A Challenged Woman's Love

The ' A challenged woman's love ' stories, contrary to my Handicapped love series, are fictional. Mostly inspired by moments, dreams and experiences I had as a disabled woman. I guess we all have these moments when imagination takes over our minds. I just happen to have a lot of time and very few outlets. But writing is one of them. I hope you enjoy.

I don't want to sound too acerbic but attending parties is not my favorite activity. Especially when it's a family matter, but now or then I have to attend an anniversary, a birthday, or like a few weeks ago a wedding. My niece, who is 12 years younger than me, got married to a very handsome and successful man.

The wedding was in a beautiful castle in the hills of southern Belgium. I wasn't able to attend the church ceremony, and my day started afterwards during brunch with the closest family. And although I am not, I guess they felt obliged to ask me and my mom for it because of the effort we took to be there.

Of Course all eyes were on me the moment I rolled into the beautiful garden and heads were coming together to whisper about this conspicuous, not to miss, individual in a big wheelchair. I was invited to fulfill their needs to outline how good, beautiful and blessed they were themself. Needless to mention, never ever did any of these family members visit or contact me besides a " Hello " and " Happy Birthday " once a year on social media.

Once I found a quiet place in the back of the ballroom inside the castle, and all the noisy and rude comments, inappropriate touches from old aunts or unknown ladies, it was a nice party. A kind waitress made sure I got everything I needed and once in a while I actually had a good conversation.

In the late afternoon, as most guests were present for the big evening party there was a photo moment in the beautiful garden of the castle. It was uphill and I couldn't get there. Many others, especially older people, didn't bother to go there and just had a look from a distance. I wheeled to the edge of the terrace and could get a glimpse of the joy and laughter 50 meters away.

"Hi there. They look lovely, don't they?"

"Oh hi, yes they do. Ank was always really handsome and now she is shining like a celebrity. You don't want to have a look at what's going on there?"

"Nah, My knees ... Tomorrow I would regret having stumbled up that hill. Roger ... by the way, I am a colleague of Werner."

Although he was at least 10 years older and slightly overweight I was surprised he couldn't get up that hill. I suppose he just didn't bother. His face was grooved, wrinkled and rough with a nice sun teint. Probably from working outside all his life. His friendliness was attractive, masculin.

"Are you here alone?"

"No, I am with my mom. She is up there somewhere. You?"

The moment I asked I thought it might be inappropriate. But he didn't take it that way at all.

"Yes. Werner invited two colleagues and Hans, the other one had to cancel due to family matters. So besides Werner I don't know anybody here."

Roger searched for someone to talk to, to get through the day and stay out of the picture. I was honored to be that one and the evening got a nice turn. Roger actually turned out to be almost 20 years older than me. He was kind and wise, a wisdom of age but still curious and open to whom he was talking to.

Relationships were also part of our conversation. Roger was divorced several years ago and had 1 daughter who was studying abroad. With her not being around very often he admitted he was often lonely and although being alone for many years now he started missing a relationship, a woman. I explained briefly my situation trying to not sound too uneasy. Yet in a setting where the love of two people is celebrated it can be difficult at moments. Roger held my hand, looking into my eyes, shyly.

"You are beautiful. Don't tell yourself differently.", he said as his face came close

Close enough others could think we were kissing. He didn't hesitate or have any thoughts about it. He was just kind and thoughtful. In an impulse my lips went to his but I wasn't sure, about myself, about his motives and my effort ended with a cowardly, desperate cheek kiss touching briefly his mouth.

"You are beautiful. I am an old guy, but my heart is beating like a young chap."

He didn't seem to be out of his comfort zone at all and that fact gave me twinklings in my stomach. Roger saw this and he came closer. As close as people often get when having a conversation but the music is very loud. Our eyes met often during the next hour. When it happened I was shy and looked away quickly. He was a good listener and that fact made my lips loose. I talked about my longings and how difficult it was for myself and others to find my inner feelings and senses.

It was a beautiful hot evening. The guests who were still sober went outside to enjoy the sunset above the trees over the hills of Belgium. The rest were still partying, singing loud and joyful. I also went outside with Roger, out on the front of the castle, following a path down to a creek.

It was way too dark between the high trees and Roger was definitely too much of a stranger to join into the woods but he was so kind hearted, gentle and sweet that not for a second I had doubts joining him. It was quite the opposite. I felt safe, delighted and happy to be there with him.

