I just smiled and told her "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

The two of us just sat there, looking at each other for a few seconds
before she said "When I get up and go to bed, I have to ask one of the
hotel staff to come in and take care of my clothes for me. All things
considered, I don't think that would be such a hot idea right now, so
if you'll do the honors?"

I simply responded "And it is an honor..." before releasing her hand and
moving to kneel on the floor (so we could look at each other) in front
of her. First to go was the jacket of her pants suit, which I
carefully laid on the bed next to her. Next was her blouse; once I got
it unbuttoned, it opened up enough to reveal smooth, clear skin -- and
what I think is called a half-cup bra, slightly overflowing with her
breasts and revealing her light brown areolas (visibly crinkled and
about the size of a quarter) and pencil-diameter nipples. As I looked
at them, I could see her nipples slowly erecting; I wasn't sure if it
was because she was getting aroused, or because of the coolness of the
room. Either way, it was a pleasure to watch.

When her blouse was lying on top of the jacket, I leaned forward and
took her into my arms, feeling her breasts pressing against my chest
as I reached around her to unfasten her bra. She put her arms around
me, too, and tried to pull me even closer -- something I readily
assisted in. With her bra unfastened, I took a few moments to softly
slide my hands up and down her back a few times before sliding them
around to cup her breasts for a few moments. As I'd figured, they were
medium-sized; although soft to the touch, they were still a bit firmer
than I'd expected. She managed to shrug her shoulders enough to get
the shoulder straps to fall down to her upper arms, and then helped as
I slid her bra the rest of the way off. When it had joined her other
clothes, I could see her look of concern at what I might think of how
she looked; I happily reassured her by leaning forward and kissing
each of her nipples before pulling back and looking into her eyes as I
simply told her "Lovely."

After I got her shoes off and set to the side, it was time to remove
the rest of her outfit. She was able to help a little as we got her
turned, and farther onto the bed, before getting her laid back. I saw
that the zipper on the front of her pants had a nice, big ring
(apparently to make it easier for her to maneuver); I simply hooked my
forefinger through it and again looked into her eyes as I slowly
pulled it down. The waistband was held closed not with a snap or
button, but a bit of hook-and-loop faster -- again, something that she
could deal with without much difficulty. As I slowly worked her pants
off her waist and down her hips, she was able to move around enough to
make it easier. I suppose I could have gotten it done faster and
easier if I'd just peeled them off her myself, but I knew that she
wanted -- no, needed -- to prove something, not just to me, but to
herself. When her pants had lowered enough, I could see that she had
on a small, rather filmy pair of panties that matched the bra; shortly
thereafter, I learned that the panties barely covered the large, dark
wedge of her pelvic thatch. It wasn't much longer before the two of us
were getting even the negligible covering of her panties out of the
way, as well. As they slid down her hips, it was obvious to me that
her pubic hair was short, thick, and somewhat luxurious-looking; I
found myself looking forward to getting my fingers into it.

When I slid her panties off her legs, I got a clear view of the area
between her legs -- and learned that the erectness of her nipples was
probably due to her arousal: her labia were slightly thick and already
extending, with the area between them shining with her excitement.

With her lying there naked, I took a few moments to look her over
again before saying "You are easily as pretty and sexy as I thought
you would be."

Her eager anticipation was clear when Evie told me "Your turn, now --
and I want to watch!"

Ever the gentleman, I did as she wanted: got myself undressed much the
same way as we'd undressed her -- slowly, but without dragging it out,
and doing it in such a way that she had just as good of a view of me
as I'd had of her. When I was done, I simply stood where I was for
several seconds, giving her ample time to look me over just I'd done
with her.

When she looked up at my face, I could see that she was ready for me
to join her on the bed. Once I was on my side next to her, I put my
hand on her belly and began softly caressing her skin as I said
"Before things go too far, I need you to tell me what your thoughts
are about making sure you don't get pregnant."

She looked pleased, and told me "I'm glad you thought to bring it up,
but it's not a problem: I'm on the Pill. My doctor thinks he's helping
me by keeping my periods regular; even he can't conceive of me having
anything like a sex life."

I leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose, and rose up again to say
"Well, I guess we'll just have to show him, won't we?" -- making her
laugh before she answered "Damn right!"

Lowering my head again, I touched my lips to hers -- gently at first,
then with more and more passion in response to her unvoiced
entreaties. I kept my hand caressing her body until I finally felt her
mouth open slightly and her tongue touch my lips; only as I opened my
mouth to touch my tongue to hers did I move my hand up to hold her
breast. When I did, she moaned softly into my mouth.

As our tongues got introduced to each other, I began softly squeezing
the breast I had in my hand, then gently caressing it from her torso
up to the tip of her lengthening nipple. Her skin was warm under my
hand, and the smooth, soft feel of it was a pleasure to my fingertips.

When I had the one nipple standing tall and proud, I moved my hand to
her other breast and proceeded to give it the same treatment. The
passion and depth of Evies and my kissing increased steadily as I
continued my efforts. It wasn't long before I had both of her nipples
standing erect from the puckered tissue of her areolas. I thought that
I could detect the scent of her increasing arousal, but I was
determined to take my time and make sure that she was ready -- and give
her plenty of opportunity to call things off, if she felt the need.

As nice as it felt to play with her mammaries, that wasn't all that I
wanted to do; so I began splitting my attention between fondling her
breasts and caressing the rest of her body: her arms and as much of
her legs as I could reach, along with everything in between -- with the
sole exception of the area between her thighs. It was as I was softly
tracing a path from the side of her body to the opposing leg that I
realized I could feel her abdominal muscles flexing; it took me a few
seconds to realize that she was trying to arch her pelvis up in
invitation for me to include that part of her, too. It took me only a
moment to decide that it was time to find out if the covering of her
lower belly was as luxurious as it had looked. As my fingertips got
closer and closer, I could feel her trying to move again; it was a
matter of but a couple of seconds before she was able to move one of
her legs to the side a bit, opening herself up to me slightly.

That was all the confirmation I needed to know that she wanted me to
include her mons, and what lay farther down, in my investigation of
her body. But before then, I had the delight of my fingers finally
coming into contact with her pubic fleece. It was as short as it
looked, but much thicker and softer than I'd expected. I just called
it her pubic fleece, and that's pretty much what it felt like: an
incredibly soft, thick, and positively decadent bit of lamb's wool. I
let my fingers spend a lot more time enjoying it that I would have
with anyone else, it feels that nice. But by that time, there isn't
any doubt in my mind that I can smell her arousal; that, and the way
she's still trying to press herself up against my hand, lets me know
that it's time to move on. Even so, I take my time about blazing a
trail through the jungle of her hair as my hand moves lower and lower.

Finally, though, a couple of fingertips happen onto the cleft of her
sex -- and more to the point, the top of it, where I can feel the hood
of her clitoris and the tops of her vaginal lips.

At the first touch of my finger on her clitoral hood, she gasps, and I
feel the muscles in one of her legs trying get it out of my way so I
can touch her more, and easier. I don't figure she's going to be able
to make it happen enough on her own (at least, not any time soon), so
I pull my head back from where we're kissing and ask her outright "You
want me to help you move your legs?"

There isn't the slightest hesitation before she answers "Oh, God, yes!
Even that little bit felt so good; I want you touching me!"

I slid myself down a little ways, so that I can reach behind her knee
and lift her leg up; with me supporting its weight, she's able to
exert enough pressure to let me know how far she wants to move it
before I can set it back down again. As it turns out, it gets moved
pretty far -- and with her opened up like that, it isn't any problem
for me to slowly slide my hand along the inside of her thigh until I
get back to where I was before.

Kissing her was pretty nice -- but right there in front of me is what
promises to be another interesting spot. Two of them, actually.

I realize that the way I'm positioned next to her, I can stretch out a
little and still kiss her, so that's what I do. But when it's over, I
kiss a little trail around so that I can use my lips to kind of nibble
on her earlobe for a little while before kissing my way back to where
her breasts and erect nipples are all but begging me to pay them some
attention, again.

