First Time with a Quadriplegic

A month after I finished high school, I got a call one afternoon from Dr. Wilson, a long-time friend of my family who directed the physical therapy department at a large Denver hospital. She needed a favor.

"Bill, I have a patient who needs some help tonight, and I thought you might be able to provide it. Her name is Patricia, she's a student at the University of Denver, and she's a quadriplegic—her arms and legs are paralyzed. She was training for the Olympics as a diver a few years ago when she missed a dive and landed on the diving board head-first.

"She's been my patient several years. Her family is wealthy, she has her own apartment, and she usually has a full-time male aide to take care of her. But her aide's father died this morning, and she's flown home to help his family for a few days.

"I've arranged another aide to take care of Patricia until her regular aide returns, but the replacement can't start until tomorrow morning. Patricia can't take care of herself. I wonder if you might be willing to take care of her tonight. The pay is $100 cash, and I'm sure you can use the money."

I could indeed—it was the early 70s, and that was nearly a week's pay—I was earning $2.72 an hour in my daytime job. I'd worked at a hospital as an orderly during summers and weekends for several years, and I thought I could manage, so I got the address from Dr. Wilson. She told me to show up about eight that evening. However, despite my self-confidence, I hadn't had much contact with paralyzed people before (I worked in the x-ray department), and I was pretty anxious.

Patricia lived in a penthouse apartment in a very nice area on University Avenue, a few blocks from her school. A guy I thought very cool opened the door—she was wearing the long hair, beard, and hippy-style clothes I admired at the time. Patricia was sitting in her wheelchair in a big living room, surrounded by four college friends. She was wispy thin, with the long blond hair that was popular then, a tan California surfer sort of face with prominent cheekbones and a long but narrow nose, and a wry, twisty sort of smile, like an ironic Mona Lisa.

They were passing around a joint. When it reached Patricia, one of the guys placed it between her wrists at the base of her thumbs. She brought the joint to her lips and inhaled. It seemed that while she was a quadriplegic, she still had a little use of several large arm muscles, though not of her fingers. She could breathe on her own, and she could talk fine and had full control of her neck. It could have been worse. Easy to say.

I was offered my share of the joint, and then of the next one. The friends talked and laughed and listened to music for an hour—a new Hendrix album. Then they left. It was nice of them to help Patricia until I arrived, and a lot of my anxiety had gone up in smoke and gone down with a snifter of Courvoisier cognac.

Oh, did I mention that while I had worked in a hospital for several years and seen naked flashes of hundreds of partially clothed people, I was still a virgin? I'd kissed a couple girls and even seen one naked once, but that was it—not even oral.

Patricia and I talked on for awhile, and then she said, "Well, we'd better get me ready for bed. You're new to this, so it will take longer than usual."

"What do we need to do?" I asked as I wheeled her into her bedroom. It was a huge room, or seemed that way to me, with a hospital bed in the middle and a big sliding glass door with curtains drawn across it.

"First I need my shower," Patricia said.

This hadn't occurred to me. She would need to bathe. I had somehow thought I would essentially be taking care of a girl who was confined to bed, just feeding her, turning her, doing this and that. I wasn't sure I liked the idea of bathing her. But then again, what was I thinking? It might be interesting. "How do we do it?" I asked.

"In the bathroom there's a white plastic chair on wheels. Bring it out here. Take my clothes off. Lift me from my wheelchair into my shower chair, then put me in the shower and wash me."

I got the shower chair. Pulling Patricia's tie-dyed t-shirt over her head wasn't hard. She was slim and tan, rather than bony-looking, but not muscled, of course. Paralyzed limbs lose muscle tone and are quite flaccid. Getting her pants off was harder. She was wearing jeans. I had to put my arm around her, lift her a little, and pull the jeans down. It was strange. She was my patient, but she was definitely a girl. Her breasts were tiny, barely pushing out her chest, though she was definitely female and lovely in an attenuated way.