In respect to the noises of nature around us we hardly talked. The only noise that could be heard was my wheelchair. There was an intimate silence, around us and inside us. We came to an open space. The creek was calm and wide like a pond. The sun was barely above the trees, throwing thousands of glittering diamonds on the water. We stopped, looked in awe at the picture nature had painted for us and stood there in silence for minutes.

"Isn't your mother worried, by now?"

"I gave her a sign I would be out with you. She signed back an approval, so that's OK."

"Is there a need for approval?"

"I hope so."

Roger chuckled.

"Shall we sit down in the grass?"

"I would love to, but I don't think you can lift me out of the chair!?"

"Don't worry,"

It is the most intimate and submissive feeling being lifted out of my chair by a stranger. I folded my armrest up, put my arm around Rogers neck and his bending body lifted me out of my chair, putting me down in the grass gently. It was difficult sitting upright without a backrest but Roger sat down behind me and I could lean back against him with his arm around my belly and my hands on his thighs.

I looked back, up, as Roger pressed his arm tight around me and kissed me on my mouth. My tongue searched for his and I took his hands and put them on my breasts. I am often touched, touched in intimate, sensitive places by caregivers and others who had no sexual intentions at all and I sometimes feel like I am not a woman but only a handicap.

But Rogers' breathing intensed, his lips were quivering and his breathing irregular. I wished I could feel his crotch I was leaning against, wish I could feel his arousal pushing against my butt.

"I am ... are you ok with it?" He asked. "I ... I want this but only if you are comfortable ... "

"Yes, yes, I am fine."

The night came within seconds. As the sun went down nature seemed to have fallen asleep. Only the sound of the party was carried down to the creek once in a while with a breath of wind. Roger had touched me for minutes, maybe hours. Slowly his hands were discovering my body, my senses. Sometimes I could feel it, sometimes his hand went below my sense line. His calmness made me feel convidend. No matter what he felt, touched or discovered, his lips on mine, our tongues swirling into each other was everything he needed, despite his longing for more which he could control to make me feel special.

Roger laid down into the grass taking me with him, lying on his big but firm body. His raised knees prevented me from rolling down, off of him. He caressed my breasts, first on top of my blouse, then underneath. Lifting my breasts out of my bra. Twirling around my nipples, lifting and cupping my tits. His mouth was on my neck, kissing me, licking me, tasting my skin and deliberately searching for my sensitive spots to make me laugh and horny.

Quickly he recognized what effect his hands had on my belly, just below my belly button, on the edge of my senses. Carefully his hand went beyond and above while holding his arm tight around me. I never felt so secure in someone's hands as that day in the arms of Roger. My hands were on top of his, as they went over my body. I felt the thin skin, bones, the muscles when one of his fingers caressed me, over my breasts, gently circling my nipples. Felt a tremble at the same time as his breathing haltered, a moan as both of his hands cupped, lifted and weighed my big soft breasts. He kneaded them with his strong hand, lifting, stretching the warm skin under my boobs. My hands on his felt his arousal, his longing and joy for my body.

There was no urge, no tense, just his hands caressing, enjoying my body. Slowly I guided him down. One hand on the edge of my sense and one below. He was willing, ready and playful as I pushed his hand under my panties. My little finger guided our hands, feeling where our hands were on my senseless lower body. Felt the edge of my pubic, the hairy hill down between my legs. The big skinfolds to my left and my right. His fingers were curling my hair underneath my hand. To the center, to my weak, moist, loose open flesh. The hand on my belly, on the edge of my sense pushed his finger into my skinfold, my fat, hard. His middle finger deep into my belly as I squeezed his thumb around the big skinfold, fat roll. My spine shivered as if a shot was fired from my butt, up my cerebral nerves to my brain and back again down to my scar on my lower back where it exploded. Leaving me breathless, blind and deaf, helpless for a few seconds. I was light as a feather, lifted off of Peter's body, neglecting all rules of nature as if I was shot into another dimension.

It must only have been a moment, maybe not even a second, but it felt like eternity. I had seen, felt my body, inside and outside, like I never had felt before. What my nerves, my brain was capable of. How it was connected to a deep feeling of sexuality that even if it was hard to reach, it could explode in the hand of this mature, experienced man who treated my body as if I was the first woman under his hands.