Leaning over her a bit, I find that I can easily get my lips fastened
on the peak of each of her breasts, and I start sucking and licking
her nipples. I hear her pleased moan, and then feel her try to lift
her pelvis again to remind me not to forget that part of her, too. So
I again divide my attentions between softly licking and sucking on her
breasts and nipples, and using my fingers to map the area between her
legs. My sense of touch tells me that her clit is a little bit smaller
than most, but her moans and gasps when I touch it let me know that
it's more sensitive, too. Exploring a little farther, I find that her
labia are a bit thick -- but warm and slick from her arousal; when I
finally dipped the end of a finger between them, she managed to raise
herself enough that I could feel the pressure. That was invitation
enough for me, and I slowly and carefully began trying to slide a
finger into her.

Now, it's been eight years plus since she got banged up; and she's
already told me that she hasn't had any kind of sex -- not even the
self-administered kind -- since it happened. So I know going into it
that she has undoubtedly gotten smaller on the inside, what with
nobody or nothing to keep her stretched out. Even so, I'm still amazed
at how small and tight she is inside. It's only because I can keep my
finger lubricated with her juices that make it possible for me to
finally get it all the way in her. But after I get it thoroughly
coated with her oils, and slide it in and out of her a few times, she
surprises the crap out of me by having what could only have been an
orgasm. It was small, and didn't last long, but there wasn't a doubt
in my mind that that's what it had been -- something that Evie
confirmed shortly after it ended by saying "Jesus! I never thought a
dinky little climax like that could feel so good!"

I raised up from the breast I'd been sucking on to look down at her
and ask "You came? You actually had an orgasm, just from that?"

The grin on her face threatened to wrap around to the back of her head
as she told me "OH, yeah! I told you I liked sex before, and it's been
so long, that even just your finger moving in me -- it feels like
something a LOT bigger, by the way! -- was enough. It wasn't
earth-shattering, or anything, but it damn sure felt good, no matter
HOW small it was!"

I couldn't resist grinning back at her, and giving her a kiss, before
telling her "Well, you were right about being able to have orgasms,
then. But I think we can help you have something better than that
little old thing!"

The look of pleased expectation on her face was all the answer I
needed before I went back to what I'd been doing before -- after giving
her another kiss, of course.

With my lips wrapped around one of her nipples again, I also returned
to using my hand to arouse and stimulate her -- still going slowly and
carefully to make sure I didn't do anything to hurt her. Several
minutes (and another small climax for her) later, and I'd been able to
loosen her up enough that I was able to slide my finder in and out of
her easily -- something that pleased her immensely. By that time, I was
ready to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled, and I gave
each of her nipples a quick lick before sitting up in preparation for
moving again. She seemed to realize what I wanted to do, and asked
"Are... are you going to use your mouth on me?"

"I was going to, yeah. Would you rather I didn't?"

"Christ, no! I love it when a guy eats me; I was just hoping there was
some way I could do you, too..."

She'd told me that she was still able to move her head fairly well, so
I didn't doubt that she'd be able to do something. The problem as I
saw it was getting us situated to where she could.

After looking around, and thinking about it a little bit, I thought I
had a solution. Looking at Evie, I asked "If you're on your side and
your legs are bent a little, do you think you could hold yourself like
that?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Hearing that, I moved around so that I could roll her onto her side.
Knowing that I was trying to help her do something she wanted to do,
Evie helped as much as she could. When we were done, she was lying on
her side, with her knees bent to give her some front-to-back stability
while leaving her comfortable. I quickly grabbed one of the pillows
and got it under her head; a little adjustment, and she was in a
position that I thought would let both of us have our 'fun'. When I
lay down in front of her in a position the would let me get my head
between her thighs, she understood why the change in her position:
just as my head was even with HER pelvis, hers was even with MINE --
and once I moved close enough, she would be able to do what she wanted
with little effort on her part.

Knowing that her range of motion would be limited, I moved myself
closer to her until she told me the distance was right. Then I had
another thought, and got her arm draped across my hip, telling her "If
you want me to move, you can give me a little push or pull whenever
you need or want and I'll stop when the pressure stops. That way, I'm
never too close or too far for very long."

"Sounds like a plan to me -- of course, there isn't any point to all of
this unless you let me have your cock!"