"Careful pulling down my jeans," Patricia said. "Watch out for my catheter bag, or there will be a mess."

This surprised me, but of course, as she was a quadriplegic, she'd need a catheter bag. She couldn't control her urine. The bag turned out to be a small one strapped to her calf. At her direction, I disconnected it, emptied it into the toilet, then got out a new one from a cupboard.

I was surprised to find that she was wearing boxer shorts. The catheter tube disappeared up the leg. "The boxer shorts make it easier to get things on and off," she explained, "and they are less constricting." I lifted her again and pulled them off, sliding them under her little bottom and down her legs. There exposed was her pubic hair and lips, with a slim rubber catheter tube coming out from them, connected in turn to a clear plastic tube.

"Okay," Patricia said, "now you need to deflate the bulb on the catheter and pull it out." Was sort of familiar with this. I hadn't done it, but I'd seen nurses put catheters in men. I got a syringe, stuck it into the catheter bulb tube, deflated the balloon, and slowly pulled the catheter out of Patricia's urethra. It didn't seem to hurt her at all. "I don't usually need it removed," she said, "but it's changed weekly, and this is the time."

I wheeled her into the large shower stall, close to six feet square, with a curtain around it. There was a shower head on a flexible hose.

"I don't mean to embarrass you, Bill," Patricia said, "but if you do this with all your clothes on, you are going to get completely soaked. My usual aide always joins me in the shower. It's easier that way. Just pretend you're in the locker room."

"Okay," I said. I started undressing, feeling rather embarrassed as Patricia watched me, smiling. I was tall, about 6'2", but not much bigger around than Patricia—barely 170 pounds, with a hairless tan chest and white elsewhere. Indeed, we seemed to be close to the same size, but her legs and arms were thinner and of course flaccid. "Just don't let me get a hard-on," I prayed.

But my prayer wasn't answered. I couldn't help it. I started getting an erection when I unzipped my jeans, and by the time I pulled off my underwear I was rock-hard.

Patricia laughed. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I take it as a compliment. Are you a virgin?"

I admitted that I was.

"Well, just tell yourself that tonight is special. What happens here doesn't count. Tomorrow your life continues, and you don't need to ever tell anyone."

I said okay, then turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature, and started washing her. There was a sturdy bench attached to the shower wall where I could sit. Using a washcloth, I soaped up her arms and chest and back. I washed her long hair. I carefully washed her toes, feet and legs. It was a first for me, and actually I liked it a lot. She might be paralyzed, but she was a beautiful girl with the body shape I most liked.

"Look," Patricia says, "this is going to embarrass you, and it used to embarrass me, but I've gotten used to it. It's extremely important that my pussy and my ass be very clean, because that's the best way for infections to start. It's hard to do that while I'm in this chair. What my usual aide does is to hold me in his lap with his legs spread a little. Then he has better access."

This was excruciatingly exciting, and I could feel myself shaking. I lifted her—she seemed light—and sat down on the bench with my arms around her. Holding the shower nozzle in one hand, I gingerly began washing her pussy, spraying the hot water into it while holding open the lips.

"Don't be nervous," Patricia said. "I like it, and this is the best time of day for me. Just pretend you enjoy it."

I DID enjoy it. I'd never been so intimate with a girl. I let myself explore and get acquainted. My fingers caressed her clitoral area and wormed into her vagina. (I didn't have much experience, but I'd read a good book on anatomy and sex techniques.) My cock was pressing up against her thigh, throbbing.

"Now my ass," she said.

I put some soap on my hand, leaned back, pulling her toward me, and began rubbing it over her ass. I knew she needed her asshole to be clean, so I steeled myself and began rubbing it. It felt rather interesting. I liked it.

"That's good," Patricia said. "It feels good. Push your finger inside and get it good and clean."

I wormed my soapy finger inside her relaxed asshole and began moving it in and out. I liked the feeling, and she did, too. She moaned with pleasure.

