The Accident-Prone Girlfriend By Dane Bainbridge

Chapter 1

Broken bones. That’s plural you’ll notice, not singular, as in many. Two broken arms and two broken legs. Now that’s lucky! It could have been worse, no scratch that, it could have been better. But now I lie here and wait –waiting to find out what it all means. You see she taught me a thing or two, but can you teach humility or forgiveness? I know one thing I learned: that immobility isn’t necessarily an impediment, so much as an opportunity. It’s all a matter of what you do with it. There’s so much I didn’t know about myself. Yet, with all my fancy degrees and she just a high school dropout, she taught me a thing or two. Now, comes the final lesson, “crunch time,” so to speak. Will she be there? Will I listen to what she has to say? Time will tell. So, I lie here and wait.

I met her, in of all unlikely places in one of those giant, warehouse-type, box stores, that sells everything. In fact, that was their corporate motto, “Mega-Price Busters: We sell everything.” With a ceiling that reaches half-way to the sky, and a floor that was easier driven instead of walked, they certainly had the room for everything. At Mega-Price Busters one could find: cleaning supplies, computers, clothing, prescription drugs, appliances, camping equipment, dry goods, office supplies and liquor. And that was just the first aisle. So, if they sold everything, I felt compelled to ask the flustered and overworked woman stocking the cleaning solvent aisle, “I am looking for a soul. Would you please tell me where you sell souls?”

Nonchalantly, without bothering to even gaze in my direction, she said, “Sole? You can find sole over in the frozen foods section, in-between the frozen salmon and the frozen trout.” Ask a smart-ass question, receive a smart-ass answer. A good-humored person knows when they’ve been bested, and a busy person knows when to move on.

“Very good. That should fulfill a lifelong need. Now, can you tell me where I might find red licorice vines? Those ones you sell in the big, plastic barrels.”

“Aisle 42, in-between the M & M’s and the jell candies. You can’t miss it, but if you do, make sure to grab one of the maps.”

“Thank you, you’ve been most kind. You guys really do put the customer first.” The walk from aisle 3 to aisle 42, took a little over twenty minutes. This trip to the box store had taken a big chunk out of my day, but there are only so many places that sell red vines in barrels of 500. And what kind of C.E.O would I be, if I didn’t take the time to buy my employees their weekly supply of red vines?

My journey to aisle 42, wasn’t a complete waste of time. I received a call on my cell phone, from my Chief Project Manager, Rich. He likes to stay in contact with me, and it isn’t unusual to receive 20-30 calls a day from him. I am a semi-successful entrepreneur and I learned when you are developing a new product, you are only going to be as successful as your Chief Project Manager will allow you. This particular project, if we managed to get it off the ground, would revolutionize the world of personal communication, supplanting all other personal communication devices and bring the world together in one giant-ass group hug.

“Shane, the chips deal with Pyongyang just went ‘kerblewie’! We’ll need to spend more to get the translation chips from somewhere else.”

“Rich, how could the deal collapse? They were practically begging us to work with them.”

Aisle 42, at last. There were the barrels of red vines, stacked tall and wide. I just needed to move the railed ladder out of the way. It was one of those big, wide operations that looked like a steel staircase on wheels.

“The government wouldn’t allow it.”

Let’s see, seven barrels high, twelve barrels wide and from what I could see five barrels deep. That’s 420 barrels or 210,000 vines. In my spare time, of which I have very little, I like to do totally irrelevant math equations.

“What do you mean the government wouldn’t allow it? The North Koreans love us man. They probably would have paid for our shipping costs.”

“Not the North Korean government, the U.S. government. Chips are on the embargo list. Should I call Kyoto?”

If I buy 420 barrels, that will last 420 weeks or eight years and one month. Then I wouldn’t have to make any more trips to the store—IF they are vacuum-sealed. As I was contemplating that move, I noticed a young woman had moved the stair-ladder closer to me. Wait a minute, I thought. I haven’t decided how many barrels of red vines I am going to buy. Now I have to work around this ladder.

“Don’t call Kyoto! Whatever you do, don’t call Kyoto, or we’ll limit ourselves to the upscale market.”

“How about Taipei?”

Now she was climbing up to the top of the ladder. Her weight engaged the brake pads, so there was no moving the ladder while she was on it. I gazed up at her. She was about five feet directly above me, and wearing a denim skirt. Not only that, she was wearing cotton panties with little daises along the edges and an emblem that read, “Cowgirl Up!” in big cursive letters. God, I hate box stores. The riff-raff you have to put up with. Slender though.

“Excuse me Miss, I wasn’t finished with my selection down here.”

“Did you just call me ‘Miss’?”

“Not you Rich.”

“I need black vines. I’ve been craving black vines all week,” she said.

“I am sure there are some black vines down here.”

“No, they only keep the red vines on the floor. Black vines are on the top rack. Normally, you have to get an employee to bring them down for you,” she said as she climbed up on the handrails, teetering on the very top edge of the stair-ladder, her denim skirt swaying back and forth and her daisy panties wobbling erratically. Her lily white legs looked like they could use some more time in the sun.

“Careful there!” I didn’t want her to fall on me. “Why don’t we get someone with a forklift or something?” The barrel of black vines was nearly within the grasp of her outstretched fingers, as she stood on the tips of her toes of her dirtied white sneakers.

“Taipei Shane! Should I call Taipei?”

“I am looking up a girl’s skirt right now, Rich,” I whispered into my cell.

“Really?” said Rich, sounding surprised. “Is she a looker?”

“I hadn’t really noticed before, but from this angle, I would say she’s got great legs for a working-class girl. I wouldn’t complain too loudly if she fell on top of me.”

“I can hear you!” she said in an offended tone. “I’m not gonna fall. I’ve done this a hundred times and I’ve practically got…” At that moment, the whole contraption came crashing down on its side, and in the next moment she came flying down with it.

“Craaack!” It was a sound that set my teeth on edge. She fell about twelve feet onto the cement floor, landing smack on her right thigh. I instantly flashed back to that time in high school when I did an arms first dive into second base, trying to steal against Robbie Laughlin, in a game we had no hope of winning. I remember the crack of my ulna and the excruciating pain that caused.

But all she said was, “Ow.” As if it was a paper cut or mosquito bite.

“Ohmygod, the pain must be excruciating! Your leg is twisted. Are you okay?”

For the first time, I got a good look at her face. Not bad. She didn’t put a lot of effort into it. No lipstick or any other make-up that I could see. Hazel eyes, nice but not a great complexion, some freckles, good lips, certainly not sexy lips, and big piles of light brown hair. Her hairdo could sure use an update.

“Hmm, feels like it’s broken,” she said. “The way it’s twisted. That would be my guess. The femur I’m sure.”

“I can’t believe how calm you are. You should be screaming and crying in pain.”

‘Everything okay there?” Rich said, from the other side of the cell phone. “Do you want me to do anything?”

“Could you do me a big favor and call 911?” she said, placing her right hand on my forearm. A crowd was starting to gather.

“Rich,” I said into the cell phone, “think central Asia; Katmandu or Baluchistan. I know we have friendlies somewhere. I’ll call you back.” I disconnected and dialed 911.

“You’ve got insurance, right?”

“No.”

“Family or friends to take care of you?”

“This is 911.”

She was still holding my forearm. I grasped her wrist, still feeling the enormous pain that she didn’t seem to be feeling.

“No, I just moved here recently. Decided to strike out on my own.”