Hearing that, there was nothing for me to do but reach between us and
lift my semi-erect penis to her lips. When I did, she opened her mouth
and fastened onto it like one of those fish you see stuck around a
shark's mouth in those nature movies. It took me only a minute to
realize that she wasn't going to be able to actually move her mouth on
me the way most women would have; but she more than made up for it
with the varying combinations of suction, tongue, lips, and enthusiasm
she applied.

As for myself, I had a wonderful time after I'd gotten her 'top' leg
positioned so that I simply had to apply a slight pressure to keep it
in place -- that is, out of the way.

I was more than pleased at the sight she presented me: the dark delta
of her pubis did little to hide her glistening inner labia -- and
nothing to block the view I had of her opening and clitoris. Her eager
attentions to my manhood only encouraged me to start my own efforts at
pleasing her as much as she was pleasing me. My first considered
action was to fasten my mouth over the entrance to her vagina and see
if I could manage to lick her tonsils from the wrong direction. It
turned out that I couldn't, but she made it clear that she appreciated
the attempt. With the end of that small endeavor, the next thing to
try was to see if I could manage to clean her of all the oils between
her legs, using only my tongue. I had some success with that, up until
her arousal reached the point that her fluids were leaking out of her
as fast as I could collect them. Giving that up as a lost cause, I
moved on to see what kind of mischief I could bring to her clitoris;
and found that that was a challenge I was able to 'win' -- if the
number of progressively stronger orgasms I helped her through could be
thought of as her 'losing'.

While I was busy with all of that, I still left a part of myself 'on
watch' for the pressure of her arm on my hip to let me know she needed
or wanted me to move. I have to admit to no small surprise that she
was able and willing to take, and keep, my growing penis between her
lips. Even when I'd reached full erection, she had over three quarters
of my cock in her ever so talented mouth without indicating any
discomfort or difficulty.

I'd been able to get my two smallest fingers into her and move them
around while teasing her clitoris, and brought her to a fourth orgasm
since starting to use my mouth on her when I finally felt her nudge my
hip to let me know to move back. I quickly complied with her wishes,
and when I'd moved far enough that my cock slipped from her mouth --
she managed to give it a kiss before it got too far away -- she told me
"Fuck, that feels good! Christ, I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed all
this, until now! But what I want, now more than ever, is to have you
IN me. I know I was too damn tight at first, but after what you've
been doing with your fingers -- which felt GREAT, by the way! -- I'm
ready to get laid. And it's pretty damn obvious you're ready, too",
she finished, with a laugh.

"I guess I can do that, I suppose..." I replied, teasing her.

I heard her start to splutter a little before she realized that I was
teasing; then she laughed a little before telling me "Okay, you got
me. Ha Ha, very funny. Now, if you're through being a comedian, you
might want to get one of those big towels out of the bathroom. I used
to get pretty wet inside, and it wasn't anything special for me to
leave a big wet spot. I don't think that has changed any, and I doubt
that either of us wants the hassle of trying to explain to anybody why
there's a big puddle on the bed that smells like used pussy -- even if
we ARE both over legal age and consenting adults. Besides which, it's
nobody's business but ours."

What she said made sense, so I got up and went into the bathroom to
retrieve a towel. When I got back to the bed, she told me "The way I
feel, you'd probably better fold it over -- and maybe put one of those
plastic covers from the drycleaning under it to make sure nothing gets
through before we get me shifted around."

All of that sounded a little like overkill to me, but I had to trust
that she knew her own body. Besides which, the extra layer of the
drycleaning plastic would make sure we didn't leave any incriminating
evidence. So I got the plastic cover off some of the clothing she'd
had drycleaned, folded it over a couple of times, then put the
folded-once towel on top of it. With that done, the next step was to
get her repositioned, as she'd said. She was able to help some, so it
wasn't but a minute or so before I was able to lift her up enough to
slip the plastic and towel under her -- making sure that everything was
positioned to ensure it caught and contained any 'overflow'.

When I finally moved to get between her legs, it turned out that I had
to help her spread them a little more; to my surprise, she was a
little embarrassed by it -- and a little annoyed, too, until I told her
"Evie, it's okay. We both know that there were going to have to be
adjustments before this could happen. In this case, the adjustment is
physical, instead of something else. it's no big deal, okay?"

