Parkour is how I broke my neck; to be specific, missing the ledge of a wall. After a stint in the hospital, I got to go home to my own bed in my apartment. My head and neck were held perfectly still by a metal brace that literally screwed into my skull. My injury required me to lie in bed on my back without moving for a full week. After that – for six more weeks – I’d be free to walk around in the Frankensteinian contraption.
I couldn’t sit up, turn my head left or right, or bend my neck to look toward my feet. My pain level was close to zero as long as I stayed still, but I hated the immobility. I’m an exercise junkie, a movement addict; I love thrill sports (refer to breaking my neck, above). I kept reminding myself to be thankful I wasn’t dead, or worse yet, paralyzed from the neck down.
The first day at home, I tried to distract myself by keeping my cellphone in front of my face, but I soon grew bored with Netflix, Tik-Tok and YouTube. I tried to read a Kindle novel, but it went nowhere. By the late afternoon of Day One of bed rest – 6 1⁄2 days to go – I was already going stir crazy.
My saintly girlfriend Cate had volunteered to sleep over every night so she could hand feed me breakfast. When she left for work, Old Mildred – that’s what we called the gray-haired home-visit nurse – would arrive and be on hand all afternoon. Then I’d be on my own for about an hour until Cate got back from work. She’d check in on me, then go for a run or swim or bike ride, then hang out with me until bedtime.
Since I couldn’t watch TV, Cate would read to me: news, poems, short stories. Being read to was nostalgically pleasant, like being a little boy again, and that had been my favorite part of each long, tedious day.
I said it had been my favorite part, because beginning on the third day, a new, bewitching pastime developed.
About an hour before Cate got home, my bedroom door opened and total weirdness followed. The visitor crawled into my bedroom, too low for me to get my eyes on them.
“Hi. Who’s there?” I sounded more calm than I felt. I was in an utterly vulnerable position, and the bizarre behavior and silent treatment spooked me. “Why are you sneaking? Who are you?”
No response. The creepiness factor had me freaking out. “What the fuck? Say something.”
“Relax, you’re safe,” said a soothing female voice coming from below my view on the right side of my bed. The mystery woman smelled strongly of patchouli.
Then she pulled the bedsheet and cover down. I felt cool air on my bare cock. “I hope you’re not related to Lorena Bobbitt!” I said, and I was absolutely not kidding.
At her first touch I jumped. As lightly as a feather duster, her slender fingers began to glide along the shaft of my limp cock, and on the return stroke, fingernails just as gently scratched the skin. She kept up the caressing, fingertips in one direction, fingernails in the other.
“What the hell are you doing?” I said. “Who are you?” I tried to lift my neck to see who was fondling me. “Ow!” That move hurt at all the points where the brace screwed into my skull. My neck did not budge a bit, and she stayed low, invisible. I couldn’t even see her long fingers unhurriedly teasing my thickening and lengthening cock.
“Lady. Stop! Whovever the fuck you are, I mean it! Stop.”
She obeyed me no more than my renegade cock. I sensed it was fully hard, and her fingertips and fingernails tracing the swollen shaft felt electrifying. Then she began to flick my cockhead with her thumb and forefinger; it produced a sharp little sting, followed by a wave of pleasure as blood rushed to the spot. The skin tautened over the engorged knob and I could sense its heat. I got goosebumps.
“Alright then, for the court case when I sue you, this is me officially saying ‘No!’ I do not want you to touch me!” Which by then was a lie, because she had begun to sweetly massage the head of my cock, still glowing from the stings. It felt so damn good!
“The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks,” came the female voice to my side, and she removed her hand.
My abandoned cock twitched with each heavy pulse, achingly hard.
“So, you’d rather skip the blowjob?” she said.
I stared at the plaster ceiling. The outlandish encounter was some kind of power game, and I didn’t want her to think I was her helpless little sex toy. But…
“You win.”
“Say it.”
“Uh, I’ll take the blowjob.”
“Polite?”
“Please.”
