Flamingos Ch 05

As it happened, it wasn't moving day after all.

I was outside, doing my walkaround, sort of a pre-leaving ritual I had developed. I wasn't actually doing anything, but I always liked to do a quick check and remind myself what I needed to do.

It was early so I was kind of surprised when I heard a greeting.

I looked up and it was Steve and Gwen, the guy I had seen setting up yesterday and then lifting the girl into her wheelchair. We had met, briefly, last night between songs and beers.

"Mornin'," I said as he approached. Gwen was right behind him, her strong arms moving the unpowered chair with skill.

"We didn't get a chance to talk much last night," he said and I chuckled, "but we'd like to invite you to dinner this evening."

"Well," I said, starting to tell him that we would be heading out today but he interrupted me.

"Gwen really liked your music and," and here he chuckled, "I really liked your wife's ass and we'd like to see if you're interested."

I looked at Gwen, her strong arms displayed by the sleeveless T-shirt she wore, this one advertising some restaurant of which I had never heard, her legs strapped to the footrests with what looked like velcro straps and the sudden image of taking this crippled girl to bed won the internal argument for me.

I grinned and said, "what time and what do we need to bring?"

"Oh, say seven," he said, matching my grin, and if you have some of those gummies laying around that would be nice. We have beer and wine.

"Done," I said.

So they continued their morning promenade and I finished my walkaround.

Inside I watched Fox News and waited for Paula to wake.

When she did get up I heard her pee and brush her teeth and then she walked into the front room, walking a bit funny I thought.

"Sore?" I asked by way of greeting.

She giggled and closed the distance between us so I was nose to pussy with her.

"A very pleasant soreness," she said in that cooing voice she used when she was feeling particularly horny.

I laughed and slapped her ass.

"Rest, wench," I said, "and get us coffee." I held my cup out to her.

She snorted, giggled, took my cup and went over to the Keurig machine, putting a LOT of swing into those magnificent hips of hers.

"We have a dinner date," I said.

"Oh?" she asked, "with?"

"Steve and Gwen," I said and I watched her face as she made the connections.

"The girl in the wheelchair and her dad?" she asked.

"Yep," I confirmed.

"Oh my," she said, looking at me from the corner of her eye.

I laughed and said, "he REALLY likes your ass."

We sat and worked on the map for a while, figuring our next stop.

We spent that day doing a combination of sightseeing and the beach. I mean, why visit the Gulf coast if you're not going to spend time on that white sugar sand. Besides that, I LOVE the looks my wife draws in her string bikini.

We had lunch at a local place where we both slurped down oysters and beer, giggling, talking about the mythical aphrodisiac effect of oysters in voices not really loud, but not trying to hide our conversation either. I laughed and offered my beer in an across-the-aisle toast as a matronly woman, I presumed the guy's wife, giggled at something Paula said. The husband scowled and I laughed and toasted him too.

It was a good day.

We arrived at Steve and Gwen's place at 7:00 sharp, bearing a package of my favorite Sativa marijuana gummies and a Key Lime pie we had purchased after trying a slice at the restaurant.

I wasn't sure how it would play out. We were still VERY new to the Flamingo Life and had never been with a father-daughter couple before. Hell, we had never imagined such a thing existed.

I did the introductions for Paula and then opened my package of gummies with a bit of a flourish.

"These are 10-milligram gummies," I said, "and I will cut one in half for Paula and me. You guys are welcome to try as much as you'd like but I'll tell you, I'm still fascinated by how much better this stuff is than what I was sneaking as a college student."

I cut one in half and offered half to Paula and then passed the little cutting board to Steve. He cut one in half and handed the board to Gwen who grabbed a whole gummy and put it in her mouth.

He turned out to be a good cook and the fish dinner he had prepared was world-class-restaurant quality. It was served as a full meal with a salad course that had an absolutely delicious dressing ("my own recipe," Steve had said), the fish with a small baked potato, corn on the cob, and the tiniest baby peas I had ever seen.

And we talked in that way I was learning was normal in the Flamingo Life. It was an odd mixture of learning each other but with a lack of inhibition you would expect from someone who had explained a dinner invitation with an announcement that he REALLY liked my wife's ass.