That settled her down easily enough. The next thing I knew, though,
she was telling me "It looks like you could use a little, uh,
freshening up."

It took me a second before I understood that she was referring to my
slightly-deflated penis. I hadn't lost much of my erection while we'd
been getting situated, but I wasn't fully erect, either. When I looked
at her questioningly, she just smiled lecherously and said "If you'll
move up here, I think I can take care of that for you."

I had to smile back as I answered "I'm sure you can!"

We tried a couple of things that would let her use her mouth on me
again, but neither of them was satisfactory. Finally, Evie just said
"Go ahead and straddle my body, and then lean forward. It'll look like
hell, but I know you won't put too much weight on me, and I think it's
the only way that'll get us lined up right."

I thought to myself that it would look bad, but that as long as I
supported my own weight, it wouldn't be hard on her, at all. I readily
moved to get a knee on each side of her and lean forward; with only
minor adjustment, I was in a position to where I only had to lower my
penis into her waiting mouth. Once she had it, she didn't delay in
applying her considerable oral talents toward getting me completely
hard again -- and reaching that goal in short order.

As I was backing myself out of her greedy little mouth, she
deliberately left a layer of her saliva on my cock to act as the
initial bit of lubrication I'd likely need to enter her. Once she was
able to speak again, she looked up at me and plaintively asked "Now
can we get that thing in me?"

I looked back at her and answered "If we can't, it won't be from lack
of trying...", visibly pleasing her.

I quickly got between her legs again, and was happy to discover that
the towel under her ass tilted her pelvis up at almost a perfect
angle. Positioning myself over her, I used one hand to support myself
as the other guided the spit-shiny head of my cock between her labia,
and then against the opening of her womanhood. There were a couple of
pillows behind her head so that she could look down and see as I
firmly, but carefully, began to press myself into her.

Even with the stretching of her vagina I'd done, she was still small
and tight inside. I was afraid that if I pushed any harder to get into
her, I'd hurt her; but when I looked up at her in question, she just
told me "No, you're not hurting me any. If you do, I'm not afraid to
tell you -- but you aren't, so keep going."

Hearing that, I was willing to push a little harder -- and eventually
slipped through the tight ring of her opening. I heard a noise from
Evie, and looked up to see if she needed or wanted me to pull back out
of her. But the expression on her face let me know that the noise I'd
heard had been one of relief or pleasure, not pain, or discomfort.

With my manhood firmly in place, I got both hands on the bed and began
pressing myself into her, slowly and carefully, making sure that I
stayed wetted with her ample lubrication. As tight as she was, she was
also very wet inside, just as she'd told me she expected. And in
addition to that, she was amazingly warm; almost hot, even. All in
all, it was a most enjoyable experience, getting myself buried into
the core of her sex; and the minor difficulty of it made me damn glad
she'd gotten me fully erect before making the effort.

When I felt the tight confines of her womanhood clenched around the
length of my penis, I held myself there in favor of lowering my body
so that the two of us could kiss; Evie eagerly responded to my lips on
hers, and we quickly reached our previous near-incendiary level. I
could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against me as the hard
pebbles of her erect nipples tried to bore into my chest while the two
of us kissed passionately.

We continued like that for a couple of minutes; it wasn't until I
decided that she wasn't quite as tight around me that I figured it was
okay to start moving in her. Resting on my elbows, I kept my body next
to hers as I arched my hips to slowly slide myself out of her until
only the head of my cock was inside her. Then I reversed course to
enter her again, just as slowly as I'd withdrawn. I watched her face
as I did, and saw her close her eyes, the expression on her face
making it more than clear that the sensation of my hardness filling
her again pleased and delighted her.

I gradually increased the tempo at which I was sliding in and out of
her, as well as how 'enthusiastic' I was about it. She seemed to like
pretty much anything I did, as long as I was moving in her; but I did
find a combination of speed and force that she seemed to particularly
enjoy. With her having little voluntary control over most of her body,
she wasn't able to arch herself up at me or do any of the other things
that nearly all of the other women I'd been with did when we were
together -- and with Evie, that wasn't a bad thing at all. Even with
the way I was pumping in and out of her, she was still delightfully
snug inside; and the addition of how warm and wet she was only added
to the pleasure I was feeling. I was perfectly willing to go on
fucking her that way as long as I could: it felt damn good, but wasn't
stimulating me so much that I had to worry that was going to cum in
her any time soon.

