Looking Past My Upbringing

Disclaimers: Each and every character in my story is fictional. If they are partaking in sexual stuff, they are over 18.

My name is Ethan Dunlap. I am just turning 24 years of age, and am celebrating that birthday, recovering from a horrific car accident.

I remember driving from Portland, Oregon, where I'm the starting point guard for the Trailblazers, to Seattle, to visit some new friends.

One minute, I'm listening to some smooth jazz on my radio, and the next thing I'm aware of, is being pulled out of the tangled mess, that was my new Range Rover.

I couldn't move a muscle. I also couldn't see a thing. Even though I couldn't feel anything, I sensed a warm liquid running into my nose and mouth. Blood! I had experienced enough bloody noses to know what blood tasted like.

I could hear several voices talking, as several hands were easing my body out of the wreckage. My mind was trying to process what would happen, next.

I imagined being put into an ambulance, but instead, I could hear what sounded like some sort of aircraft.

I kept hearing two gentle voices, both telling me I was being taken to the best hospital in the entire Northwest. I knew if I was being flown by helicopter, I was in bad shape. I also knew that if I couldn't talk, see or feel pain, I was in some serious shit.

As the Medevac helicopter lifted off the ground, with two medical people talking to me softly, I realized that I was crying. Was my basketball career through? Fuck that, was I going to live?

By the time we landed at King County Medical Center, Harborview Hospital, I started to feel pain. It felt like every bone in my body was broken. The medics must have noticed the grimace on my face and gave me something in my IV, because my pain diminished.

I was being rushed into an OR, where my clothes were cut off me. Here I'm teetering on the brink of death, and all my mind is thinking was, those jeans cost me $150.

My drug addled mind did remember that I was earning about $5 million a year, so forget the jeans, if I can walk out of here, I'll buy a new pair, or two.

I think a little back story is needed, here. I was born in Phenix City, Alabama. Before anyone gets carried away, that's how our Phenix is spelled. I think I was dribbling a basketball as soon as I could walk.

In middle school, I had the best jump shot in all of Southeast Alabama. By my freshman year in high school, I had a few colleges looking at me. Along with my deadly shooting and way above average ball handling skills, I had grown to a respectable 6'2". I only weighed 170, but it was all muscle. It didn't hurt that I was a straight A student.

Let me also add, here, that my family, my dad and both grandfathers were poster children for racists. While playing against all races, I always had the uncommon ability to see my opponents as people, not black people or white people.

Back to my injuries.

I was finally aware of my surroundings, and found out I had undergone 4 surgeries, fixed a myriad of broken bones, but still couldn't see. I could hear, and speak just a little, because my jaw was wired shut. I also found out that this was starting my fourth day in the hospital.

I'm laying in my special bed, and in comes a group of doctors, with them announcing themselves as my medical staff. The gentleman who seemed to he in charge, started by giving me a recap of my injuries.

"Mr. Dunlap, you have the following injuries. A total of five broken bones in your legs. A broken jaw, caused by your car's airbag. We removed your spleen. You have four broken ribs. Oh yes, your eyesight should be slowly returning, as your concussion symptoms ease."

I was able to speak, so I asked what exactly happened.

An official sounding voice introduced himself as Trooper Hanson, and began telling me what they knew.

"Mr. Dunlap, a car travelling at a high rate of speed, heading Southbound, lost control of his car, crossed the center line, and hit you almost head on. Just so you know, the driver of that car didn't survive. It was also found he had a fairly high level of both alcohol and narcotics in his bloodstream."

"He's dead?" I asked.

"Yes, he was killed, instantly."

"Too fucking bad he didn't suffer like I am suffering."

Saying that, I could feel tears starting in both eyes. I could also feel a very gentle hand on my arm and a very soft, gentle voice telling me she was Vanessa Hardy, and she would be starting my physical rehabilitation, in about two weeks, giving my body some sorely needed healing.

"How can I rehab, laying here in a heap," I sobbed.

"Mr. Dunlap, there are many things we can do to get your muscles working, while you recover."

With that, everyone except Vanessa left my room. I sensed she was standing next to me as I heard papers rustling.

"I see, Mr. Dunlap, that we have quite a road ahead of us. Just so you know, when your eyesight returns, you will be moved to the rehab unit in this hospital."