“Yes, 911. I have a young woman here who fell off of a ladder. She’s hurt and I think she might have broken something.”

“Where are you at?,” the 911 operator said.

“Mega-Price Busters at the Valley Village Mall.”

“We’ll send an ambulance right away. Whatever you do, don’t move her!”

“Thanks.” I turned to the young woman. “They are on the way.” She nodded her head and murmured thanks. “Boy, you must be in a world of pain right now.”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“Jeez, I can’t imagine. I take it, this isn’t your first fracture?”

“Nowhere near it. You could kinda say I’m a pro.”

I looked at her left arm. She had in her arm, and had never let go of, an unblemished barrel of black licorice vines.

“Wow, you are a pro!”

Chapter 2

I got so much done in the waiting room of the county hospital. With my laptop I drafted our first marketing plan. I tackled and fixed several programming problems. I nailed down deals with several suppliers on my cell. I outsourced our trickiest manufacturing headaches, and I located a new source for our translation chips in Baluchistan. It was such a productive day, I considered changing my home office into a hospital waiting room. The lack of distraction is utterly incredible.

Don’t ask me how many hours lapsed while I was in the waiting room. I was in the middle of fixing our production schedule, when a tall man in a white lab coat introduced himself.

“I’m Dr. Wilcott. I am the physician attending Jenna Dean.”

Bad timing. But I decided to hear what he had to say. I closed the laptop, shook his hand and said, “Nice to meet you Dr. Wilcott. Who’s Jenna Dean?”

“The girl you brought in with the broken leg.” Dr. Wilcott scratched his chin and studied me for several seconds. “I am going to assume you are not her husband or boyfriend.”

“That’s right. The name is Shane Gilchrist.”

“Then what is your relationship to Ms. Dean?”

“Innocent bystander I guess, nearly a victim. She fell only a few inches away from me.”

“I see. Then why did you decide to follow her down here?”

Good question. Why did I? “Well, I wanted to make sure she was okay. And I guess to help her if she needed it. Um, why do you ask?”

“Well, all of her friends and family are miles away in Oklahoma. She really doesn’t have anyone to help her out. And maybe it would lift her spirits if she did.”

Whoa. That sounded like a pretty big commitment for a complete stranger. “Hmm. I don’t know. We really just met at the scene of the accident. I…”

The doctor cut me off. “To answer your second concern, she’ll be okay. She has a transverse fracture of her right femur.”

“Ouch! Is that serious?”

“It’s stable now. We had to do some minor surgery to align the bone. She’s having a cast applied now. We were going to apply a fiberglass cast, but she insisted on a plaster one.”

“Really? Is it a big cast?”

“Yes, it goes all the way from the base of the toes up to the top of her thigh. It was the best way to stabilize her fracture.”

“That must be quite a sight.”

“There is another reason I ask why you may be a friend. We had Ms. Dean’s records faxed over to us from Oklahoma. This isn’t her first accident.”

“Yes, she mentioned something about that.”

“As a matter of fact, the staff and I were rather taken aback by the size of her medical file. It reads a lot like Evil Knieval’s medical file.”

“How’s that?”

“She has a whole history of accidents: fractures, dislocations, wounds and sprains dating back to her childhood. Mostly, it’s fractures: broken arms, broken legs, busted hands and feet, cracked ribs, a broken jaw. She broke a bone in her neck once, and was laid up in traction for over 4 months.”

I drew my own conclusions. “So, is there a history of abuse in the family?”

“None whatsoever. She had only the nicest things to say about her parents, and them about her.”

“Still, they all could have been hiding something.”

“Yes, I considered that too.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “I really shouldn’t be sharing this, but I have a reason to believe it’s psychological.”

“She’s intentionally getting into accidents? But why?”

“My guess is, she likes it. Some people have a high threshold for pain. Jenna Dean has an exceptionally high threshold. And, you may have heard about this, there are some people who actually enjoy pain. If you saw the look on her face while we were resetting her bone, you’d come to believe she was one of those people.”

“That’s really weird.” I was so glad that she wasn’t my problem. The girl sounded like a walking catastrophe.

“The reason I bring all of this up is that I think she could really use someone to keep an eye on her for the next few weeks. If she is sitting home alone, well, she may get depressed and decide to have another accident.”

Now I saw where this was headed. “So, you want me to take care of her for a couple weeks?”

“More like two months. For the term that her leg is in the cast.”

“Hey, I am very, very busy. I don’t have time to…”

“Just think about it. Oh, that and one more thing.” He handed me some folded sheets of paper. “Perhaps you could help her out with this.” Dr. Wilcott got up and turned to leave. “She could really use a friend right now, Shane. Of course, if you have a wife or girlfriend I am sure she would understand.”

“I don’t. Who has time for relationships?” But the doctor didn’t hear me, he was already out of speaking distance. I took a look at the papers. It was her medical bill. Holy cow! For that amount of money, you could put a down payment on a nice car. I looked for the nearest exit. I was thinking this would be a great time to make a dash for it. But then I saw something that totally stopped me in my tracks.

“Hello tiger.” It was Jenna Dean. She was on aluminum crutches. Her right leg was in a full plaster cast right down to the toes. It was set at a very slight angle at the knee. They had cut a slit into her denim skirt. I could tell the cast went far up her thigh, but could not see where it ended. Also, they had tied her shirt into a knot on the side, probably to access her leg more easily. It exposed her bare stomach which was remarkably flat and toned. She had this incredible half-smile, half-smirk on her face that belied some sort of subtle sophistication. This was not the same girl who earlier in the day risked her neck for black vines.”

“T-tiger?” I was stuttering. That was a bad sign.

She hobbled over to my seat in the waiting room, sat down on the seat to my left, placed her crutches to my right side and plopped her big casted leg on my lap. “Sorry Honey, you never told me your name.”

“Shane.” My heart was starting to palpitate and beads of sweat were beginning to form on the side of my forehead. “I understand that you’re Jenna Dean.”

“That’s right Honey.” I couldn’t take my eyes of her wriggling toes. “It’s okay. You can touch my cast if you like.”

What’s the big deal? I know what a cast feels like. I know what it feels like from the inside. It’s horrible; itchy and constraining. But for some reason… “Wow. It has a really great feel. It’s still kind of moist.”

“It hasn’t dried yet. Didn’t they do a great job of casting?”

“Yes, remarkable. You can really see the curves of your leg through it.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. Isn’t there something incredibly attractive about a girl with her leg in a long plaster cast?”

“Very attractive.” Oh hell! Why did I say that? I was being seduced. I was falling for the most stupid seduction lines you’ve ever heard. By some down on her luck, Okie girl with a fascination for breaking her own body. She must be some kind of crazy, gold-digger looking for a sugar-daddy to keep her in casts and bandages for the rest of her life. Hey, I got a life. I don’t have time for a girl with a plaster cast fetish! “So, you have a way of getting home?”

“Can’t say I do Sugar. My car is back at the store parking lot. The busses have stopped running at this hour, and I don’t have enough money for cab fare. I was hoping you brought your car, assuming you have one.”

Oh those toes! Those beautiful, sexy, wiggling toes were hypnotizing me, impairing my judgment. There is no other explanation for what I said next.

“Sure, the Boxster is in the garage.” What the hell was I thinking? I don’t have time for this. Our roll-out date is in three weeks. These are going to be the busiest three weeks of my life. Those god-damned toes!