At l didn't think I had to worry about it until she had her first
climax from having me inside her.

I could tell that she was getting close, but simply continued
thrusting into her the same way had been, figuring I already had some
idea of what she'd feel like when it happened and that I'd be able to
deal with it. What I didn't anticipate was that the way she had
orgasms would change; whether as a result of it being stronger or
because it was my cock moving her. Either way, I could tell as her
body tensed beneath me, followed by a deep groan of pleasure as she
slipped into what was easily the strongest climax she'd had since we
started. I was greatly surprised when I felt her vaginal muscles
tighten around me in a rhythmic clenching that matched the tremors I
could feel coursing through the rest of her as she gasped and moaned
her way through her release. The clenching of her around me was
stimulating me much, much more than I would have liked -- I hoped to be
able to take plenty of time to enjoy what we were doing, and the
sensations she was creating around my cock would move me to my own
climax sooner than I really wanted.

So when it was over for her, I was a little relieved when she told me
"Stop for a little bit, would you?"

I did as she asked, and after I lowered myself to rest on my elbows,
she lifted her head to kiss me before saying "Christ, that felt good!
But it's been too damn long since the last time I came like that, and
being stuck in that chair means I'm not as strong as I used to be --
and that climax just took too much out of me: I have got to rest a
little bit before I can do it again." A moment later, she
apologetically told me "I'm sorry -- really, I am. I guess you want to
cum, too, don't you?"

I kissed her back before answering "Yes, I would. But it also feels
real nice to be with you, so I'm not in any hurry -- slowing down or
stopping like this just means I get to enjoy it more!" with a grin.

She couldn't help but grinning back up at me and asking "So, it's not
so bad fucking a crip?"

I kissed her again and answered "Not even a little bit." -- making her smile.

Several minutes went by with the two of us lying there, giving each
other an occasional kiss; the whole time, her vagina continued to
clench around me every so often in what were almost certainly
involuntary spasms, helping keep me hard. Finally, she told me "Go
ahead, if you want - I'm ready to do it again!" with a lusty grin.

Looking into her eyes, I slowly arched my hips back to ease my erect
cock from the confines of her womanhood; then watched her face get an
expression of delight and pleasure as I just as slowly filled her
again. The next time was a little faster, and the one after that
faster still. In just a couple of minutes, I was again pistoning in
and out of her the way I had been before. It wasn't long until I could
see that she was getting close again, and mentally prepared myself for
what I knew was going to happen.

Her second orgasm from having me moving inside her was a little
stronger than the first -- and so was the feeling of her hot, wet pussy
rhythmically tightening around me as I continued thrusting into her.
As I felt the strength of her release waning, I slowed my movements in
her so that I gradually got to the point of just holding myself inside
her without her having to say anything. Her second recovery time was a
trifle longer, I think, but she was still ready to pick up where we'd
left off soon enough.

We continued like that through two more climaxes for her; it was after
the last one that I knew the next would be the one that had me
spilling my seed in her. I told her so, apologetically, and she just
answered "Jesus! Don't worry about it, Jim; if you cum, you cum.
You've already made me feel better than I have in over seven fucking
years! Why would I be disappointed about that? Christ, after the way
you've been humping me, I may need til next year to recover!"

The obvious sincerity in her voice and the expression on her face
reassured me that she really wasn't bothered by the fact that our next
time would likely be our last for the night. That made me feel better:
since she'd had the courage to come out and ask me to go to bed with
her, I really didn't want to leave her disappointed after she'd had to
go so long without having sex.

So when she let me know that she was ready again, I quietly resolved
to make it the best of the night for her.

When I'd gotten her close to another climax -- and, admittedly, was
close myself -- I deliberately slowed my pace to draw things out for
both of us. And it worked quite well, thank you very much: even as I
felt the stirring in my balls that signalled my approaching release,
Evie fell into what was obviously an extremely powerful orgasm. The
way her vagina tightened with each wave of her release made her feel
as tight as she'd been when I first slid my finger into her; the
sensation of that and the hot slipperiness of her combined to trigger
my own climax. Pressing myself as far into her as I could, my hard
cock erupted to hose her insides with spurt after spurt of my jism.

