Dual Quads and Gizmo Sex
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A Fine Arrangement: Dual Quads
Dual Quads and Gizmo Sex
A story by XXscribbler
For the past three years, Professor of Anthropology Gisela had been the University’s only quadriplegic faculty member — brake failure on a big truck owned by a national shipping company, clear negligence. The resulting broken neck left her with neither sensation nor motor control below her collarbones. Nothing save a ghostlike ability to sense touches on her skin on the upper right frontal chest. The ability corresponded to no known neural pathway (hence entranced her neurologists) and was critically important to her mental well-being.
Visiting Gisela’s lecture today was Jeannie, a new English Lit prof, who was in similar straits. She, too, had no motor control below the base of her neck, due to a long-standing –and losing- contest with ALS. The disease’s progress had stopped some years ago, a rare and mysterious occurrence due to some unknowable obstacle through which the disease might break at any time. It would eventually kill her sometime in the next forty years. Or the next six months: it was impossible to predict. Unlike Gisela, Jeannie still had full sensory input from her entire body — only the motor circuits were shot, except for those above the collarbones.
Jeannie had been hired because of her spectacular resume and academic achievements. Although she would likely have gotten the job in any case, she was sure her disability hadn’t hurt — she could generate multiple tic–marks in the U’s annual “how are we doing?” reports on the U’s gender (in)equality.
Both professors were in their early thirties and quite attractive – both fine-boned, Jeannie blond and verging on tiny, Gisela brunette and merely small. Each maintained a fierce pride in her looks, wheelchair and other difficulties be damned. Gisela in particular had simply gorgeous well-styled hair and impeccable low-key makeup: quite obviously neither was her personal doing.
Their husbands helped — Gisela had Jerry, a tall blond lean runner-and-yoga type, complete with full beard and mustache. Jeannie had Bob, shorter and muscular, a devotee of weight-training to just shy of overt body-building. The four all held doctorates, but in wildly diverging topics.
Jeannie was intensely curious the moment she heard about Gisela, hence her attendance at this late-afternoon lecture. She and Bob parked at the top of the backstage wheelchair ramp, just behind the drawn curtains of the stage-wing.
Gisela was at the lectern, ready to go, strapped into her fancy electric wheelchair. Jeannie’s motor-chair was commercial state of the art, with controls activated by mouth and head movements, but it paled beside Gisela’s, which was a high-tech affair, obviously custom and expensive. There was a tiny joystick the size of a slender soda-straw on one side of her mouth, and an even smaller stalk carrying a grain-of-wheat microphone wrapped unobtrusively around her cheekbone.
Someone had done a sterling job with voice-command programming — the entire system, house-lights, slides, amplifier volume, even a short video, came up, went away, backed up and reset as she instructed aloud.
Gisela was a fine lecturer with a commanding presence and strong voice that belied her physical condition and hinted strongly at professional training. The auditorium was big — it was a popular course, and she a popular teacher. Despite being late on the last day before a four-day weekend, there were few empty seats. She held the entire 300+ student audience tightly.
By the half-way point, Jeannie and Bob had decided to stay after and introduce themselves — after all, they clearly had some mutuality of interests.
Gisela finished up precisely at the bell. Immediately Jerry stepped past Jeannie and Bob, said “Hi!”, trotted out onstage, spun Gisela around manually and started back towards the visitors.
Introductions were easy… Jerry and Gisela, meet Bob and Jeannie. In the first thirty seconds they dispensed with discussing ALS. Gisela and Jerry knew about it and understood the situation in a way few others could. Since things were close to equal between the two pairs, the ladies’ parallel disabilities seemed magically to vanish as social impediments.
Another five minutes’ chat on stage while the crowd dissipated made it clear they were all compatible — a four-way, pun-and-innuendo-laden first conversation that ranged over a wide variety of topics mostly related to the lecture.
Jeannie suggested that since things were already friendly and the company obviously enjoyable all around, and it was the end of the work-week, perhaps they should go for a drink, a longer talk — she and Bob had found a couple of wheel-chair compatible restaurants already.