Suddenly a geyser of urine gushed from her and over both of us. It was rather sexy. I'd seen a movie in a theater called "Golden Showers" and found it exciting. Here was the real thing. "Sorry," she said. "I can't control that."

"I don't mind," I said. "Don't worry about it."

When I had her well rinsed, I set her back in her chair. When I stood up, my hard cock was at her mouth level. "God, you have a beautiful cock," Patricia said. "Bring it over here and let me suck it."

What I most wanted in my life was sex with as many women as possible, but I'd never had sex with any, and no one had ever sucked me. Who was going to know? So I straddled her bath chair and brought the head of my cock to her lips. The lips opened, and she seemed to swallow me. She took me in as deep as she could (I was only about five inches back then), then let me slide in and out.

The feeling was heavenly, so slick and soft. Her tongue worked at the most sensitive parts as her mouth engulfed me. I held my hand behind her head to support it and did most of the work. Soon I felt the familiar volcanic buildup, and then I squirted my cum into her mouth. She swallowed it all, murmering "Umm. Umm. Umm." It was wonderful.

"Kiss me," she said when I'd pulled away. What? After I'd just come in her mouth? But what could I say? I kissed her and was amazed by the hot slipperiness of her cum-coated mouth. I kissed her for a long time, and by the time I stopped, I was hard again.

I turned off the shower, dried her as best I could, then lifted her in my arms, much less embarrassed, and carried her to her bed. Then I dried her more carefully, putting talcum powder on the damp spots and rubbing lotion into her limp but beautiful body. "What's next?" I asked.

"Well, as you haven't done this before, you're in for another surprise," Patricia answered. "I can't sit on a toilet and take a dump, of course, as I can't use my muscles to push effectively. That means that you have to put a suppository up my ass and lay me on an absorbent pad. Then in the middle of the night I'll mess myself, just like a baby. You'll have to clean it up and wash me after that happens."

"If you say so," I said, though I wasn't too pleased by the idea.

"The suppositories are in the refrigerator," she said. "You'll recognize them. Just bring one with you." I returned with a suppository as big around as my little finger.

"You'll need to lubricate my asshole to get that in," Patricia said. There's Vaseline in that jar beside the bed. Use plenty and rub it in well. It's easy for me to get a sore ass if you don't.

I put a big gob of Vaseline on my middle finger and slid it into her ass. I liked the feel of my finger in there, and I thrust in and out, slowly and lovingly. I liked it so much that I added another finger. Somehow it was really sexy. I was still nude, and I was still hard.

"You know," Patricia said, "there's something you can do with that nice cock. I can't have the usual sort of orgasm, as my pubic muscles can't tighten and spasm, but I still have lots of feeling down there. I'd like you to lick my clit for a long time, and then I'd like you to massage my vagina with that beautiful cock of yours. Would you like that?"

I would! "How do we do this?" I said.

"Lift me up and put me sideways in the bed, so that my ass and pussy hang over the edge. You'd better put a pad under me."

I did as she said, putting down a pad, hanging it over the edge of the bed, then lifting Patricia and putting her down sideways. I put her legs over my shoulders, drew up a chair, sat down, and began licking her. It was my first time giving oral, and I reveled in the sensation of licking her clit, sliding my tongue all around those little swirls and nubs. She moaned with pleasure. I thrust my tongue as deeply into her vagina as I could and thrust in and out. Suddenly there was another squirt of salty liquid, right into my mouth and over my face. Startled, I spit it out and sputtered.

"Oops, sorry again," Patricia said. "I can't help that, you know."

"That's okay," I said. "I know you can't."

"Why don't you fuck me now?"

"Okay," I said. I stood up, her legs still over my shoulders, and brought the silky purple head of my hard white cock to her vagina. It was wet with her lubrication and urine. I pressed forward and slide into her easily. Today I would miss the feeling of muscles in her vagina, but at that point I didn't no any better. I was having fucking! I was losing my virginity! It was glorious. It FELT glorious.