“Do better.”
“Ma’am, please give me a blowjob.”
The mattress sank as the stranger climbed over the foot of my bed, keeping low, so I couldn’t see her. She pushed my legs wide apart and settled her torso prone below my crotch. Then her mouth slid down on my stiff cock, engulfing just the head, and a moan accidentally escaped my lips. She paused there, swirling her tongue around the ridges. I caught my second moan in time to squelch it. She reached up and grabbed my wrists and with surprising strength pinned my arms to the sides while her tongue kept up its dance around my swollen knob.
Oh. Like that! That’s it!
Then her warm mouth swallowed my whole cock. Oh my fucking god! I squeezed my lips tight to keep a loud moan in check, and a strangled squeak came out. She kept my arms pinned as she bobbed her head on my cock. Then she let go of my wrists and added her hands to worshiping my cock. She stroked the veiny shaft up and down in rhythm with her bobbing head, her tongue swirling around the knob at the top of each stroke.
I caught glimpses of dark hair at the crown of her head. Up and down, up and down. My breath came faster. I heard my heartbeat in my ears. She pressed her puffy lips together as she pushed her mouth down over the bulbous head, so that it forced her mouth open again and again. Another minute and I felt my ball sac draw tight against my body and a big load of cum get set to explode. She pulled her mouth free.
“Five minutes,” she said. “Longer tomorrow.” The mattress shifted as she scooted backward off the foot of the bed.
“What?” I wanted to cum so damn badly. “Wait!”
The bedroom door closed behind her.
“What the hell?” I said aloud to the ceiling. “Did that just happen?” My head was spinning from the strangeness. I knew only three things about my crazy…lover? Assailant? One: she wore way too much patchouli. Two: she had short, curly, black hair. Three: she really knew how to pleasure a cock!
Minutes later, Cate got home. She strolled into the room. “How you doin’ babe?”
“I…I’m…okay, I guess.”
She leaned over and kissed my lips and strands of her long blond hair fell across my cheek. “Need anything right this minute?”
By habit, I tried to shake my head. “Ow! No, I’m good.”
“Great. Gonna go for a run, then I’ll make us dinner, and I’ll read to you.”
I know you’re probably thinking the mystery woman was my girlfriend. But I easily ruled her out. Cate has long, straight, blond hair; not short, black, curly hair. She hates patchouli; the smell actually makes her nauseated. The clincher was that the mystery lady had big, pillowy breasts; I felt them pressed against the insides of my thighs. Cate is super-athletic, wiry and flat-chested. Moreover, Cate doesn’t have the…uh, repertoire…that the mystery woman made use of. Sorry, Cate, I love you. But the unseen woman was a fellatio virtuoso.
But if not Cate, who? I knew only one woman with short black curly hair, a work colleague, and she was gay.
Cate got back from her run and hopped in the shower. With a towel wrapping her hair like a turban, she bent over the bed so we could look into each other’s eyes. “What’s up? You seem a little dazed.”
“Uh. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Me too. I’m gonna make us some tacos. Which means you’ll be covered in tacos when I feed you, but…hey, that’s what washcloths are for.”
She left the room and I continued to marvel at my bizarre afternoon. After delicious tacos, which did make a mess, she read a short story to me, but I was distracted, pondering The Blowjob Mystery.
The next day, lying motionless with no other vista but the plaster ceiling, the minutes slowly tick-tocked past. Would my special guest show up in the late afternoon? Who knew? I was not in control; in fact, I’d never been in a state of such helplessness.
Mid-morning, Old Mildred gave me a warm, soapy sponge bath and I got a raging erection. I couldn’t control that either.
“Sorry,” I said. I was thinking about someone else.
“Perfectly natural,” she said, “believe me, I’ve been a nurse for 50 years.”
Finally, at about 4:30, Old Mildred left.
Now’s the time.
