Rick And Karins First

"Hey," he said, rolling backward to let her in the door.

"Hey," she answered, returning his smile and hanging up her coat. "I stopped at the dispensary on the way over, but I didn't know what you like..." he shrugged, wanting to say it didn't matter to him but struggling with a catch in his throat. Having company was... nice.

Part of being an escort was anticipating your client's needs, and she took his silent retreat to the kitchen as a need to medicate, which she was happy to oblige. His tray was on the coffee table and by the time he was back with coffee she was looking for a lighter.

"Eli's been ribbing me about how fragrant the apartment is lately," he opened, rejoining her.

"Oh," she said, exhaling guiltily. "Should we go out on the patio?" She held the joint out to him.

He took a long drag and shook his head. "Nah, fuck him. He's just giving me a hard time because I'm in a good mood, for once." She flashed him a smile, assuming she was the source of the good mood. It would have to be the company and the weed, because it wasn't the sex...

"Hey, that reminds me," she said, suddenly lapsing from thought to speech. "You don't need to book a six-hour date, that's silly. I never book two dates in the same night, I'm not going to run out at 7 to meet someone else." He hit the joint and coughed, reddening his face, maybe covering a little blush...

When he met her eyes again, he shrugged. "You should get paid to hang out with me. Eli does." She waved him off.

"Please, I'd hang out with you for free. If you didn't make me schlep across town, anyway," she teased. "Besides, Eli does.... stuff. I mostly just smoke your weed."

He shrugged again. "I could schlep, next time..." he looked slightly hopeful.

"Would you want to? I have a roommate," she reminded him.

"Ugh, I forgot. The bulldog." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Sometimes it does suck in the chair, if the walkways in the building are narrow. I chose this building for its accessibility; even much more expensive places can't always offer plenty of space to turn around. But I will, if you want me to." He said it sincerely, and she believed him. While he was talking she had been imagining him in her apartment, though, and her mind wandered to how damn sexy it was when he got the door for her, by hand, even though they were all equipped with that giant blue button that she saw able-bodied people push all the time...

She exhaled a cloud of smoke and passed him the pipe. "You don't have to come to my apartment, your place is way better anyway. I do want to go out, though."

"Right now?" He raised his eyebrow and flicked the lighter, tilting his head to the pipe.

"Yeah," she laughed. "Right now." He sighed theatrically.

"Alright, let me change my shirt," his voice implied reluctance, but he rolled away with more alacrity than his response suggested.

He did get the doors. Out on the street, he looked around and turned to her. "Alright, where to? Eat? Movie?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really hungry." He slapped his palm to his forehead.

"Fine, I'll decide," He said over his shoulder, waving over a driver that was waiting in his car at the curb. Obediently, the car pulled forward. The driver got out and handled Rick's chair with practiced professionalism, folding it and stowing it in the empty passenger seat rather than in the trunk.

"Where to?" He asked cheerfully, pulling his door shut. Rick directed him to a movie theatre, and he merged into traffic.

The ride was fairly long. They chatted and then lapsed into silence, Rick staring out the window, she staring at him under the pretense of staring out the window. Her mind wandered willingly, from meeting him and not knowing what the sex would be like, to not knowing what they were waiting for. She knew her feelings were something other than professional detachment, but that was how most girls got out of the business, after all...

He turned his head to look at her, and for a horrified moment she was afraid she'd spoken aloud. It seemed like he had heard everything. He tilted his head quizzically, as if listening, his eyes settled on her lips, and finally they were kissing for the first time, after six weeks of dates. When they pulled apart, she was slightly out of breath.

"You know that was an eighteen hundred dollar kiss, right?" She teased, eyes sparkling.

"It was worth it," He answered, deadpan. "But let's bring the average down, anyway," he suggested, initiating another.

The rest of the ride was far too short.

"Twenty-seven dollars," the driver announced, eyes tactfully forward.