I was the first of us to finish, and I managed to hold my body over
hers so I could give her small kisses and nibble on her earlobes a
little as she went through a series of progressively smaller
aftershocks of pleasure. When she'd caught her breath, she looked up
at me and said "Damn, that was good -- but I'm sure glad you saved it
for last! If you'd done that the first time, I really WOULD have been
just a fancy sex toy, 'cause I wouldn't have been able to do anything
after that. Jesus!"

I couldn't help kissing the tip of her nose before I answered "And if
they made sex toys like YOU, every guy would damn sure want one!"

She laughed, and I told her "When my dick shrinks a little more, I'll
get us in there for a quick bath before we get you dressed again."

The question was clear on her face as she looked up at me, and I said
"It seems like a good idea if you didn't have my cum running out of
you when somebody comes up to get you ready for bed later."

Much to my surprise, she actually blushed before answering "Um, yeah,
I suppose so. I really hadn't thought about that part of it. I'd be
willing to let it happen just to see the expression on her face,
whoever she is -- but after how you've made me feel tonight, I'm not
going to risk making any trouble for YOU."

The two of us spent the time exchanging a number of small kisses; it
took a little longer than I'd expected because her vagina was again
tightening around me every so often. Still, I finally did soften
enough that I slipped out of the warm confines of her. With a final
soft kiss to her lips, I got myself back up so that I was kneeling
between her legs -- and promptly saw that it had been a good thing we'd
put the towel (and even plastic) under her ass: I discovered that the
wet spot we'd generated not only went through the top layer of the
towel, but the bottom layer, as well. If it hadn't been for the
barrier of the plastic, we really WOULD have left a big stain on the
bed!

Evie must have seen the surprise on my face because she asked me what
was going on. Nothing for me to do, of course, but tell her -- amusing
and embarrassing her, both.

My next task, though, was to figure out how to get her from the bed
and into a bath. I wasn't really happy at the idea of trying to get
her into a tub full of water -- and risking falling or dropping her --
so I decided the only way to make it happen was to get us into an
empty tub, and then fill it. I told Evie what I figured to do, and she
agreed that it sounded right: when others had to give her a bath, they
put her into an empty tub, too. After I asked, she told me that if I
supported most of her weight, she thought she could manage to walk
into the bathroom and stand long enough for me to get us into the tub.
And that was what we did, though with a little playing around on my
part, such as trying to 'steer' her by holding her breasts, which made
her laugh.

Once we were in the tub - both of us sitting, her leaning back against
me -- I got the water started, and adjusted to a temperature that was
acceptable to both of us. Once the water was high enough, I shut it
off and started cleaning us both up. Evie pointed out that the only
way to make sure my cum was all out of her was by using my finger in
her. That proved to be a trifle counterproductive, because it got her
worked up again; I finally had to play with her tits with one hand
while the other toyed with her clit until she had another orgasm
before I could finish cleaning her up. Once we were out of the tub,
she was able to sit on the commode long enough for me to get her dried
off, then it was back onto the bed for her -- where she insisted that I
dry off where she could watch me. She was also adamant that I stay
naked while we got her dressed again. She was highly pleased with
herself when she managed to cop a couple of feels of my ass and even
my penis before we were done.

When I'd gotten dressed, too, I took care of the Super Absorbent Mega
Pad as we'd started calling the towel and plastic lashup that had
caught the 'overflow' of our lovemaking. After giving it a thorough
rinsing and squeezing most of the water out of it, Evie had me let it
drop in front of the bathroom sink, saying that IF anyone asked, she'd
claim to have had trouble getting a drink of water, and put it there
to soak up the mess.

Both of us dressed again, I got her chair over to where she could get
into it; when she was mobile again, we went back into the 'living
room' of her suite. I accepted when she offered me another beer; while
I was drinking it, she went through no less than three cans of soda --
prompting me to tease her by pretending ignorance and curiosity as to
why she was so thirsty.