Their trailer was full of interesting modifications. Well, of interesting handholds. Gwen had very strong arms and moved around confidently, pulling herself hand over hand, moving easily from place to place, and pulling herself up onto the couch. She had an odd grace as she moved, her legs dragging behind her.

The story, it turned out, was that she had been a world-class gymnast. She had reached what she called "Elite" status and had tryouts for the Olympic team scheduled. And then she had a stupid accident.

"It was one of those stupid things that happen," she had said, open about her "being a cripple" as she called it with a giggle.

"I had done the really scary things," she said, "the uneven bars and the balance beam. Hell, my floor routine was dangerous itself with all the big twists I had in it. Then I was going to do my vault, normally my best, well, my easiest, event. I was making the run and my foot just slipped and I tried to catch myself and when I hit the horse I just caught myself exactly wrong and broke my back."

She said this all very matter-of-factly but I thought I heard quite a bit of emotion.

"So here I am, everybody's favorite cripple," she said.

The pot had taken hold and Paula was hanging onto Steve's arm, doing that two-hand-on-the-arm thing that all women seem to know how to do on an instinctive level and all men find irresistible.

She stood, suddenly, and offered her hand to Steve.

"Take me to bed, Goose, or lose me forever," she said, stealing the line from "Top Gun."

He stood, grinning as well.

She kissed me, lightly on the cheek, and said, "don't hurry, baby."

Gwen and I watched them leave and then, "alone at last" as they say, I felt an odd awkwardness.

"Oh Jesus," she said, grabbing one of the ubiquitous handholds and swinging over to sit on my lap, "don't get all inhibited on me now."

The kiss was a good kiss. In part, it was feeling the sheer strength in her powerful arms that got to me.

She finally broke the kiss, and it was up to her at that point, I was along for the ride.

"Not bad," she said, giggling.

I watched, fascinated, as she reached down, did the crossed arms thing that women seem to know instinctively, and peeled off her T-shirt.

Her breasts were tiny, just buds of slightly enlarged nipples.

I touched them and the nipples hardened into little points, not much bigger than my own.

"Not much there," she said.

I smiled and said, "but cute.

"I started gymnastics at 7," she said, obviously wanting to talk so I leaned back to listen.

"When you train hard like that you actually delay puberty," she continued, "and then when I broke my back, the spinal cord was broken at T12 ("thoracic number 12" she explained when I asked) leaving me completely paralyzed from the waist down and screwing up my hormones in the process."

She smiled wanly, "leaving me kinda stuck in puberty," she finished.

"But," she said, "my mouth and hands still work just fine," and she reached down and squeezed where I was about half-hard, making me chuckle in reply.

"You're welcome to anything else," she added, the redness of her eyes and the weird little giggle that accompanied it attesting to the pot working on her, "but there's no telling what you'll find."

I caught her hands in mine, again fascinated with her strength, and kissed her, a long, LONG kiss, more gentle than passionate. I felt the sort of frantic tension leave her body as the kiss lingered.

Her eyes were a little unfocused when I broke the kiss and leaned back to meet her eyes.

"I think I'll take my chances with all of you," I said.

She grinned.

"You just wanna see the crippled girl naked, don't you," she said, but I thought she was smiling as she said it.

I answered in kind.

"Yep," I said, "can't wait."

She twisted away, flexible as an otter, and took off, moving in that oddly graceful hand-over-hand way through what was obviously familiar ground to her.

"Come on then," she said, disappearing up the four steps to the bedroom above the hitch in that fifth-wheel rig.

It was interesting watching her move, her broad shoulders and powerful arms working smoothly while her legs, clad in oversize jeans trailed limply.

When I caught up she was laying back in the bed, smiling at me.

I leaned over and untied her tennis shoes and worked them off of her. Her feet were bony, the muscles atrophied from lack of use.

When I reached up and unbuttoned her jeans she covered my hand with hers.

"David," she said, "you've been warned. I don't know what you'll find."

I didn't say anything, I just smiled at her and moved her hand away from mine.