Gisela tossed out a different idea. “Why not come home with us? Our place is specially designed not just for wheelchairs, gold lies videotape izle but actually for quads, so you’d fit right in. We can all be much more comfortable at our place than going out somewhere — even the few restaurants that actually care and try don’t get wheelchairs right most of the time. We can have a drink, sit outside in the shade and talk until we burn out a bit. Plus I’m already hungry, and a restaurant would be slower than I’d like. But feeding can wait until I’ve had my drink. Or maybe I’ll have two.”
She grinned at the group: “Then perhaps these two lovely, handsome men could cook something for us all? Being men, it’ll probably be meat on the barbie– GRRRR! The Y–chromosome’s primal hunting urges once again fulfilled! I know we have the supplies at home. Including steaks.”
She spun slightly to look directly at the men. “I assume, Bob, that you’ve figured out how to cook since Jeannie went functionally quad? Jerry certainly has evolved.”
Bob nodded, and Jeannie commented “He’s a good cook, actually. I do the menus, though. I like to force him into new territory — wouldn’t want to get stale. It’s way too easy to let one’s self drift that way. Let’s go — we’ll follow you in our van.”
Enroute to the parking lot, Jeannie commented on Gisela’s wheelchair. Gisela nodded towards the right arm: it held a little digital display. “I’ve even got my very own instrument panel! The numbers tell me about my body and the chair. That number beside the big letter “P” is for pee, meaning internal pressure on my bladder. Likewise the R is for rectum. Those help me anticipate things and avoid accidents. A huge help, since I can’t feel anything down there.”
“There are pulse rate and blood pressure and blood oxygen level — one should know it if one’s asphyxiating, I always say! And there’s battery charge, odometer, speedometer, and two-axis tilt meters that toot little warnings when things start getting dicey with my center of gravity.”
“All the controls cascade like nested computer menus, which they are, actually. Everything begins with my voice or the joysticks — I’ve got two of those, the halo and the mouth-stick. I really ought to have a pilot’s license for this rig.”
The halo was the band circling her head at temple level — a “halo on a stick” attached to the control box on the back of the chair. The halo was both a joystick for the chair’s drive-motor and a head-support for when her neck got tired. Gisela used lips and tongue and halo to maneuver the chair from side to side on the walkway, showing off.
“It’s almost all experimental gadgetry — one-offs. My older brother lives here in town. He has his own firm designing and building custom mechanical equipment. He does all sorts of stuff. Jerry here specializes in applied artificial intelligence, over in the computer science department. Together they decided to make my high-tech rigging into their hobby. It’s a blast working with them: you should see them zip around in this thing when they’re “testing” — each of them has turned it over more than once playing hot-rodder.”
She laughed: “We get lots of squirrelly ideas, and of course, most simply don’t work. For things that DO work, they file patents. Maybe we’ll get rich if the quad population ever explodes. I humor them. Anyhow, just wait’ll you see the HOUSE, you two! It’s a hoot. We had it custom-built to accommodate me in this thing. And other unusual functions, too. You’ll see.”
The house was single-story, secluded, beautiful. Jeannie was almost speechless. It was also big. Approaching 5000 square feet, Bob guessed, wondering what they needed all that space for. A long, gentle, beautifully landscaped ramp wound from driveway to front door.
At its base Gisela motored up beside Jeannie and muttered “Sometimes I think it’s just ridiculous – whence it’s nickname, The Monster — but my very own Daddy is the best personal injury litigator in the State, and he got me the damnedest settlement from the trucking company that caused all this. I think the other side was scared witless of him. No trial, just negotiations.”
“Sooo… we have the resources to do things right. Too bad, Angela, that you can’t sue Mother Nature for YOUR damages, isn’t it? The settlement included hiring a full-time, permanent live-in nurse-therapist to handle most of the messy stuff, and also to do as much PT as possible to keep up my muscle tone. Or at least, to help prevent bedsores! Her apartment is actually a separate little purpose-built cottage way out back. Her name’s Marie — she’s a doll — a big, tough no nonsense doll, can pick me up like Raggedy-Ann. She comes in every morning and takes care of getting me up and cleaned and ready for the day, complete with about 30 minutes of very active PT, all while Jerry fixes breakfast.”
“Her helping gives him some respite from being my primary care-giver as well as husband and lover grind izle and friend and colleague. She does the same thing in the early evening before dinner, but in the late evenings she only comes in when we call for her. Not very often — she works hard enough as it is. She gets weekends off, starting on Friday evenings — starting tonight this week, because of the four-day, so you won’t meet her this time. Sunday evenings she comes back.”