Still, even with all the fun and pleasure we were having being
together like that, both of us knew that I still needed to go home
soon or later. When I finally said that I really did have to leave,
Evie told me "Jim, I want to thank you again. Not just for giving me
the best fucking I've had in years" -- she grinned at the joke -- "but
for the way you treated me today -- and for what you said to that
shithead clerk. I've gotten so used to people looking at me like I
just a piece of meat on wheels that I'd almost forgotten what it was
like to be treated like a human being. And I particularly want to
thank you for helping me realize that it's up to me to let people know
how they can help me, when they want to, and I need it. I still wish I
wasn't in this damn chair -- but I'm here, so I might as well get used
to it, and get on with my life. I expect you're going to get a pretty
decent check for today: I did notice that the flag was down the whole
time we were out. But I want you to know that you're also going to be
getting a proper tip from me, too. Not just for the excellent way you
drove today, or for all the help you gave me, but for what we did
tonight, too. Don't think that I'm trying to pay you for the sex,
either! I'm giving you money because you made love with me because I'm
a person that happens to be in a wheelchair, and that's the only way I
can show my appreciation: too many people would simply freak out and
make trouble for both of us if I did what I really want to -- which is
to tell anyone and everyone just how good you were able to make me
feel, one human being with another."

I considered what she said for a few moments before I answered "Evie,
if you want to give me a tip, that's fine -- I'm not going to turn it
down just because you're handicapped or anything stupid like that. But
don't think that you have to make it any more than you would tip
someone, anyway. If I helped you that much today, then you've helped
me, too, by teaching me that a handicapped person isn't that much
different than anyone else. I'm probably not saying anything new, or
that you haven't heard before, but I suppose all of us have a handicap
of some kind or other. It's just that yours is out where people can
see it, while most of us carry ours around on the inside. I've learned
a lot today, and being with you -- and not just in bed! -- has given me
plenty to think about. So as much as you've maybe gotten from me, I've
gotten just as much from you."

When I was done, I could see tears in her eyes. I stood up and went
over to her and gently wiped them away before telling her "Don't cry,
Evie. Be glad, instead: any day that ends with you having a new friend
-- and I do hope you'll count me as your friend, just as I count you as
one of mine! -- is a good one."

She smiled, and nodded, and I leaned over to give her a soft kiss
before standing up again and leaving.

A couple of days later, I was called back to the Central. I was
surprised when I was directed back to the managers office again; I'd
figured they'd just have a check for me at the front desk. When I got
to the managers office, he again invited me in after I knocked. Once I
was seated, he told me "I was considerably surprised when Miss Towers
invited you up to her rooms after you drove her the other day. But
when I asked her about it the next day, while she was waiting for the
Clinic van, she made quite the fan of yours. Whatever you did, it was
just the thing: after you left, she was far more pleasant and
agreeable than she ever was before, and much less... demanding and
troublesome for the staff. So I'm more than happy to not only give you
a check for the fare" -- he handed me an envelope -- "but another that
includes not only the rather hefty tip Miss Towers wanted you to have,
but something extra from us, as well" as he extended another envelope
to me.

I tucked both envelopes in my shirt pocket, and the manager looked
surprised before he asked "Aren't you going to see what's in the other
envelope?"

I just smiled and said "However much it is, I can only trust that Miss
Towers felt it was appropriate; and I know that you and the Central to
be eminently fair."

Of course, I planned to look at the contents of the second envelope as
soon as I could, but it simply wouldn't do to do it in front of him.

Pleased with my answer (which was, after all, bullshit), he stood up,
offered me his hand, and said "I think perhaps the Central would
benefit from having you drive more of our special guests, when they
need a cab. I can see, now, that you are much more of a... gentleman
than so many of the other drivers I've come across."

I shook his hand, thanked him for the compliment, and made my departure.

Back in my hack again, I opened up the second envelope he'd given me
and discovered two checks in it: one from Evie for a hell of a lot
more money than I could have even imagined, and the other from the
Central for ten percent of what Evies was made out for.

That night, just as I had when I'd left Evie, I spent a lot of time
just sitting and thinking about how much I benefitted (and not
financially) from having been able to spend time with her.