Her breath caught as I unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and began tugging them down.

I wasn't surprised to see her laying there in an adult diaper.

She sighed and said, "take what you want, David."

I looked around and when I didn't see what I was looking for in the bedroom I said, "hold that thought," and went down into the bathroom where I found it.

Back in the bedroom, I chuckled and pulled the tabs loose, one pair at her waist and one at the tops of her legs, just like the diapers I had changed when my son was born.

The diaper was heavy and wet and I folded it carefully, as I had done hundreds of times.

I carefully washed her with the hot, wet washcloth I had brought, smiling at the womanchild laying before me. The light sprinkling of new pubic hair, just starting to come in when her development had been arrested, was soft and downy against the small labia. Her legs were atrophied and very thin, sticks really.

I lifted her by the ankles, another move still in my muscle memory, and carefully washed her ass. I noticed a small hint of diaper rash around the tiny opening of her anus and carefully spread some of the Desitin I had found in the bathroom on the rash.

When I laid her down carefully, her ass centered on the new diaper I had brought, and locked things up with the tapes, she said, very softly, "thank you."

I smiled, went down into the bathroom, dropped off the dirty diaper in the diaper pail, and went back up to the bedroom.

I watched her eyes as she watched me undress.

"Thank you," she said again, "so many men just want to fuck a cripple."

I chuckled, crawled up beside her, and kissed her.

"I wanted to see what you looked like under all of this," I said, patting her diaper, "and now," I added, kissing her softly, "let's see how good you are with hands and mouth as you promised and, for that matter, let's find out where YOUR erogenous zones are."

It turned out, she had some interesting ones. A tongue, grazing the shell of her ear, took her breath away. That one didn't surprise me although the strength of her reaction did. Her back arched and her fingers curled into claws while she huffed out five quick breaths.

I leaned back to meet her eyes.

"This may sound stupid," I said, smiling, "but did I just make you cum?"

She giggled and said, "not down here," and she patted the pad of her diapers, "but in here," she said, and patted her chest, between those little buds of breasts, "and here," she rubbed her belly, "I get sensations I really like."

When I touched her little nipple she shivered. I could get the entire thing in my mouth, and sucked gently. Her fingers dug into the skin of my shoulders in response.

She shuddered suddenly, and I wondered if she had drawn blood on my back.

"I don't know what other women experience," she said, answering my unasked question when I released her tiny titty and met her eyes, "but that's what I would call 'release,' and it's what women I've talked to describe as their orgasm."

I was in no hurry and kept up my exploration. It turned out there was a band around her hips, right where feeling and non-feeling met, that would take her breath away and I played with it for a long time, enjoying the play of her strong arms as she squirmed and, well, "came" is as good a word as any.

She caught my hands in hers and made me stop.

"Sit on my hips, David," she said, so I swung my leg over her and did as she asked, my ass sitting on her bony hips. The Cialis works for me, generally, but I was not hard yet. Turgid is the word they use in the potboiler romance novels for how I was, firm but not yet erect.

She smiled and took me in her hand. I felt a moment of worry. Her hands were obviously strong and very callused, not womanly at all. But it turned out she hadn't exaggerated a bit. Her fingers started an odd rolling motion, her little finger squeezing then her ring finger and so on, like, I suppose, a farmer does when milking a cow.

It worked.

I was fully erect in just a few seconds.

Strong hands grabbed my hips then, and pulled me forward until my scrotum nestled between the buds of her breasts that would never develop.

And she was smiling. An odd smile, pure happiness or maybe "joy" is a better word.

"Is this just because I'm a cripple," she asked and I bent my back as far as I could and kissed her.

"It's because you're a beautiful, unique young woman who gets to me," I whispered, leaning back, offering my cock.

Time, as they say, lost meaning. She was an artist with her hand. That milking motion would take me close and she would stop. She would cup my balls and squeeze, right to the edge of pain and hold me there, afraid to move.

When she laid her palms on both sides and used her thumbs to very gently make my one-eyed friend open his eye wide and then touched it with her tongue I almost exploded but she held me, her thumb pressing hard right at the base of my erection and I didn't quite cum.