Soon my bedroom door opened and my unseen visitor crawled into the room and the erotic scene began again. This time, my cock stirred the instant the door opened and I smelled patchouli. By the time she had crawled up onto the bed, my tool was completely hard. She grasped the base firmly, swelling the knob to the tautness of a drumhead. Then she licked the very tip, fluttering her tongue over the cleft of the urethra. At first, I held back my sounds of pleasure, but then gave up. I was her sex toy. Why pretend she wasn’t sending me to heaven?
She segued to sucking and stroking and in a couple minutes brought me right to the edge of orgasm; then she backed off, leaving me panting. As soon my breathing calmed, she recommenced pleasuring my tool. Another minute, and I arrived again at the cusp of climax, and she pulled her mouth away. Four more times, she brought me to the edge of a mighty orgasm. I wanted to cum so badly! My whole belly had grown hard to match my throbbing cock. I could smell my own sex.
“Oh, let me cum!” I pleaded, feverish. “Take me there.”
“Fifteen minutes,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’ll go for twenty-five.” She scooted back off the bed.
“Don’t go!” I said. “I…I need you. Come back. I’m on fire.”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “And don’t let your girlfriend finish you off. I’ll know.”
The bedroom door closed behind her.
When Cate arrived from work, she asked me what was the matter.
“I’m just…you know…so ready to be out of this frozen state.” And I’ve got blue balls.
The next afternoon, my mystery lover edged me for 25 minutes as I lay immobilized, making guttural sounds of pleasure impossible to hold back. After the first quarter hour, by subtly and intuitively adjusting pace and pressure, she was no longer merely bringing me close to climax and then backing off, she was keeping me suspended there, tottering right at the very brink of orgasm – so close, so close! – just shy of ejaculating. It was akin to surfing – riding right in the curl, the most powerful part of the breaking wave. The sexual energy of being on the verge of orgasm for long minutes saturated my whole body.
I could hardly sleep that night. My brain, my entire nervous system, was alive. And so fiendishly horny!
On the last day of my immobilized recuperation, the unseen woman entered the bedroom. I didn’t even need to smell her patchouli; my cock had already been hard, on and off, all day long.
“Today, I’m going to let you cum,” she said, “but only after 40 minutes.”
And what exquisite torture she put me through! Within minutes, I was already reduced to begging. “Oh please, ma’am, let me cum! I need to cum so badly!” But I knew there was still a full half-hour to go. I could feel pre-cum copiously leaking – that had never happened to me. She sipped the sweetness and kept up her highly controlled fellatio.
I was in an altered state and the patterns in the plaster ceiling turned into an erotic Sistine Chapel of nude bodies enwrapped in every act of lust.
She slipped a lubricated finger up my anus and I gasped. That’s when she asked, “Are you ready, darling?”
“Oh my Goddess!” I cried. “I’m a volcano!”
She massaged my prostate as she sucked and stroked my cock. My ball sac was drawn up tight against my body, and she slapped it from underneath in rhythm with her sucking – it was the most wonderfully pleasurable pain!
“Oh. Oh. I’m coming! I’m coming so hard!” My breath caught and my thighs went rigid. I screamed as the first jet of cum exploded out of me into her mouth. My spasming cock jerked in fits as I shot streams of cum, and she drank and drank my liquid seed.
After a time, she closed the bedroom door behind her. I wondered if I would ever know the secret woman.
When Cate got home she said, “Baby, you look the most relaxed I’ve seen you in days. Guess you’re looking forward to breaking out from prison tomorrow.”
“Hell yes, getting my ass up out of this bed!” But I sure would miss the afternoon delight.
Then Cate wrinkled her nose. “Why’s it smell like patchouli in here?”
Uh-oh. My mind raced. What could I say?
“Old Mildred,” she said.
“What?”
“The first day she came, I met her at the door and she was wearing a godawful amount of patchouli. I told her I couldn’t handle patchouli, and she washed it off.”
The next day I was so glad just to be able to walk around in my neck brace, I jumped at the chance to take out the trash. That’s how I found Mildred’s black wig of short, tight curls in the trash bin.