Someone once said if you go to a person’s house and they don’t own books - don’t fuck ‘em. This truly is great advice, but what if you go to a person’s house and he/she is in a wheelchair? Today while entertaining myself with this Match.com shit I came across a very attractive twenty-five year old in a wheelchair. Dark hair, huge puppy dog eyes, a cute little lip piercing that I usually despise, but somehow it works for her. She describes herself as a social drinker who works as a math tutor and makes less than 25,000 dollars a year. She doesn’t have kids, but wouldn’t mind if her match did. She claims to be “awesome” but has trouble finding men who can look past the fact she’s in a wheelchair.
She has muscular dystrophy.
I know this because I wrote her. I’m guessing nobody ever does. No dude is trying to hook up w/ a woman in a wheelchair. That’s just how it is. No one wants to load and unload a wheelchair everywhere you go, plus possibly having to change her diapers. I’m guessing she has control over her butthole, but if she can’t stand than getting onto the toilet could be a problem. I’m assuming she wears some kind of diaper in case of accidents.
I didn’t ask.
I did ask if she’s ever had sex in her wheelchair and she surprisingly said “yes.” Really? Some dude boned down with a crippled chick in her wheelchair? Big props to that dude because I’m sure it made her night. Women need to feel pretty and maybe this guy pulled it off. Have you ever seen the movie Girl, Interrupted? Towards the end of the film Angelina Jolie is strapped down in a crazy bed and Winona Ryder comes in to paint her fingernails. Angelina starts bawling her eyes out because maybe the fact she was fucking crazy was like her wheelchair and Winona came in to fuck her anyway? This dude painted my cripple girl’s nails with his dick and made her feel pretty again. Cheers! Unless of course he was just an extremely desperate mother fucker who popped his load after 3 seconds and then told the crippled bitch, “I’ll text you.”
I would never call her a bitch - I only said that because it made me laugh.
“Let’s roll, CB!”
That stands for “Crippled Bitch.” In this fictional story we’re dating and she’s cool with my sense of humor. She lashes back by explaining only a woman in a wheelchair would date an asshole like myself.
Maybe she’s right?
There are perks to dating a crippled person. For one you always have front-row Joe handicapped parking anywhere you go. Plus if she ever starts buggin’ you can just step up on a curb and bounce - it’s not like she can follow you. If you get too wasted she can always wheel your ass home in her lap.
The only issue really is sex because it’s missionary position or nothing. I guess you could always toss her ass over the ottoman, but for the most part you’re fucking face-to-face. This actually works in her favor because she’s very pretty, but even so - most dudes like to be able to make faces, flip her off, or whatever the hell it is men are doing back there during doggy style. Personally I like to do the white man’s overbite and act as if I’m sticking my dick in hot coffee. This makes a woman feel like her pussy is the best pussy in the world and once pounding it to powder she’ll blow her lid in no time.
I’m not one of these dudes who likes to fuck forever. The hell with the Babyshambles and their stupid song. So would I date a woman in a wheelchair? Of course - I’m not a monster, but this woman actually rejected me. I’m not even making this up. After sharing a few entertaining e-mails she tells me, “I’m sorry, but you’re not my type.”
Is she out of her fucking mind?!
I only wrote her crippled ass because I felt sad. I was only trying to make her smile and she tells me I’m not her type? She’s in a fucking wheelchair! Everyone is her type! I wasn’t even trying to hit it, I was just saying hello.
Unbelievable.
And what is her type? Is she waiting for a lead singer in a punk rock band to take her hand? Or maybe another person in a wheelchair? Does she only date her “kind.” This woman is amazing because here I am writing out of pity and she basically tells me to go fuck myself.
That’s awesome.
She’s awesome. What fucking wheelchair? I deserved the kick in the balls she gave me. Good for her. This bitch is “real” and doesn’t need some fuckin’ asshole writer toying with her emotions because let’s face it - I wasn’t interested. I was treating her like some kind of novelty item and she called me out. I wanted to know what my friends would think if I showed up at the bar with a woman in a wheelchair.
“Yo, check out my new car - it came with a chick!”
But she crushed those dreams. I might normally go chasing after her and can’t imagine the kind of poetry I could write about a woman in a wheelchair, but I need to be mature. I can’t go pursuing her, finally get the prize and be like, “Oh yeah, my bad. I forgot to mention I’ve got kind of a fucked up arm and I can’t be loading your ass in & out of the car everyday.”
I didn’t think this through. We would be terrible for each other. I still want to write her, though.