Jenna Dean stood up and steadied herself using the crutches. She had some kind of rubber heal on the bottom of her cast and it made her right leg uneven with her left leg.

“I’m afraid I am a little out of practice with crutches Pumpkin. Can you put your hand on my hip and keep me steady until we get to your car?”

“Oh, absolutely.” What else could I say? I put the laptop away. I turned off the cell phone and put my arm around her hip. And damned if she didn’t have the nicest hips and ass you’ve ever seen on a girl. Those god-damned toes. That god-damned leg cast.

Chapter 3

“It’s a sports car?”

“Baby, it’s a Boxster. Calling it a sports car is like calling Michaelangelo a decent painter.” The black Boxster was my pride and joy. It was a gift I gave to myself after the successful completion of our last project. Funny, I never gave much thought to having passengers at the time that I bought it.

“Well, it’s a two-seater,” she said. ‘The only way you are going to get you, me and this leg cast into there is if I put my leg up on your lap.”

“Oh sure, I suppose that will work. Here, take my coat. If you fold it up you can prop your back against the passenger door. Just be careful not to lean too hard against the window.”

“I’ll be careful. You know me. I’m the careful type.”

“Er, yeah.” She had to be kidding.

I had to help her into the car through the driver’s side. They just don’t build Boxster’s to accommodate long leg casts. Once she was propped in the passenger seat facing the driver’s window instead of the windshield, I scooted in underneath her. Gently holding up her casted leg, I scooched into the driver’s seat and put her leg down on my lap. I discovered that her large cast was now blocking my access to the stick-shift.

“If I could just move you back a tad more?”

“Not a problem honey.” She folded her left leg underneath her right leg. Her toes and the heel of her cast were poking me in the groin. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,”

I motored out of the garage and onto the highway.

“So what part of town do you live in?” I asked.

“Downtown, at 12th and Oak.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to find.” Whew, bad part of town. So, I’ll just drop her off and scurry back home. Then, I can get caught up on some more work back at the condo.

She started wiggling her toes in my crotch. Feeling her way around my scrotum with her big toe. “Tell me about yourself. I feel like we are best friends, yet I hardly know you,” she said.

I can’t tell you how much I hate that question, especially when it’s not related to business. Because when it’s business, at least I can wing it, and talk only about the professional parts. I mean who really cares about the personal parts. “Hmm, well, I was born in this town. And both of my parents were born here. I studied computer systems at U.C.L.A, and did my M.B.A. at Stanford. Then, I moved back here and started my own business with borrowed money (borrowed from my parents that is). That’s what I do now. Run my own company.” That line usually gets the women very excited.

“Right.”

“Excuse me?”

“Right at Kentucky Street. Quick or you’ll miss it.”

I made a sharp right at Kentucky. Good handling on the Boxster. Otherwise, we would have ended up in the middle of the corner drugstore.

“I mean, tell me something about yourself. Something personal.”

Ever so slowly, I could hear my fly unzipping, one tooth at a time. “Um,” I was so lost. “I have a pretty good video game collection and an amazing home theater system.”

“Left. Here at Union Road, make a left.” She was starting to slowly massage the shaft of my penis with her toes. It was a considerable talent. “I mean tell me something really personal, like what turns you on.”

The bulge in my pants was beginning to grow. She was working the edge of her cast in, alternating between hard plaster cast and soft toes. My heart started beating faster.

“Turn-ons, huh? Gee, I really just can’t think of any.” By now I was nearly panting, still traveling along the damp streets at a good clip. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself and maybe it will jog my memory.”

“Ok, I’ll tell you about myself. I was born in Tulsa. I finished 11th grade. That’s as far as I got. Make a right up ahead here. But that’s boring stuff. Ever since I fell off my bike when I was nine and broke my wrist, I’ve had a fascination with casts.”

“Really, I wouldn’t have guessed. It seems like such an odd fascination.” How she was able to work me like that and still carry on a conversation was beyond me. I paid a hooker once for a hand-job when I was too drunk to do anything else, but I never had a foot-job.

“I could tell you some really wonderful stories about motorcycles, and boys, and bad accidents, and cheerleader uniforms, and plaster casts, and boys and fast cars, and traction devices, and boys, and neck braces and drunken nights of reckless adventure and long, luxurious hospital stays and of course, boys. Turn right here and park in the alley. You won’t find anything on the street at this hour.”

“So this is your place?” Yikes, what a dump! Clothes hanging out to dry on the rain gutters and broken TV sets left to rot on the sidewalk. I zipped up and helped Jenna Dean out of the car. Fortunately, my pants were still dry. That could have been very embarrassing. She propped herself up on her crutches. “Which floor do you live on?”

“The fourth.” She used her right crutch to point it out. “That’s me, third door from the left.”

“Where’s the elevator?”

“No elevator Sweetheart. We gotta use the stairs.”

“Up four flights? Can you crutch that far?”

“Sugar, you’re not going to make me crutch up four flights of stairs are you?”

I had to think for a minute. I had a vision of myself carrying her up four flights of stairs with her leg cast banging against my ear and her crutches poking me in the thigh. Crap, I was getting the idea that I wouldn’t get any work done that night. “Um, would you like to stay at my place?”

“Only if you can fit the two of us.”

“My place has five bedrooms. I don’t think that will be any problem.”

“I only need one. Let’s go.”

This better be some amazing sex, because it was costing me time on my project.

“I’ll help you back into the car, but you’ve got to do that thing you were doing with your toes again.”

“And I was beginning to think you hadn’t noticed.”

Chapter 4

“Oh my god! It is so big!” she said.

“Five bedrooms. Also, three bathrooms, living room, family room, dining room, study, office and library. Did you want to see the home theater system?”

“Maybe later Honey.” She was looking out the wall-to-wall windows. It was a sparkling clear night and visibility was good for miles. “I think I can see my place from here.”

“Yeah, that would be downtown over there. Drinks?”

“Absolutely, I am parched.”

“I got a nice Sangiovese.”

“Whatever, I am not particular.”

“Just be careful with the glass and your crutches. It is so difficult to get wine stains out of plaster.” I fetched the bottle from the wine rack and poured two glasses.

“You sound like someone who knows,” she said.

“I had a cast once on my arm. Didn’t like it much.”

“That’s a shame. I don’t know how anyone could not like having a beautiful plaster cast on a part of their body.” Jenna Dean stretched out on the leather couch, her casted leg taking up most of the space. I sat on a chair facing her.

“I’ll tell you about it sometime. Here you go.” I handed her one of the glasses of wine. “A toast?”

She raised her glass.“To hungry hearts and broken bones. Bottoms up!”

“Interesting toast. Chin-chin.”

She tried to take the drink down all in one gulp. Inevitably, wine spilled over the sides of the glass and down her cheeks landing in large puddles on her t-shirt. Nothing like a girl with a drinking problem. Particularly, if it means she has to remove her shirt.

“Oh, I am such a klutz!”

“Well, at least you didn’t get any on your cast.”

“Yes, but I seemed to have gotten it all over my skirt.”

Oh yeah, she was good. That’s a practiced move and obviously she’d been practicing quite a lot in order to get both her shirt and her skirt, but not her cast.

“Well, you’re in luck. I may not have anything that fits you, but you can put on some of my pajamas while we put your clothes in the wash.”

“Do you mind if I change in your bedroom?”

“No, not at all. Just head down the hall. It’s the fourth door on the left.”

“Do you think you could help me? It’s kind of hard to change clothes when your leg is in a full length cast.” She’s definitely going to have to learn the arts of subtlety.