"Do you know if my family back home has been notified?"

"Yes."

"That's it, just a simple yes? And please call me Ethan."

I could tell something was bothering Vanessa, so I quietly asked her if she happened to be black.

"Yes, and it seems as if your family has something against anyone on your medical team who isn't white."

"That's them, not me, I want you to know." I said this while trying to smile.

"Please don't hold my family against me, Miss Hardy, not everyone from Alabama is racist."

"First off, if you are Ethan, I'm Vanessa, or V, got it? I'm well aware who you are, and that all the people I know who follow the NBA think very highly of you."

"OK, Vanessa, if I ask you a very serious question, will you give me an honest answer?"

"If I can."

"I know that playing in the NBA might not be on the table, but will I ever walk, again?" I realized that tears were streaming down my face as I waited for her answer, that I wasn't really sure I wanted to hear.

"If I have my way, and you work you skinny white behind off, walking is well within reach."

I just laid there grinning, with the tears still falling. I did feel a soft towel dabbing at my cheeks, drying both sides of my face.

"Thank you, and I'll work as hard as my broken body will allow."

As I began feeling her very strong fingers start rubbing my left foot, she told me to let her know if the feeling remained the same, wherever she rubbed. Using some medicated salve, she rubbed from my heel to my ankle. Stopping where the cast on my left leg ended.

As she moved to my right side, all that she could rub was my foot. As she did her rub, she asked if she could bring her two young sons in to see me, once I was a bit more presentable. Before I could answer, she told me they were Kenyon, Jr, who was 5, and Kevin, nearly 4.

"You're married to Kenyon Hardy?"

"Divorced, he has quite a wondering eye, as well as other anatomical parts."

I knew her ex had quite a reputation as a player, and he was a good ten years older than me, and was nearing retirement from the NBA.

"Before you ask, I'm turning 29, soon, and yes, he's eight years older than me."

Stopping after about ten minutes, she tells me that she would come back several times a week, until I'm able to get out of bed for the really hard work.

The next week was a blur. It seemed as if some nurse or doctor was looking in on me every half hour, or so. Sleep came at a premium. Not only was I constantly sore, the pain meds made me hallucinate. After the first week, I told the Head Doctor, to knock off the powerful stuff, both because of the horrible dreams, and the addiction possibilities.

Working with Vanessa was about my only contact that allowed for normal conversation. Well into my second week, my eyesight started to return. If I wasn't having a bad enough time, V had three days off in a row. I missed talking about life with her.

Sunday afternoon, I was laying in bed feeling sorry for myself, with my eyes closed, when I hear a soft knocking on my door. Just as I was about to tell whoever was knocking to go away, in Vanessa walks with a small vase, and one red rose.

Smiling, I finally got to see what she looked like. 5'4", or so and a bit on the chunky side, with a very large chest, 150 pounds, give or take. With the brightest smile I'd seen in my stay in this hospital.

In she walks, smiles at me, and tells me that the next day, I'm being moved into the rehab unit, where I get to start down the long road to recovery.

Sitting on the end of my bed, she starts rubbing my left foot. Closing my eyes, she is humming a soft tune while giving each foot a great, deep tissue massage.

Oh, shit, I start thinking, my cock starts to respond to this rub. I clinch my eyes shut, and try thinking of anything but her very soft hands. All of a sudden, one hand moves up just above where my cast ends, and takes a very soft grip on my growing manhood.

"Shush, try to be quiet, Ethan," she said.

Moving the sheet and blanket off of me, she leaned over, kissing each of my closed eyes as her hand is moving in long slow strokes, up and down my solid 8 inches.

I didn't dare to move my hands for fear of doing anything to upset her. My entire body started to shake, and within just a few minutes, I literally exploded, into the towel she held over my throbbing cock.

This time the few tears in my eyes were about relief, not pain.

"I don't know how to thank you," I whispered, after catching my breath.

"Don't worry, tomorrow, I'm going to work you like a rented mule!" Saying this with the brightest smile I'd seen in quite some time.

Just as she was getting ready to leave, she leaned over, kissed my forehead and softly said, "that's the nicest piece of man meat I've seen in quite a while."

That night I had the best night sleep since I arrived, here.

Bright and early the next morning, I was moved into the rehab unit of the hospital. Getting set up, I was told my PT session would start at 9 AM, sharp.