“Actually, Jerry can handle me just fine, but we like to keep body-problems as separate as we can from other aspects of the relationship. Promotes emotional intimacy by making Jerry NOT be my primary body-function caregiver. At least, most of the time.”
Gisela paused, did a facial shrug and wound up with “Jeannie, we all know that your ALS will kill you someday, and the same thing with my neck — I’m not going to live nearly as long as I might have, so what the hell. Carpe Diem has to be our philosophy. We spend the money trying to be as happy and “normal” as possible.”
Then Gisela caught herself: hoping she hadn’t been rude by being so blunt so quickly, she scanned the new couple, looking for any upset. To her great relief she found none, then said brightly “Not meaning to be crude with my language, like using “quad” and equating you with me, and talking about dying, but we’re all four of us in the same rather specialized boat, and Jerry and I have found it largely useless — even counterproductive – to do circumlocutions. We just SAY things right out. Much easier to handle that way. Spade is a spade, and all that — after all, there’s really no mystery about the injuries and body functions and whatever other needs and problems arise. That approach okay with you both?”
The attitude fit fine with how Bob and Jeannie handled things themselves. They appreciated it, and said so.
“Come on, let’s go into The Monster and show it off!”
As the couples approached the door, the house spoke softly and in an eerily familiar voice — “Welcome home. I see you bring some guests. How many and names, please?”
Jeannie and Bob sputtered, peered about in vain — there wasn’t a visible speaker or camera. Gisela replied “Hello HAL. Two visitors, name one is Jeannie, name two is Bob. Register them please.”
HAL said “Ladies first. Jeannie, in your normal voice, please say your name for me three times, about a second apart.” Jeannie laughed delightedly as she recognized both the computer’s name and its voice from the film 2001 — she complied. “Thank you, Jeannie. Voiceprint registered. Now the gentleman, please. Go ahead.” Bob shook his head in amusement, did as asked. HAL spoke again: “Guests registered. Access level and expiration date, Miss Gisela?”
She replied “Both get level two, one week. Outer door open now, HAL. Lights level seven in hall, living, kitchen. Inside security motion sensors off until midnight. Thanks.”
Upon entering, Gisela said to the men “Why don’t you two male Walkers go ahead and take your own tour? You’ll both want to spend some y-chromosome time in the shop anyhow. We girls can see a man’s work-shop any old time, and once is plenty already! We two would like some 100% x-chromosome time, so we’ll poke around on our own, too,. And eventually we can all meet back in the kitchen or out on the deck. Then you men, being Walkers, can see about drinks and dinner.”
The house was a single smooth level, with all special-order double-wide pocket-style doors and nary a doorsill. No wheelchair impediments — and the extra-wide halls comfortably handled their chairs side by side. Jeannie commented on the ceiling sprinkler system — she’d never seen such a thing in a private house before.
“Fire just scares the living willies out of me” said Gisela. “So the place is about as fireproof as possible. I used to cook and heat only with gas back before the accident, but not any more — all electric and damn the expense and crappy all-electric cooking. We even used steel framing for the house instead of wood. There’s almost nothing burnable in the house’s structure. My own phobia, that’s all. It does cut our fire insurance rates by 80%, though.”
She laughed again: “And since I’m so paranoid, we volunteer to have the local fire department come out here every six months and practice rescuing a real quad. They need the practice, believe me! Sometimes I’ll be in bed — which is the most fun, since they have to actually handle me. Other times I’m faking being unconscious in the chair. Jeannie, there’s nothing like having a whole swarm of hot, sweaty, excited and VERY good looking young men all focused on yourself, even if it’s just for ten minutes twice a year — it really sets things going — at least, mentally. I still have a very good and active imagination!”
Jeannie laughed, said she would be happy to join in such an exercise, but Gisela said no, probably not – it would spoil Gisela’s own fun.
They wheeled through the gunthers millions izle usual ‘sightseeing’ places — big bedroom well equipped, brightly lit, some special equipment over to the side. Two studies, one male and one female. An easy-maneuver standard bathroom, complete with urinal. Gisela waggled her eyebrows, said “That’s Jerry’s low-tech contribution to reducing our water consumption — one quart versus three gallons for a pee-flush. That’s OKAY, I guess, but personally I’m much more impressed with the widgetry on my chair. And of course with the special-for-quads Star-Wars toilet they built — you’ll get to see it later. It has its very own room!”