“Of course, let me get you some pj’s and I will show you the way.”

I watched her as she crutched into the bedroom. I never had this thought before, but at that moment I thought there was nothing more irresistible than a beautiful, young woman on crutches.

“Here, let me grab those.” I took her crutches and rested them against the wardrobe. She sat down on the king-sized bed with her casted leg outstretched.

“Oh, are these sheets satin?”

“No cotton flannel actually. I have satin sheets. I just don’t find them terribly comfortable. I could change them if you like?”

“Don’t be silly. Here, help me with my shirt.” She lifted her arms up above her head. With my face only inches away from hers, I couldn’t help but notice again that she wasn’t wearing any make-up, or perfume. It must have been a spontaneous trip out to the store. I pulled her shirt over her head. She was wearing a cheap, lavender-colored bra, probably from WalMart or some such store.

“I don’t mind if you look.”

“Oh, pardon me. It hadn’t occurred to me to be bashful.”

“I like you. You’re very forward,” she said caressing my earlobe with her thumb and forefinger. “Help me with my skirt.”

That was much trickier. I had to unbutton the skirt, then lift up her behind while I pulled the skirt away.

“You’re very good with your hands.”

“Thank you,” I said. “They’re programmer’s hands.” She was a picture of beauty as simplicity. Her soft, mousy, brown hair with her retro 80’s hairdo, cascaded long down around her shoulders. She had beautifully shaped and perfectly sized breasts, a flat tummy, and the daisy panties that outlined those incredible hips. ‘Cowgirl Up!’ How was I going to keep a straight face? “You sound like you had a pretty amazing life growing up. Tell me about some of the bones that you’ve broken.”

“See these hands?” She let me hold her hands in mine. “I can’t even remember all the metacarpals and phalanges I’ve broken. Both of these hands have been casted and bandaged every which way imaginable. “See these arms?” She wrapped both hands around the back of my neck. “The right wrist-two times. The left wrist-three times. Both ulnas, both radius bones, the right elbow, but not the left, and the left humerus, but not the right.” She pulled herself even closer to me. “And both shoulders.” She slowly removed her bra and pressed her fleshy breasts into my face. Then she whispered, “I’ve had a pink, fiberglass, right shoulder, spica that covered both of my breasts…for three months.” She breathed out slowly. “I had a baby-blue, fiberglass, left shoulder spica that covered both of my breasts…for four months.” She lowered my head so that my nose was poking into her sternum and both my cheeks pressed against her soft, fleshy breasts. “I’ve broken every one of my ribs. Some more times than others.” She ran my nose down to her right hip, so that my chin rested against the top of her cast. “I broke this hip trying to ride an old boyfriend’s Harley. I was in a fiberglass hip spica for six months.”

“What’s a hip spica?”

“It’s a cast that runs all the way from the base of your toes, all the way up your leg…” Here she ran my face across her panties. “Across both hips and down the other side to just above the knee. I adored that cast.”

“Anything else?”

“I dislocated the left hip and that put me in a wheelchair for 6 weeks. And of course, different bones in both legs numerous times. I could go on about my feet and toes, but perhaps another time.”

“And…” I was staring right at her panties, feeling her soft pubic hair underneath with my face.

“That,” she said, oh so seductively, “is the one place on my body that has never been casted. “But before you go there, I have an itch underneath my leg cast that I would like you to scratch…with your tongue.”

I obliged, and I was somehow able to get those ridiculous panties over her cast and off. That night she did some things with that leg cast that utterly amazed me. It was a life-affirming night of incredible sex, and I woke up the next morning feeling reborn.

Chapter 5

“Shane, what the fuck is going on! Your cell phone was switched to voicemail for the last 11 hours. Are you totally nuts?”

“No man, everything’s cool Rich.” I was spread out on the bed alone, wearing my favorite pjs and sniffing the Sangiovese in Jenna Dean’s t-shirt.

“We’ve got a pile of paperwork from Baluchistan. They’re making a lot of demands. Our supply chain is losing a link every day. Our marketing team’s ideas are as stale as week-old French bread. And our distributor is backing out on us. It’s all falling apart.”

“Chill, dude.” The smell of fresh plaster was still in the air. “Remember that girl that nearly fell on top of me?”

“The one with the nice legs?”

“Well, it’s one leg now.”

“You mean they had to amputate?”

“No, man. She broke one of her legs. Her right leg is in a long plaster cast.”

“How long?”

“Up to her hip”

“Very nice. Did you drop her off at her place?”

“No, I took her to my place. We had incredible, mind-blowing sex. Do you know what a practiced girl can do with a long, plaster leg cast?”

“No, not really, but does it take eleven hours to get it done?”

“This is for real. I’ve never met anyone like this before.”

“Could she just wait another three weeks until after the rollout of the E-Votch?”

That was our new product’s name. Silly isn’t it? But E-Watch sounded like those critters from Star Wars and all the other good names had been taken. “Well, she will be in that cast for two months. I suppose I could put her off for three weeks.” I was thinking about those magnificent foot-jobs and almost getting ready to cry.

“Yeah, I would say that’s a good idea Shane. If this E-Votch is as big as we think it will be, you’ll be able to buy a whole chorus line of girls with their legs in plaster casts.”

That was reasonable. Beautiful girls from Oklahoma fall off the truck every day, or the stair-ladder as the case would be. “Alright, Rich, here’s what I want you to do. Call Ted Jenks, he’s our legal, I’ll Blackberry his phone number. He’ll help you out with the paperwork. Then call Myrna Geltz, you’ll get her number too, she’s a supply chain genius. Fire Todd Steubin, he’s dragging the whole marketing team down, and hire that cute girl in reception. I’ve seen her doodling and it’s terrific. Have Patrick call me regarding distribution, he’s on heart medication and it’s making him paranoid. And we aren’t paying time-and-a-half for OT anymore, it will be double-time. We have got to get this thing in the stores by the published release date. Call me back in six hours with a full status report.”

“Wait, I’m still writing down the name of the supply chain gal.”

“Bye Rich!” I disconnected, and turned off my cell phone. I needed a few hours to sort things out and figure out how I could put my broken lover on ice for three weeks. Or just maybe, she was gone…

But never in my life did I see a more beautiful sight. She was in the kitchen, by the sink, her back to me. She was wearing my most expensive Malaysian silk pajamas, dark black with red cuffs on sleeves and pant legs. Or pant leg. She had cut off one whole side of the bottoms to accommodate her leg cast. Ordinarily, I would have been hysterical with rage, but I could not have envisioned anything sexier than her wearing my pajamas with the whole right side shredded away exposing her right leg all the way up to her hip so that the top of her cast was visible.

“You’re here?” I said.

“Oh Honey, you are definitely a keeper. The way you were caressing my cast and going at it all night. You’ve got the libido of a teenage bull.”

“Really? I mean the way that you used that cast. It was so erotic. You’ve had sex in a cast before, right?”

“Tiger, it’s the only way to do it. I really can’t get all that excited when I am, uh, you know…all healed.”

I was beginning to feel faint. The thought of the next two months being just like the night before was too much to comprehend. But, slowly I regained my composure. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes. Do you like pancakes?”

“I love pancakes.”

“Good, because it is one of the few things that I know how to make. I am working on the batter right now. You’ll have to show me how your stove works.”