I admit to having a smile on my face for the first time in quite a while.

In walked Vanessa, looking like a veteran drill sergeant.

"Good morning, V," I said.

"Good morning, Mr. Dunlap."

My heart sank, and my smile disappeared.

Getting out of my wheelchair, and moving towards the parallel bars, I quietly asked if I did something wrong.

"No, Ethan, I did, so lets begin."

For the next 45 minutes, she had me walking back and forth between the bars, making sure I kept a tight grip with each hand. All I could think about was, in her opinion, she did something wrong with that glorious hand job.

"I'm done," I announced after 45 minutes.

"Mr. Dunlap, you're done when I say you're done!"

I sunk down on the bars, with my arm pits holding me up, and tears in both eyes.

"Please, Mrs. Hardy, I'm truly tired and want to go back to my room."

I also wanted to dry my tears, out of her vision.

This same interaction continued all week. The next week, she became a bit more friendly, but not very much. I knew I had to change my mindset and move on.

Sunday afternoon, I went to the small area that had a basketball hoop, and started just dribbling a ball. Then, just a free throw. Swish. A huge grin on my face. Three more swishes in a row, with me being my own chaser.

I didn't even look around when I heard the door open. I heard two pairs of shoes running across the small area to where I was standing, only to see these two smiling faces of little boys grinning up at me, with the older of the two saying, "Hey, there Easy-E, can we be your chasers?" Easy-E being my basketball nickname.

Both boys wearing jerseys with Hardy on the back, I knew who they were. I looked back to the door, noticing Vanessa standing, leaning against the back of my wheelchair.

"Only if your mom says its OK."

"She brought us here, when somebody ratted you out for being here, by yourself."

Looking back at Vanessa, she just stared back at me, and started walking towards me.

"Ethan, I thought you knew you weren't supposed to be here, by yourself."

"Mrs. Hardy, I just couldn't lay in bed, with no interaction another day, so I'm sorry. With nobody in this entire hospital giving a shit, yesterday, I took it upon myself to work out, a little."

With a shocked look on her face, she told me she would look into that charge. "Its ok with me if my boys help you."

They chased my shots, and ran them back to me. Kevin asked me to show him how I hold the ball. Kenyon then said his dad did it differently. I told them each player has to form their own way that works for them. There isn't a right or wrong way.

"That's enough for today, you guys wore me out."

As they left, Vanessa looked back at me a smiled, thanking me. My smile slowly started to return.

My exercises the following week got a bit harder, because my drill Sergeant saw some improvement.

Friday afternoon I hear a soft knocking on my door, so I told whoever to come in. There stood a couple, in their 60's, and black, asking if I was Ethan Dunlap.

Telling them I was, they introduced themselves as Thomas and Valerie Haynes, Vanessa's parents.

"Before we say anything, Vanessa doesn't know we're here, so please let us talk, first."

"Let me first tell you that you scare the hell out of her. Not your color, your profession. She was burned, badly by that asshole Kenyon Hardy, and certainly doesn't want to make the same mistake."

"Thank you both for your honesty, Mr. & Mrs. Haynes. I do need to tell you that I don't have an engagement ring hiding here, I just would like us to be friends. And it looks like I won't be playing pro ball, any time, soon. That's all."

"We're taking the boys to dinner, and Vanessa wanted to talk with you. OK?"

I just nodded, and watched her parents leave.

About ten minutes later, another knock, and in walks V, with a wheel chair, to take me down to the cafeteria for our first 'dinner date'.

Getting us both something to eat, we sat on the far outside row of the cafeteria.

Before we started, I could see she was very nervous, so I figured I would break the ice.

"Hello, I'm Ethan Dunlap, and I am happy to meet you." I then reached out to shake her hand. I immediately saw her nerves quiet down, and she responded in kind.

"I'm Vanessa Hardy, and I am more than delighted to meet you, Ethan."

"Please V, let me start. All my life, I've operated from behind the 8 ball. The tall, skinny, poor, white boy who was smarter than the rest of his class, and played basketball better, too."

"Nobody wanted this skinny kid at their college, except the University of South Alabama, in Mobile. Even then they had me walk on, and play my first season paying my own way."

"As the season ended, with me being their third leading scorer, but the leading free throw shooter in the country, I was given a full scholarship."

