Lean On Me #Wattys2016

Part 11

***Mature audience only

Mateo

I peel the medical tape from my skin, allowing the bandage to fall away. My knee still looks swollen even though I've rested it for the rest of the day. The wound is still oozing a little, but it was only a small price to pay for getting to be with Ashlyn again. I toss the mess into the small trashcan in the corner and quickly pull the other bandage off my other knee, tossing it as well.

It was good to hear from Lucas today, a fellow Marine and good friend of mine. I've been avoiding his call and I knew if I didn't answer it after Ashlyn left, he'd come all the way here to make sure I'm still breathing. It took a few minutes for the conversation to feel relaxed, but we didn't give up. I convinced him I was recovering well and that there was no need to bring his new bride out here or even worse, leave her behind to spend any of his leave here with me. Just because I'm miserable, doesn't mean he should be too.

I run my hand beneath the water to check the temperature and then pull off the rest of my clothing. The fall this evening was a setback, but I'm determined to push through it and keep on track. Motivation is hard when you're alone and looking at a goal that seems impossible no matter how hard you try. Somehow, meeting Ashlyn has revived the dying drive to put effort into walking normal again.

I step into the hot stream of water, letting the heat relax my tired muscles. I used to have to run long distances and through crazy terrain in order to get my muscles to protest. Now that I've been injured, it barely takes anything to make every part of me ache as if I haven't walked in years. Even my shoulders are tense. I move my head so the water runs along my neck and cascades down my back.

Closing my eyes, I picture Ashlyn. Her tight body encased in all that clingy material. It doesn't take much to remember what she looked like and the way she'd smelled like apples and sunscreen. I can see her running towards me, her dark hair pulled off her face and her cheeks pink from the exercise. I feel my dick waking up, growing interested in the images of her. Getting hard is something I used to take for granted, but now with the pain medication and the antidepressants the doctors insisted I take, it's a rare event. Well, that is unless I'm with her or thinking about her.

I keep my eyes closed, bringing up the image of her kneeling at my feet. The hot water has made my tired body comfortable again and I practically sigh with the relief as I take myself in the palm of my hand and stroke. It's been too long. I can see her lips perfectly, the way her tongue had slipped out and wet her lower lip as she worked on my knee. The blood pounds in my ears, as I grow even more rigid with the erotic image. I imagine sliding along those perfect lips, dipping inside to the heat behind them.

"Fuck," I curse harshly, increasing the speed as I fight to feel the pleasure I know I'm needed. Would she take me deep? Would she grip me with her hand to guide my length inside her mouth? My hips push forward and I feel the familiar tightening of my orgasm building. Finally. I tip my head back, letting the hot water hit my chest and pour down my skin.

My world begins to blur around the edges, my skin breaking out in tiny bumps of excited pleasure and all I can think about is getting there. My movement is unpracticed, desperate as I work towards the release that's been frustratingly allusive for months. I can picture her perfect tits and they way they would be more than a handful. My hand tightens around my dick as I imagine filling my palms with them as she lowers herself onto me. Now I'm so close I can't think straight and the steam of the shower mixed with the building pleasure makes my head light. I'm almost there.

I brace myself with my free hand against the tile, but keep my eyes closed so it's her I see instead. It's so close. I know how her hands feel on my skin and the way the air sounds as it escapes her lips when she's working hard. Up and down, up and down. My movement is getting rough, my skin sensitive and tingling with every pull. It's finally going to happen. I'm finally going to get to feel lost in the waves of an orgasm and in the satisfaction that will surely follow.

I shift my weight from my good leg to my injured one in the daze of primal need and realize immediately it's a terrible mistake. The pain shoots sharp and hot from my swollen knee like a burning dagger into my thigh. It takes my breath away. Both hands move out now, bracing my body against the dizziness and nausea brought on at lightning speed. "FUCK!" I hope on my good leg, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." I knew I aggravated the injury with the fall, but maybe it's worse than I thought. All I can think about is making the pain stop.

I'm out of the shower and dripping puddles of water across the floor as I limp to my dresser and grab my pain meds. Fuck what the label says, fuck what the pharmacist recommends, and fuck whatever restraint I've had in not swallowing handfuls of these pills before. I grab three and throw them in my mouth, biting one so it's released into my blood more quickly. I hold myself up against the dresser and wait, praying the pain will subside.

When it finally stops raging at me, I can see the purple bruising beneath the torn skin of my knee. I run my hand through my still dripping wet hair and limp over to my bed. I won't make it back into the bathroom and I can't stand up long enough to dry off. Looks like I'm going to bed tired, wet, in pain, and still unsatisfied. Fuck my life. I don't bother to turn on TV or even find my phone. I lay in the darkness wondering how much longer I can live like this. 

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