“Oh, it’s simple. The stove is part of the island over here. You just lift up this panel and the dials are all underneath.” She was starting to beat the batter. I could see the bottom of her right butt cheek gently slapping the top of her cast. Aaahh, she had the perfect ass. “Would you mind if I…”

“Mind if you what?” She had turned her head slowly back to look at me.

“Mind if I cup my hand around your bottom. You have the softest, roundest ass that I have ever seen.”

“Only if you run your fingers down inside of my cast after you are done cupping my ass.”

It was like touching perfection. That wonderful feel of her gorgeous behind. Then I slipped my fingers into the top of her cast. First one finger, then two, then my whole hand, stroking the inside of her leg, up and down, while I kissed her on the neck and shoulder. But in the back of my mind there was something else going on. As I was pulling on her earlobe with my lips a word popped into my head: E-Votch!

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Later.”

“Something important” I said as I was slurping down her neck and my hand was working up and down into that crease between her pubis and her leg cast.

“Are you married?” she said, still in a state of ecstasy.

“No.”

“Separated?”

“No.”

“Divorced, diseased, gay, passive-aggressive?”

“No. I am a single, horny guy with no hang-ups, but…”

“Then it can wait.” My thumb was starting to rub around the lips of her pussy, and she started to moan, low, soft and almost cat-like. “Put me on top of the island.”

“What?”

“Put me on top of the island. I want you to make love to me on top of your kitchen island. Don’t worry it’s stain resistant.”

I hoisted her up onto the island, cast and all. She removed the top of the pajamas popping each and every button in the process. I ripped off the pajama bottoms, shredding them to pieces and exposing her beautiful naked body with the long white leg cast. She assisted me with removing the tops and bottoms of my pajamas. Then I got on top of her. Rubbing her breasts, soon I was inside of her. My left hand grasping her bottom and the top of her cast. Then I was cumming inside of her, pumping her furiously, working against her body and the hard surface of the kitchen island underneath. But suddenly, I lost my grip on her ass and my finger slipped into her anus.

“Oh!” It was just enough to startle her. She slid forward on the island and I followed her down, slipping off the edge of the counter. We both tumbled to the tiled floor. She hit shoulder first and I landed in a crumpled ball on top of her.

Then, we both heard that familiar sound, “Crack!”

“Ohmygod! Are you alright?” She hadn’t even said ‘ouch’ this time.

“I think it’s my scapula. It didn’t heal right the last time, so I am not surprised if it broke again. I can tell you, I am not letting them put me in a sling this time.”

“I am so sorry,” I said.

“Hey Honey, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. Go grab me some clothes and call 911.”

“You’re taking this so well. Aren’t you in incredible pain?”

“I’ve been through so much I hardly feel these things anymore.” She squeezed my left hand affectionately with her right hand, the one on her uninjured side. “Would you do me a big favor?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Would you ride in the ambulance to the hospital with me? I hate being alone.”

Chapter 6

Could there be anything more beguiling than a gorgeous, young woman wrapped up tight in a white, fiberglass, shoulder spica? The left arm propped up in the air at a perfect right angle defying the laws of gravity. The soft fingers and thumb popping up out of one end, as lonely little digits, mobile survivors wriggling against a sea of immobility. The other end beautifully tapered down to just below the rib cage, showcasing a flat, smooth tummy. The cast itself bringing the breasts together in an erotic, fiberglass corset, that perfects the female form. The third opening of the cast wrapping from underneath the armpit of the mobile arm up and around the injured shoulder, displaying the smooth lines of the neck and the warm, fleshy skin of the bare shoulder. Never has any high-end fashion designer ever put together such a seductive and enticing image as the gifted orthopedic technician who bandaged my lovely girlfriend in this stunning piece of apparel.

“What do you think?” Jenna Dean asked. She was propped up with several pillows in a hospital bed. Her left arm bent perpendicular to the rest of her body pointing to the wall in front of her. Her right hand resting neatly and comfortably on the bottom edge of her new cast just above her abdomen. Her casted right leg with the rubber heal nestling comfortably among more pillows. Her lonely naked left leg, cold with goose pimples sitting exposed upon the bed sheets. Other than her dark blue panties, borrowed from who knows where, and her two massive casts, she was stark naked.

“Very nice,” I said coolly. “What kind of cast do they call that?”

“This is a shoulder spica. It’s my favorite cast. Don’t you just love it?”

“It looks spectacular on you. I am sure that only a few girls could carry off wearing it as well as you do.”

“You have such a way with words. Stop before you make me flush.” She motioned for me to sit down next to her on the hospital bed. Which I did, after laying my bouquet of lilies on the nightstand. “To think that they wanted to put my arm in a stupid, ugly sling. I practically had to beg them for this shoulder spica. But don’t I look spectacular laid out this way?”

“Stunning. Is it wrong for me to be so attracted to you, when you are racked with so many injuries?”

“Heavens no! You’ve been nothing but caring and compassionate towards me, don’t even let the thought enter your mind. I’m the one who is prone to injury.”

“How long will you be in the hospital?”

“Just a brief two nights. But then, I was hoping, after I am discharged…” She ran her good hand across my chest, undoing one of the middle buttons on my shirt. Then she massaged my left nipple. “I was hoping I could stay at your place. You have so many pillows at your place. And I will probably need them all in my condition. I only have one pillow, and as you can see that just isn’t going to work for me.”

I was trying to picture her getting up to her apartment. Crutches would be of no use to her now. They would probably have to lower her down by helicopter.

“Of course you will stay at my place. You can rest your lovely fanny on my satin sheets.” I had an image of her casted body sprawled out on a sea of pillows in black satin pillow cases. “Don’t even entertain the thought of staying somewhere else.”

She took her hand out of my shirt and began to rub my thigh. “Take a close look at my fingers on my casted arm,” she said. “Don’t you think a cast really accentuates the beauty of the fingers and the toes?” I held my face close to the edge of her cast just below the knuckles of her left hand. I admired the ridges on the edge of the cast. She playfully stroked my nose with her index finger. I led her finger into my mouth and began sucking on it. With her good hand she undid the fly on my pants.

I was lost. Hopelessly lost. No control whatsoever. Seeing her splayed out on that hospital bed, enticing me to enjoy the pleasures of her bandaged body. To think that I had once hated casts so much, and now I could hardly stand to be away from my plastered Aphrodite for more than a few minutes.

There was a nice, upscale hotel down the block. I booked two nights there. I timed most of my visits to Jenna Dean’s room during visiting hours, but couldn’t resist coming a few extra times when visitor’s hours were over. I was there to hand feed her for all of her meals and to read to her from the supermarket tabloids because she hated the TV so much. In between, was plenty of outstanding sex and I never thought it could get so creative with a woman whose upper body and leg were encased in casts. She was practiced and able to use her limitations to her advantage.

Dr. Wilcott was more than a little annoyed to see Jenna Dean back in the hospital and so soon after her last incident. He suggested that we both go into therapy, with separate therapists. Physically, it wasn’t healthy behavior, and it seemed only a matter of time before Jenna Dean would do something really stupid with a serious or permanent outcome. He said there was a healthy way to enjoy this fetish without causing any injury and that a therapist could help us with that. I told him I would make an appointment. But was I really serious? He shook my hand and wished the both of us well. In fact, he said I just might be Jenna Dean’s last saving grace. Then he presented me with her bill. Or actually a whole accordion file folder of her bills. It seems that she had been piling up these hospital bills for quite a while. I knew if I got into a serious relationship with a woman it was going to be costly, but I had little idea how costly.