Strong hands pulled me a bit farther and she took me into her mouth.

She hadn't been lying. She was truly world-class with her mouth. It was her tongue, really, that made the difference. It was warm and wet and caressed and played and took me farther than I had ever imagined I would be and still I didn't quite finish.

Finally, after some measurable fraction of eternity, she pulled her mouth away and took me in her hand again.

By then I could barely breathe. She was VERY good with her mouth.

She smiled as she finished me and my ejaculation was powerful and sweet. She continued milking me as I pumped my release, accepting it on her face and in her hair, not dropping her smile as she finished and then held me while I gave those last three or four little shudders and began to soften.

"Thank you," she said, pulling me with strong arms down for a kiss.

And I didn't mind. It was a good kiss.

I laid beside her and held her. I told her she was beautiful, and she was. She said she was just a cripple and I slapped her ass, then realized that accomplished nothing so I slapped her on the face, not too hard but hard enough to get her attention.

"You're special, Gwen, and you're beautiful," I said, "quit deflecting compliments.

She smiled and said thank you and pulled me down for another kiss.

We laid like that, touching, kissing, saying, as the old song goes, "sweet nothings," until I felt the vibration in the trailer signifying her father coming back.

She rolled her eyes and said, "you'd better go on home, he'll be in a state."

I chuckled at the antique turn of phrase, but I did roll off the bed, find my clothes, and get dressed.

I kissed her once more, said, "thank you," and started down the stairs.

"It was fun," she said to my back.

Downstairs Steve was doing something in the kitchen and didn't turn when I got to the bottom of the stairs.

"That's weird," I thought, but just left.

Back at our trailer, Paula was sitting in her recliner with a beer in her hand.

I grabbed a beer myself and sat beside her.

"Well, how did it go?" I asked.

She giggled softly and said, "he's a crier."

"Huh?" I asked, demonstrating that I'm not always a rapier-wit.

"He spent most of his time crying, literally crying, about how hard life is," she said, finishing her beer.

"Was the sex at least good?" I asked.

She scowled.

"If you consider 30 seconds and done good," she said.

I chuckled and went to the refrigerator and got her a fresh beer.

I handed it to her and then got to my knees before her.

"I apologize," I said, "on behalf of ALL stupid men in the world."

I pulled on her calves, encouraging her to scoot forward until I could give her oral pleasure as she deserved.

The taste of Steve's semen was slightly bitter, something I would later learn to associate with men who drank a lot. But I didn't let that stop me. I cleaned her first, like a cat, and then continued, my tongue probing, finding her clitoris, and slowly bringing her along.

Her fingers entwined in my hair and she said, "now that's a good boy."

And deep in my brain, way down there at the brain stem, something shifted. I felt it, I liked it, and I was surprised when I got suddenly hard again.

It was one of those timeless interludes. I was licking and probing and sucking and feeling her respond and on some level, I realized that was what I wanted, HER pleasure. Mine would always be secondary now.

When she came I drank her thick, salty nectar greedily, sucking gently, feeling her labia swell in my mouth as I brought her along through three waves of pleasure before those fingers in my hair pulled me away.

I deliberately left my mouth open slightly, allowing her nectar to overflow and hand from my chin in a thick white string as I looked up at her.

"Good boy," she said again and then stood.

"Let's go to bed," she said.

As I followed her I had a random thought - "Steve WAS right about something. THAT is a magnificent ass."

In bed she took me. She took me like a man takes a woman. She was the aggressor and when she mounted me it wasn't just accepting me into her body. It was demanding my performance. She played with my nipples more than she ever had before when we made love, and told me I was beautiful. She came again, surprising me, and again before she managed to coax a second ejaculation from me.

I softened instantly, of course, and she giggled.

We laid side by side, kissing, and still, she was somehow in charge. It was HER hands that guided and HER lips that decided when and where and how the kisses were exchanged.

Finally, she relaxed, her frantic energy expended.

I found her nipple and began suckling as she stroked my hair and told me I was a good boy.

And that is how our last day on the beach ended.