Disabled Gentleman

handicapI was in my early twenties when I met André. I was desperate to have a relationship and since this was LONG before the Internet came along, I bought the paper and looked at the classified ads. His ad caught my attention. Letters were exchanged, phone calls were made and then we met. From the moment I saw his ad in the paper until we sat across from each other took no more than two weeks. He moved really quickly and said all the right things. He was a gentleman, always neatly dressed and full of jokes and compliments. Maybe best of all – he made me feel good about myself and he made me feel wanted.

Even before we met I knew that he was handicapped. He had polio as a child, which had affected his legs. He could walk, but with difficulty and it was obvious that there was something ‘wrong’ with his legs. I don’t like the term ‘something wrong’ but that’s the popular way to say these things, I guess. There was nothing ‘wrong’ with his legs. He was handicapped due to an illness. That’s it. The same way Master T is handicapped due to an amputated leg. But, back to the story. André had a car and he drove himself wherever he wanted to be. Due to his handicap, the car had been equipped with hand controls. The break and the gas could be operated from the steering wheel, which was really cool. The first couple of times we saw each other, he was behind the wheel, but then he admitted that it exhausted him and he asked me to drive. The car still had it’s normal controls, so I didn’t have to use the adjustments, even though it was cool to try them out.

We spent as much time together as we could and not far into the relationship, he visited me at my home and soon after I was invited to go to his. His home was incredibly neat and it was clear that at some stage a woman had a hand in it. I was quite sure either his mom or his sister had helped him to make it a nice and cozy home, but this never was a conscious thought on my side. (I tend to take things at face value.) I became a frequent visitor at his place. He was the one who filmed me once (just a normal ‘home movie’ – no nakedness) and where for the first time I listened to my own voice. It was (and probably still is) so much different from how I hear myself. The day he made that home movie, we ended up in the bedroom, together on bed. We kissed and hugged and touch each other and before long we were both naked.

I noticed how much precum leaked from his cock. It really oozed out and long strands of it stuck to the bedding or on my hand as I touched him. It didn’t gross me out, but I didn’t particularly like it either. He wanted me to suck him, but I only did after I made sure that I wiped away most of the precum with my hand. In my naivety I thought this was connected to his handicap. Only later in life, and actually again not so long ago, I learned that some men excrete more precum than others. You know, I cannot remember the sex we had, but I am pretty sure we had penetrative sex.

André was attentive, caring, a gentleman. He treated me like a lady, frequently took me out for dinner and we took trips to the seaside, the zoo and other places people liked to go to where I lived back then. We really had a fabulous time and he seemed as dedicated to me as I felt towards him.

Then, about three, maybe four months into our relationship, he visited me one night with a worried expression on his face. It was obviously that something was wrong and he confirmed it when he said that he needed to talk to me. We talked. And… that was the last time I ever saw him or heard from him. That was my choice, not his.

If he’d had a hat, he would’ve held it in his hand and would’ve looked like someone who had to confess something really bad. Which he had. He told me that he loved me and he told me that he really wanted to continue the relationship with me. So far, so good, but there was a ‘but’ in his words. He continued to tell me that his wife was returning from Europe earlier than planned. She had been visiting with family for six months, but had decided to cut it short, as she missed him too much and wanted to be home.

I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. At that moment I did neither. I just told him it was over, that I didn’t want to be a married man’s mistress. Because that is what he proposed. His wife was never to know about us. It took me some time before I could laugh about how naive I was. The house. The touch of a woman everywhere. But I laughed even more at myself: I believed that since he was handicapped, he was honest too. That experience taught me that handicapped people are just people too. They have feelings and thoughts the same way ‘normal’ (what is normal??) people do. The fact that they are handicapped doesn’t make them saints and the fact that this one handicapped man committed adultery doesn’t make all handicapped men dishonest.

It was an interesting couple of months, my relationship with André and had he been an honest man and not married, who knows how long we might have been together. But, I am much happier now than I ever was, with the handicapped man who I’m married to and who isn’t defined by his handicap. He’s a kind, strict man, an intelligent being, a man I love with all my heart and will continue to love until death do us part. He’s my hero, my soul mate, my best friend, my husband, my Owner… and being disabled is just a very tiny part of what makes him Master T.

© Rebel’s Notes

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This post has been chosen as one of the top 3 for the July 2015 edition of Elust.