Chapter 7

That night I pulled out my laptop and ran the figures on all of Jenna Dean’s hospital bills. Numbers don’t really express the true cost of having a serious relationship with a woman. No, you have to understand it in more concrete terms. Having Jenna Dean as a girlfriend would be like purchasing a second condo, without actually living in the condo. Most of the bills were from the county hospital in Tulsa, and then they came in a nice neat line that stretched from Tulsa out to California. Jenna Dean had seen the inside of ERs in such exotic locales as Oklahoma City, Washburn, Tucumcari, Zuni Pueblo, Flagstaff, right up to Needles. She had steadily injured her way across half of the country. How serious was I about this troubled girl? If we took the big plunge, I would need to erase all her debts. There would simply be no way to attract investors for future projects with a nightmare credit record like hers attached to my list of liabilities. But then came that image of her again, on the black satin sheets, propped up on all those pillows with her two casts. Sometimes the image had her wearing even more casts. On occasion, I would picture her on my bed in a full body cast, and I would pine to be with her again. Even though we had only seen each other just a short while ago. I knew I was truly, deep into her now, no matter the cost. I would accept the change in lifestyle.

Chapter 8

“Tell me why you hated having your arm in a cast,” Jenna Dean said. We were relaxing on her hospital bed after enjoying the most outstanding sex using one of the most improbable of positions. I was delicately kissing her tummy and then the bottom edge of her shoulder spica, alternating between the two.

“I was seventeen years old, and a senior in high school. I was trying to ace all of my classes and working on my senior project, which I hoped to use as a spring board for my college application to U.S.C, U.C.L.A. or Cal. My project was a computer program that simplified personal finances for people who hate to balance their own checkbooks. I connected it to a rotating list of web sites based on financial solvency and future outlook. For example, investment outfits for people with too much savings or check cashing stores for people who were in over there heads in debt.”

“Hmmm,” said Jenna Dean disapprovingly. Either that or she was bored.

“Anyhow, one day in gym class we were playing softball. I hit a long line drive out to right field, and being the aggressive risk taker I am, decided to stretch a certain single into a dubious double.”

“You slid into second?”

“Head first, arms outstretched.”

“Were you safe?”

“No, out by a mile. Later, everyone wondered what the hell I was doing. But at the time, I really wanted that double. The second baseman was Robbie Laughlin, big, fat kid who never liked me. I swear he fell on top of me on purpose. He didn’t need to. Like I said, I was out by a mile. But he landed with all his weight on my forearm and caught me at a bad angle. I knew it was broken the minute he landed on top of me. But when I took a look at it…there is nothing more disheartening than seeing half your forearm in the 12 o’clock position and the other half at the 2 o’clock position.”

“Oh, you take all the romance out of it.”

“There was a lot of pain, excruciating pain.”

“Is that what you hated about it?”

“No, what I hated was they put my arm in a long arm cast and then made me wear a sling for six weeks.”

“But didn’t you get a lot of sympathy from the girls at school?”

“I did, but I didn’t want their sympathy. I had a project to finish, and do you know how difficult it is to type on a keyboard with your arm in a long arm cast?”

“Yes, I’ve done it with two long arm casts.”

“Hmm, well, it’s not easy. I had to work twice as long on my project because I was typing half as fast as usual. I couldn’t take time off to go to the Senior Prom. I was so mad. And I was so glad when they finally took that cast off six weeks later. It just made my life so difficult.”

“I never made it to my Senior Prom, but I was a bridesmaid at my best friend’s wedding. My left arm was in a long arm cast and both of my legs were in short leg casts from a water skiing accident. That didn’t stop me from dancing. All of the young men wanted to dance with me.”

“Well you certainly know how to make lemonade out of lemons. Why did you leave Oklahoma? It sounded like you were enjoying it there.”

“Oh, I became a burden to my parents. Plus, I was an adult.

It was time to move out. Guess I wanted to see the world and California sounded like an exciting place.”

“And is it?”

“It certainly has some wonderful hospitals!”

Chapter 9

When Jenna Dean was discharged from the hospital, they placed her in an electric wheelchair. She demanded a standard wheelchair, but somehow the hospital staff was able to convince her that she would only spin in circles with a standard wheelchair and one good arm. But once she got in the wheelchair, you’d think she had been born in it. She was so adept at maneuvering around tight corners and narrow corridors. She looked amazingly good in the jeans that I had hemmed for her to accommodate her leg cast and the buttoned sweater the tailor had also hemmed to accommodate her shoulder spica. She was quite the sight. I never expected the reception we got at the entrance to my condo complex when I unloaded her from the disability van.

We were greeted by the Gang of Four: Myrna, Patrick, Ted and of course, Rich. They had been arguing with each other, but when Jenna Dean and I approached they vented their spleens towards me.

“Shane,” demanded Rich, “where have you been the last two days? Don’t you ever answer your phone?”

“I’ve had things to take care of, as you can probably see,” I said rubbing Jenna Dean’s casted shoulder.

“What the hell happened to her?” said Myrna, “She looks like she lost a fight with a moving vehicle.”

“Never mind that,” said Rich. “Civil war broke out in Baluchistan. We’re sunk.”

“Forget Baluchistan,” said Ted. ‘If we don’t get to work on these patents, we might as well give away the E-Votches.

“Shane, you were going to give me a call,” said Patrick. “I can’t take this stress. We’ve got to straighten out our distribution problems.”

“Shane, get rid of these people,” said Jenna Dean. “They’re rude and they’re annoying me.”

“Okay, okay. First things first,” I said. “I am going to take Jenna Dean upstairs and get her settled in and then I am going to fix all of our problems. Just have a seat in the lobby and I will be right down.”

“Thanks Shane,” Rich said sarcastically. “We’re the people who are going to make you rich and you aren’t even going to invite us up after you abandoned us for two days?”

“No! Everybody, get out your blackberries and laptops. Meeting in the lobby in five minutes.”

Jenna Dean was steaming. I tried to pick her up and place her on the couch, but she wouldn’t even let me near her.

“Shane, get rid of them all. They are rude and obnoxious cretins. What kind of friends treat you like that?”

“They’re worse than friends. They’re my employees. Friends are easier to get rid of.”

“Well, you better find a way to get rid of them soon. I swear it is either them or me. I am not going to compete with anyone.”

“Oh, come on. Give me a break. We are two weeks away from roll-out. I will have everything under control by then and soon we’ll be swimming in money. The E-Votch is going to change everything.”

Jenna Dean’s hand on her casted arm was balled into a fist as were the toes on her casted foot. She pointed a finger from her free hand at me. “I don’t care how much money you are going to make or whether it changes the world or not. It’s them or me.”

Gutsy gal. For someone so deeply in debt, she sure took a cavalier attitude about where her money came from. “Five minutes, that’s all I ask for. I will have them out of here in five minutes. Then we can relax on the bed, have some wine, and I can give you a neck massage. You must feel knotted up from lying in bed for the last two days.”

Jenna Dean spun her wheelchair around so her back was facing me. She was looking out the window. “Don’t think I’m your prisoner here. I’ve got a broken shoulder and busted leg and it’s all your fault. You owe me your time and attention.”