"Now take us home." Rick said, curtly. The older man gave a knowing chuckle and discreetly turned up the radio.

The walk back up to the apartment, flushed, with the blood thrumming in her ears, was a torment. It was different with him in the chair and her standing, and she was afraid by the time they got upstairs the mood would dissipate. How to kiss him? Lean over? Kneel? She didn't mind, but she didn't want him to feel patronized. Sit on his lap, she supposed, but they really hadn't discussed whether he experienced pain, so that made her nervous.

It was a moot worry. They were barely inside the door when he swung it sharply shut and dragged her onto his lap. His chair was one designed for maneuverability, with a low back and narrow, inward-tilted wheels. She didn't think that was the point, but it was also decently built for being straddled by a petite female. Hands on her hips, he ground her firmly against himself, face buried in her neck and hair. The tension built exponentially and in a few moments he was spasming, groaning open-mouthed against her ear.

When the moment had eased he dropped his head to her shoulder and laughed more joyfully than she'd ever heard him laugh.

"I'm sorry," he told her, still chuckling, straightening her shirt as he did so. "I'll do better next time. I just... whew. It's been a long time, and I was so worried that the first time-" he kissed her rather than finish the sentence.

"Is everything ok?" He was suddenly concerned, pulling back to look in her eyes, which happened to well with tears. Not awkward at all. She shook her head, afraid her voice would break.

"Everything's fine," she smiled, still teary. "I was beginning to think I wasn't your type." He looked aghast.

"My type? Please. That's like a man dying of thirst, not finding Perrier to his taste. I was afraid that when I finally made my move, you were going to shut me down, or I was going to get so flabbergasted I couldn't even get it up..." she sniffed and giggled.

"You don't have to seduce an escort, silly. That's kind of the point." His face fell and she instantly regretted the words. "Fuck, I'm sorry-"

"No, it's fine," he cut her off, stonily. She bit her lip, kicking herself for screwing everything up. "I'm going to use the restroom," she muttered, finally moving beyond the entryway.

When she met him in the living room, he passed her a burning joint like a worldless peace offering. She would have expected him to be shaky, but it was rolled well and she told him so.

"Yeah," he marveled, spreading his fingers. "I think orgasm therapy might be the only treatment they never offered me. Maybe I can bill my GMO for your fee," the joke stung slightly, he usually didn't mention the money he paid for their time together. She got the feeling it was an intentional barb, but he seemed to regret it once it was out. He tried again.

"You're my type. You're so much my type that it hurts. I'd like to believe that I'm your type, too." His tone was slightly resentful as he went on.

"I know if you dated who you wanted, it would be somebody like Eli. Yeah, I've seen you look at him," he shot in response to her flustered stutter, frowning as he searched for his dropped lighter and relit the joint.

"That's not fair," he conceded. "Eli is pretty awesome. Sometimes I think, if he's the only other person who's going to handle my dick on a regular basis, I could do worse." He laughed at her shocked expression.

"I'm usually ok. Sometimes I need to use a catheter, and sometimes I'm too shaky to do it myself. Sometimes I piss myself," He watched her face defiantly, expecting disgust. He wasn't passing the joint, so she loaded the pipe to give herself time to think.

"If I didn't do this, I wouldn't be here," she said simply, looking at the flame to avoid his eye. "But if you didn't pay me, I'd come over anyway."

"If you weren't out with someone else," he countered. She looked wounded.

"Well, yeah. This is how I pay my bills. This was my life, before you ever met me."

"I know, dammit!" He dropped his hands to his lap in frustration. "I don't know why I'm acting like this, I'm disgusted with myself. Puppy love." When he realized what he'd said he froze. She waved it off, in 8 years of escorting it wasn't the first slip.

"It's my fault, I'm hormonal. I'm probably making us both crazy."

"Can you do that?" he asked, surprised. "Yeah," she answered glumly. "Pheromones."

"Huh. So our cycles are syncing up. Nice."