As they turned to leave, something finally clicked in Jeannie’s mind, tripped by a glancing view of Gisela’s abdomen. “ANGELA! Are you actually PREGNANT?”
Gisela blushed, grinned happily and said “Good eye! Yes. Four months, plus. Before the accident, we’d planned to have a family. We discussed adoption when I finally got back to sanity after my injury — but of course there’s no way any adoption agency folks would okay us as parents! We discussed pregnancy with my OB–GYN, who vetoed the entire idea, but to hell with them, they’re too damned conservative. They said it might kill me, I told them we’re all dead already anyhow — it’s just that we don’t know it yet, and it’s OUR choice not theirs!”
“So, here we are, that is, me and Jerry. The doctors were all in a snit but it makes a nice problem for them to work on, now that their opinions and advice against it have been factored out! It’ll be a Caesarean, of course, probably at eight months, maybe eight and a half if possible. But it’s only going to be this one try — we’re all agreed on that. Especially since it’s twins, of all things! Both kids are healthy so far, so am I. In fact, I feel great! Would you believe it, I seem to be able, somehow, to sense it when the babies move. Theoretically, that shouldn’t be possible, and it’s pretty vague, but Jerry can feel it, too, when I claim something is going on down there.”
She paused, pondered, then shrugged and said, “A kid is going to be a hell of a lot of work for Jerry, and two is going to be more than twice the work, but he seems happy about it. It helps that we both want kids and that we can both do much of our work from home if we choose.”
Jeannie told her “That’s very, very gutsy. And TWINS, too! Identicals?”
Gisela shook her head: “Don’t know, don’t care, haven’t asked and don’t want to know ahead of time — or the genders, either. But in the abstract, fraternals -boy and girl – would be ideal.”
Jeannie said wistfully, “I can’t have kids — I had my tubes tied long ago since this thing I’ve got is probably genetic — at least partly so. The medicos still don’t really know. I’ve always wanted kids. A lot. So has Bob. No such luck. Congratulations! But how did you two… shall we say, ‘manage’ fertilization?”
Gisela smiled a wicked little smile and said “Why, Jeannie — we did it the old fashioned way! Plain old fucking worked just fine. No turkey-basters for us, thank you very much. In fact, once we decided and then got me off the pill, it took on about the third try. Myrtle the Fertile Turtle is me, I guess.”
“Well, actually, being overly objective, since I can’t DO anything below collar bone level, making babies was mostly him fucking me, not us fucking together. Although the psychological connection was pretty good at those times. God how I’d love to be able to fuck him properly in return…”
Jeannie nodded in silent, rueful agreement.
“But it’s something really quite special to have him inside me, even though I’m not supposed to be able to feel it, I can tell when he’s actually inside, and can even tell whether he’s in my pussy or bottom. He likes both, you know. Occasionally. Even though we have other primary specialties nowadays.”
She looked at Jeannie, again seeking surprise or shock, was pleased to find none, continued: “I like having him inside. The sensations are very hard to describe, but they are REAL — some oddball interconnectivity of nerves from the deep inside making it to my brain. My neurologists love to try to figure it out, they say it’s probably a random bunch of connections through epidermal nerves, and they do little pinprick mapping games, but haven’t got it yet. ‘Yours truly the guinea pig’.”
She almost giggled: “I don’t ask questions, just enjoy the sensations with Jerry, and the attention I get as a research object. Too bad those nerves, whatever they are, didn’t connect to my clit. Or, much better still, to my bladder and rectum! I’d gladly trade clit for control of those two. Amazing what bits of life are REALLY important, cutting to the nitty-gritty! Come on, let’s finish our tour — you still haven’t seen the most interesting parts of The Monster.”
They arrived at the end of the hall, which was sealed off by the first closed door they’d encountered. It carried a sign: “Playroom”.
Gisela looked like the cat post-canary. “HAL, open the Playroom please. Playroom lights high.”
The motorized door slid silently sideways into the wall. They rolled in, and the door slid shut behind them unbidden. HAL, it seemed, was in charge of some things all by himself.
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