“My fault?” Okay, I’ve seen this before. She is trying to draw me into an argument just to keep me distracted from my real problems. “Five minutes, Jenna Dean. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Don’t think I won’t leave you. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Of course, it wasn’t five minutes. It was thirteen hours. We had to move the meeting back to the office to pull up some figures. By the time I got back home, it was dawn, and Jenna Dean was nowhere to be found. I give her credit. She didn’t need my help or anyone else’s. How she got that body and her electric wheelchair up four flights of stairs is beyond any rational explanation.

Chapter 10

I’ve never had to do so much hand-holding in my whole life. You’d think I had hired a team of kindergarten students rather than a team of seasoned professionals who are used to working without direction. I was putting in sixteen and seventeen hour days and some days I didn’t even bother to go home. I just slept in the office. Slowly, but surely the project was coming together, and everything would get done in time for our advertised roll-out date. As long as I kept riding all of my employees, it looked like the E-Votch would be out on box-store shelves by the date we had bet our lives on.

Those were the most productive days of my life, but sinful, distracting thoughts kept entering my mind. At first it was nothing. The smell of Jenna Dean’s toes and casted foot was easily brushed aside. A casted arm dangling precariously in the air would appear in my spreadsheets. That smooth casted arch with stiff little bandages that runs up the side of the rib cage and into the delicate armpit. Long, long curvy legs wrapped tight in plaster that stops short of soft, fleshy hips and round, bouncy butt cheeks. These were the images that started to haunt my production reports, my legal briefings and my team meetings. But when two beautifully casted hands thrust my head into a cotton-candy dream of muff and plaster that read, “Cowgirl Up!” I totally and completely lost it.

“Cowgirl Up?” shouted Rich. “What the hell is wrong with you Shane? Are you secretly a cross-dresser?”

“What did I say?”

“Come on man! Pull yourself together. So you’re sleep-deprived. We’re all sleep-deprived! Tomorrow is D-day. All we need to do is pull an all-nighter tonight and we’ll be home free.”

“All-nighter?” I mumbled. Did I really drink eleven cups of coffee that morning? Or did I lose count after seven and just have a fixation on the number eleven? Can too much coffee and too little sleep make you hallucinate? There must be a scientific study. “I’m going to step out for some fresh air.”

Rich didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll join you. I still need your opinion on this new production strategy.”

“No, I need to visit my doctor. I’ll just be a minute.” You know things have really gotten bad when you are making up excuses to your subordinates.

“Okay, but don’t forget the investors meeting at 6:00. If you miss that we’re all up shit river without an outboard.”

I ran, no I bolted to my Boxster, because I could still hear people calling my name. I managed to run three red lights on my way downtown. Fortunately, the traffic cops had better things to do. I parked in the alley way just below the fire escape. I took those four flights of stairs two steps at a time.

I was totally winded, but still shaking in anticipation when I banged on her front door. I hadn’t even thought of what I was going to say. Not that it mattered. No one answered the door. I banged and pounded again, shouting her name. Still, there was no answer. So, I tried the door knob. It was open.

You’ve never seen such a small apartment. No bedrooms, just a studio. There was a small twin bed that looked like it doubled for a couch, a beat-up, vintage 70’s coffee table, a TV tray, but no TV. There were lots of magazines on the floor, supermarket tabloid stuff, and pinned to the walls were pictures of fashion models and soap opera actors cut out of the magazines. On each picture, Jenna Dean had taken a bottle of liquid paper and painted various types of casts on their bodies. But the largest object in her squat, little apartment was her empty wheelchair. I noticed the back window was wide open and the breeze was blowing the curtain around. My heart sank. I imagined her splattered body lying on the pavement below. But no hospital room fantasies this time.

“Jenna Dean!” I yelled. No answer. I ran to the window. “Jenna Dean!”

“Go away. You suck!” Disheartening, but I wasn’t going to let her go that easy.

“Jenna Dean!” She was lumbering down the fire escape with what looked like her clothing. I ran, pell-mell, down the fire escape after her. She was holding a basket of laundry.

“Jenna Dean, what are you doing with your laundry on the fire escape?”

“The laundry room is in the basement and I can’t fit in the stairwell with my arm in this shoulder spica.”

“You crazy thing, you’re going to kill yourself.” I couldn’t help noticing that there was something different about her. Like she was wearing something new. Then, I saw it. A bright, pink, fiberglass, short length cast on her left leg. I came up along side her. “You broke your other leg?”

“Yes, I broke my other leg!” There was anger in her voice. “Do you want to know how? I was alone and stewing in my apartment. I saw the empty wheelchair and I kicked it as hard as possible, because it reminded me of you. I ended up breaking a bone in my ankle. A new one, that I hadn’t broken before.”

My poor klutzy gal, she was running out of uncasted body parts. “I miss you Jenna Dean. I can’t live without you. I’ll do anything that you ask.”

“Stuff it Shane! Where were you two weeks ago?”

“I know. I know. I did some terrible things. I made promises I didn’t keep. Forgive me! You mean more to me than anything I have.” I ran past her, down the fire escape so I could turn to look up at her. “I love you Jenna Dean! I love you! Tell me what it is that you want. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“You haven’t been level with me. I don’t believe you.”

“Hold on. I’ll prove it to you.” I pulled out my cell phone and hit speed-dial #1. “Hello Rich?”

“Shane, where the fuck are you? The investors meeting starts in five minutes.”

“I’m downtown. I’m not going to make it to the investors meeting.”

“Are you nuts? They’re going to want to see the final figures. We’ve got obligations.”

“I know Rich. I am going to make a proposal.”

“Well, get your ass over here and make it.”

“No, a proposal to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Rich’s demeanor changed from hostile to inquisitive. “What is it?”

“I am going to make you Vice President. I will actually get to be a chief over another executive.”

“Sounds good. What’s my compensation?”

“Double your current salary and 20 percent of the gross profits.” I looked at Jenna Dean. I could see that she was growing impatient.

“Not bad. What will I do as V.P.?”

“You’ll run everything. You’ll do everything that I’ve been doing. I’ve lost my mind Rich. I am asking you to please take advantage of me in my deranged state.”

“Run everything? Well, shouldn’t I get more than 20 percent?”

“I’m giving you 20 percent of gross profits! That knocks me down to five! Everything else is committed to the investors. Check your stupid reports!”

“Okay, no need to get huffy. I accept the promotion. I’ll update you on how things are going by email.”

“Great! G-bye!” I put my cell phone away and turned to Jenna Dean. “There, now we’ll have time together. We can do whatever you want.”

“You asshole! You kept five percent! You’re still tied to that stupid project.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” I said. “I’ve seen your medical bills! If this is going to be a serious relationship we’re going to need a steady stream of income.”

“It’s always about the money! Go to hell Shane!” and with that she flung her basket of laundry at me with her one good arm. And it was an excellent fling. It nearly smashed me in the face. Instinctively, I put up my arms to catch the basket and when I caught it the momentum carried me over the railing of the fire escape. With dirty clothes flying every which way, I didn’t hold onto the basket for long. Falling, I spun around cat-like with all four limbs spread out. The last thing I remember seeing was a nasty splotch of bird poop on the hood of the Boxster, just before I hit it from two-and-a-half stories up.

