Lean On Me #Wattys2016

Part 6

Mateo

I'm up and ready to do something new today. Yesterday I went to therapy ready to get an hour of mental sparring with the girl I can't get out of my head. Instead I found out that she wouldn't be my therapist. That's disappointing in the sense that I've seen her work with other patients and I know she's more of a ball buster than Jane. I've been thinking that maybe I need that. On the other hand, at least my dirty thoughts about her won't cross the patient/therapist boundary. I can imagine bending her over any surface I want without feeling like a complete pervert.

Things are also looking up a little in the sexual release area. The thoughts about Ashlyn flooding my head have seemed to wake up my dick again. It went from declining every invite to join the party to rising to the occasion at the drop of a hat when I think of her or watch her bending over to change the weight on a machine or twist her hair up as she looks over her files. Oh yea, I'm filling up my brain with many images of her hot body and biting lips that can deliver a sarcastic comment better than any other girl I've met.

I tie my first running shoe in no time flat. It's the second one that takes some maneuvering. The bullets to my femur alone would have severely limited my movement given the way they tore through muscle and ripped the connective tissue separating muscle from bone. Only those bullets had nothing on the one that shattered my kneecap. I'm now the proud owner of a titanium kneecap, and the scar tissue and trauma of the extensive clean up the surgeon had to perform. That really fucked me up.

I wince but push through, bending my leg so that I can reach the laces. My forehead is covered in sweat and I'm chewing Vicodin like it's cereal just minutes before I need to be down the front steps to meet up with Ashlyn. It's time to make a bigger effort at getting my life back. I guess I didn't see the rush to do so until there was a girl that got me thinking about the benefits of being able to move the way I used to. And thinking about Ashlyn naked makes me want to move that way again.

I start the slow hobble down the front steps and barely have a chance to rest before she's at the bottom, a smile on her face. "You meant you'd see me here?" She asks as she pulls her ear buds from her ears and slows to a stop in front of me.

"I've been thinking about it and you're right. I need to do more if I want my movement back." She's already smiling. Her outfit today is going to be torture, but at least it made that trip down the stairs totally worth it. She has on a very tight tank top, the one with a built in sports bra that squishes her tits together and pushes them up to the top rim in the most enticing cleavage I've seen in a long time. Her tight yoga pants cling to her shapely legs and I have the urge to reach out and squeeze her thighs and pull them around me. Fuck. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. I look out at the street to distract myself.

"Great. Let's get started. We can jog really slowly. We don't need to extend our legs or put too much pressure on that new knee. Let's just keep our movements tight and focused. No need to pound." She looks me over and her attention along with all this talk about tightness and pounding I'm pretty sure my dick is about to show her just want kind of pounding he'd like to participate in.

She points up the street and then we're off. It's so much slower than I've ever run before, but it's the first time I've ran since the trauma and it feels good, like progress. She hasn't put her music back in her ears so the only sound between the two of us is our breathing. At first it was awkward, but after a few minutes I'm so in tuned to her inhales and soft breathy exhales I can practically feel them in my groin. It's slow torture. The pain is achy-- an annoying throb that reminds me I'm not a full man. I couldn't run after anyone that tried to grab her. I couldn't even win a fight right now if she needed me too. It's a very drastic change from who I used to be. I'm twenty-two years old and I move like an eighty-year old man. It's embarrassing.