"Press in on the sides of my ass cheeks," Patricia said. "That will make it tighter for you." I did, and her vagina felt even better. I leaned over and buried my tongue in her mouth as I thrust in and out. Patricia was giving out little moans in time with my thrusts, and her eyes were closed.

Soon, too soon, I felt again that churning, building pressure in the region behind my balls. I could feel it traveling up the tube. And then, suddenly, I was spurting my cum deep into her, and Patricia was shouting, "Yes! Yes! Cum in me! Let me feel you cum!"

I collapsed on top of her, shaking in excitement and release. I slid my arms behind her back and pulled her tight, then picked her up and carried her around the room, my cock still inside her, while I kissed her over and over, whispering "Thank you! Thank you!" Then I put her back on the bed.

I pulled my penis from her vagina. "I'm still pretty hard," I said. "You're amazing."

"Well, I have another place where you can park that thing." She smiled her twisty, close-lipped smile.

"You mean in your ass?"

"Yeah. I don't think you'll need to lubricate me again." Her ass was already well-lubricated with Vaseline. I moved my cock to her ass and easily slid it in. After all, her sphincter muscles were relaxed. It felt different than her vagina, a different sort of lubrication, a different sort of anatomy, tighter at the opening, then opening into a cavern. Not that her ass was very tight, and she wasn't able to squeeze down on me. But I thrust in to the hilt. Patricia caught her breath and her eyes rolled back. A dark, boggy smell slipped into the room, and there were brown streaks on my cock. After all, this was real packing of the fudge, not something done after a series of enemas. Sliding deep into Patricia's ass felt great. I pulled her ass to the edge and thrust in all the way, over and over.

"Oh, yes," Patricia moaned. "Fuck my ass, Bill. Fuck me deep. I want it all the way."

I stroked her legs and sides as I slid in and out. In a few minutes her moaning increased. "Oh, that's so good," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

And it was. I kept on thrusting, sliding deep, deep, deep, feeling the grabbiness of her shit against my cock, and in a couple more minutes I filled her ass with my cum. Then the feeling changed into an amazing sort of slipperiness as the cum coated the packed shit, already softening from the suppository.

When we were done, I carried her back to the shower cleaned her up carefully with more soap. When I returned her to bed, I once again powdered her and rubbed lotion into her delicate skin.

"You'll need to put in another catheter," Patricia said. She told me where they were. I opened a catheter kit, sqeezed KY onto the tray, cleaned her up, dipped the rubber catheter into the KY, then spread her lips with one hand, spotted the opening of her urethra just inside her vagina, and slid in the catheter. More urine came from the tube. I inflated the bulb at the inside end of the catheter, so it wouldn't pull out. Then I attached it to a tube and the new bag I'd gotten out earlier.

I put her on a fresh absorbent pad, then covered her carefully with a light blanket. I kissed her lovingly. Then I told her goodnight.

Every two hours my alarm clock rang, and I got up and turned her so she wouldn't get bedsores from lying too long in one position. At two a.m. I found she had messed herself. I cleaned it up, washed her off, powdered her, and went back to bed.

At six I woke Patricia up and got her ready for school. She gave me an extra hundred dollars for special services. Her replacement aide arrived at seven and took over with feeding her.

That summer I visited Patricia as a friend several times a week, though I had to be circumspect. A couple times I was able to care for her overnight and give her regular aide a break, and once I took care of her a whole week, at least in the night—I had to work, so she got someone else to do it in the day. Then in the fall I went off to college. I never saw her again, as she graduated the next spring and moved to California, but I haven't forgotten her. I heard from Dr. Wilson that she died a few years later from a urinary infection—a common cause of death for quadriplegics. Sad, but true. It was a strange way to lose my virginity, but it was very special to me, and so was Patricia.