Chapter 11

The ambulance, the emergency room, the surgery, the x-rays and the casting room are all really a blur to me. I only remember bits and pieces of those lost hours. I woke up out of a sedated stupor trying to assemble my new reality. I could see that my left arm was in a long, plaster cast that stretched from my knuckles to just above the bicep. My right arm was a symmetrical match to my left arm, in the same kind of cast. Both arms were propped up straight with palms facing the wall in front of me using some sort of wire and foam contraptions. My elbows were resting on pillows. My legs also looked symmetrical both in long, plaster casts. They were elevated by pulleys and canvas slings—where the ropes went to I had no idea. I couldn’t move my neck in any way and I didn’t know why until the nurse told me that they had placed me in a Philadelphia collar. The only view I would have for the next five weeks would be of my four casted limbs and the ugly white ceiling with the flickering fluorescent lights. That was what limited view I would have since I also badly broke my nose in the impact and the break gave me two hellacious shiners that caused my eyes to swell up and turn purple and black. Don’t ask about the Boxster. It’s a very sad story.

I felt exposed, and not just because I was incapable of moving my head or any of my limbs. The gown that they put me in like any hospital gown only covered about two-thirds of me, so with my legs propped up the way they were my privates ended up being somewhat public. Also, with the A/C turned up, I could feel a constant breeze up my back side. But, I enjoyed my time alone with nothing to do. It gave me proper time to think and reflect on all the things that had happened over the last two weeks—the amazing woman I met, the fantastic sex we had and the new fetish I discovered that literally landed in my lap from out of the sky. After my third day in that position, I had resigned myself to never seeing Jenna Dean again, and thinking about what I would do with my life after the physical therapy sessions ended.

At that moment, the nurse interrupted my thoughts. I expected it was to give me my shots and oral medication, but instead she announced I had a visitor. I waited, and slowly and more loudly, I heard the electric wheels approach my bed. Finally, I could see the crown of her brunette head, still with that retro hair cut.

“Wait there,” she said, the irony not lost on me—where was I to go?

I waited, and in the next instant she was propped up on both casted feet, a bit unsteady. Her casted left hand was poked into my ribcage and her beautiful face was only inches away from mine now. She was breathing heavy from the effort of just standing up.

“You came back to me!” I said with the nasally voice I had developed as a result of the accident.

“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you why. I was sitting there in my wheelchair, in my dumpy, little apartment reading trashy magazines and I kept thinking about all the injuries you had suffered. I mean, you should have seen yourself. Bones, were sticking out of your legs and arms and your face was a big, bloody mess. You’ve got serious compound fractures. Did they put any metal in you?”

“I’ll put it this way. Airport security is going to be a big problem from now on.”

“Well, I was thinking about all that and then I realized.” She paused. “You are going to have the coolest looking casts! I mean look at these!” she said, her cheek pressed against my left arm cast while the fingers from her undamaged arm were feeling for the top edge of my leg cast. “Look at how far up this cast goes. And what do we have here? I believe the Morningwoods are blossoming early this year.”

“Oh,” I grumbled, “you could do me a favor and bring me some underwear.”

“There is no way you are getting underwear over those two big, hulking casts. I’ll see if I can find you an adult diaper.”

“So, you didn’t feel the least bit guilty about the accident? You came to visit me strictly for prurient reasons?”

“Heavens no! I don’t feel guilty at all. But I think with all the pain that you have endured and the fact that it will be months before you regain any kind of mobility. Well, I think we are at least even. I couldn’t have lived with myself thinking of you so vulnerable and laid up in traction and me sitting at home with nothing to do.”

“Thanks for considering things even. I thought all the pain and trauma from the accident would allow me to mentally release you, but I admit you are all that I’ve been thinking about for the last three days.”

She bent over my head and kissed me gently on each of my bruised and swollen eyelids. Despite excruciating pain, I managed not to squint, or at least squint too much.

“You look so cute with your nose so heavily bandaged up. I was thinking a lot about the great sex we had at your place. And then I was thinking about all the great sex we could have now that both your arms and legs are casted. I mean I came up with some wild ideas for new positions we could try, some really kinky things that involve your traction devices. I had some drawings, but I forgot to bring them with me. I could draw some of them on your casts.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” I couldn’t believe it. I was almost close to tears.

Jenna Dean would have none of it. “Stop being so sappy! I hate a man who acts like he’s been hurt.”

“I’m glad you came back.”

“Plus, I had to find out what you meant by ‘serious.’”

Did I have to lay my heart out now, just when things were going so well? I started searching around my head for the right words, when good fortune intervened.

“Hey, what’s this,” she said, picking up a small package from the nightstand. “It’s from Rich Strickland at E-Gad-gets, Inc. How come you haven’t opened this?”

I believe she wasn’t ignorant of the fact that I could hardly move, but that she herself would not have let four casted limbs keep her from opening a gift. “I guess I’ve been a little hesitant to find out what it is.”

“Oh, let me open it. I love unwrapping things that are wrapped up.” She opened the package quickly using her free hand and her teeth. It was a brightly colored box, and inside the box was a black watch. “It’s dreadfully ugly,” she said sneering.

“That’s the E-Votch.”

“THIS is what all the fuss was about?”

“The E-Votch does everything a Y-Phone can, plus it monitors your heart rate and breathing, automatically takes control of driving your car while you are texting and can perform simultaneous voice translation in 34 different languages.”

“Sick! Can it actually tell time?”

“Yes, it does, but nobody uses that function. Instead, we added verbal prompts like ‘early,’ ‘very early,’ very late,’ and ‘forget about it’. See, the two centimeter screen folds out to 24 times its normal size for better viewing…”

“Okay, I think I get the idea. Hey, look there’s a letter.”

“Oh, could you read that for me Honey?”

“I suppose” she said, as she unfolded the letter with her good hand. She read: Shane, buddy, congratulations! We made roll-out on time. Thanks to my brilliance everything came together just as planned. Kids were lining up at the stores the night before it hit the shelves. We sold 3m units the first night alone, and we are looking for even better sales in the weeks ahead. Good job from your friend and partner, Rich Strickland. P.S. – Get well soon!

“Did he really say ‘partner’? I can’t believe it. I never mentioned anything about partnership.”

“How much is 3m?”

“A lot. It means we won’t have to worry about money again.”

“Well, I never worried about it before. But if it means you’ll pay off all of my hospital bills, I’m happy.”

“It’ll be the first thing I do.”

“It will be a relief not to have to keep running away from them. Thanks honey,” she said as she gave me a big, wet kiss on my forehead. “The first thing we’re going to do is convert one of your spare bedrooms into our own private hospital room. I mean at first you’ll need it because you’ll still be in all of your casts. But then later I thought we could put casts on each other just for the fun of it and just to see what kind of trouble we can get into all bandaged up. Yeah, that means we’ll have to turn one of the other bedrooms into a casting room. And of course, we are going to need supplies. A whole lot of casting material and a really nice casting saw. Oooh, I can hardly wait. We are going to have some real fun. I won’t have to break bones anymore to get a cast.”

“Wow! I am really looking forward to that. All that incredible kinky, sex without the excruciating pain.” Jenna Dean put her beautifully casted arm around my casted arm and pressed her casted chest against mine, while she dug her long casted leg into my nearly naked groin and gave me a passionate kiss on the lips that felt like it lasted for hours. “And what about E-Gad-gets?” I asked.

Jenna Dean picked up the E-Votch and flung it out the window with her good hand. “E-Gad-gets can run itself. Let’s take our five percent and run.”

The watch landed with a hard thud on the pavement, engaging the calendar reminder system. “Forget about it…forget about it…forget about it,” the watches’ dull, feminine, robotic voice chimed repeatedly.

“What do we do now?” I asked Jenna Dean.

She kicked off my traction devices with her short leg cast and said, “Take the woman’s advice.”