While I was talking, V had her hands softly holding mine, and was listening intently.

I told her about finishing as the school's third all time scorer, and all time free throw champ. Oh, yes, I also finished with my degree in History, my favorite subject.

Finishing our dinner, we just sat talking about the previous three weeks. She apologized for getting carried away, and admitted how badly she reacted. Since I could leave the hospital, under supervision, she asked if I wanted to join her family for Sunday dinner.

I told her I would be delighted and would arrange my own transportation. Going back to my room, she helped me get back into bed, and before leaving, took my face in both hands, and gave me as sensuous a kiss as I have experienced in many months.

"Thank you, Ethan, for the wonderful dinner and talk."

"Thank you, too, and I can't wait for Sunday."

Getting to her house was easy enough, but she neglected to mention the dozen or so stairs up to her front porch.

Just as I was reaching for the doorbell, the door opened, and both boys welcomed me inside.

Dinner was fabulous, with the first complete meal in nearly five weeks. The conversation was great, with three generations, and me. I did answer any and all questions all five of them threw at me.

Yes, I grew up in Alabama. Yes my dad and granddad were racists, but I wasn't. I told them I had a sister, nearly six years older than me, who was married, with two little girls. I told the boys they had a black father, too, which meant my family had no contact with them, either.

It was Valerie who first said how sad for parents not to want to know their own grandchildren.

After dinner, the boys were off doing some sort of video game, and I sensed Vanessa's parents had something on their mind.

"Ethan, I want to ask something, and please tell me if I'm out of line," Thomas said.

"Go ahead."

"Just to let you know, I'm a law professor at Seattle U's law school. I happen to know the kid who was driving the car that hit you is the grandson of one of the country's largest timber growers."

"Please, Mr. Haynes, let me interrupt, and let you know that I'm not a vengeful person."

"I realize that, Ethan, but his recklessness has cost you your livelihood. And his family has made no attempt at righting this horrible wrong."

While this conversation was going on, Vanessa was holding both my hands. I asked what he was suggesting, and he told me he would schedule a meeting, just to get some feel of how they truly felt.

I agreed, and told them to let me know, and I would make the meeting.

Her parents went home, and V put her boys to bed. When she returned to her living room, I was just starting to get my phone out to call for a ride home, when she told it was OK for me to stay the night.

"What will your boys say, when they find me here, in the morning?"

Grinning, she told me they said it would be great if I was there for breakfast.

We just sat in her living room, with me laying my head in her lap as she ran her fingers through my way too long brown hair. We talked for another hour or so, when I moved my hand to the bottom of the tee shirt she was wearing, moving upwards touching her large breast. My finger grazed her nipple, causing it to rise, instantly.

I sat up, taking her shirt off, and started kissing each nipple. They both responded just as I had hoped.

"Let's continue this in my bedroom, Ethan," she gasped.

Walking into her bedroom, our clothes came off, as we fell onto her bed. As we started kissing, even deeper, my arms went around her, and my hands ran up and down her back. I felt something like scars on her back that stopped her in her tracks.

"Oh, shit, Ethan, I think we need to talk about those scars."

Wow, did that spoil the mood.

She threw on a shirt, turned on a lamp, and got very quiet. I could see the tears in both her eyes.

"Yes, these are from Kenyon, who, in a fit of drug induce rage, hit me with a belt, over three years ago. This, along with him fathering at least two other children, hastened our divorce. When the hospital's pictures of my wounds were shown in court, I got everything I asked for. I did relent and allow him visitation rights, as he does truly care for our boys."

"What did his team, or the league do about those scars?" I asked.

"Not a damned thing."

We just held onto each other, when she softly said, "sorry for killing the mood."

"Don't worry, the mood will return, if you'll allow it."

We finally laid our heads down, and with her head in the crook of my arm, we both fell asleep. At least she did, I just couldn't get the vision of those welts out of my head.

Sometime during the night, I felt her body right behind me, sensing her soft breasts against my back. I felt her hand sliding up and down the front of my body, gently touching my belly. And lower. My cock responded, immediately.

"Are you sure, V?"

Stroke, stroke.

"Uh huh."

I turned slowly, kissing her lips, gently pushing my tongue inside her warm mouth. Hers did the same in mine.