Some years back I was visiting a friend in San Francisco. It was the end of the summer between my first and second year of grad school. I’d had a kind of dull summer and needed some fun.
I hadn’t seen Ben in several years, since we’d both lived in New York. I assumed he had probably changed somewhat in that time. We had done the most obnoxious, irresponsible things back in the day (college, mostly) and although I hadn’t necessarily changed much I figured that he, with his apartment near Union Square and a good job in research lab, would have.
Nope. Not in the least.
On the first day I arrived, he had a work event to attend; a sports event that only employees were invited to. So I hung out in his apartment, my stuff dumped on the couch I’d be sleeping on. I left for a little while, then came back, and he still wasn’t home. Hours passed. I got a drunk dial from him at one point. All right, so he was shit-faced. A couple more hours passed. Finally Ben got home, wasted, a hammer in his pocket (how he acquired a hammer remains a mystery). He had hurt his leg somehow. He ended up going to the E.R early the next morning because of his leg.
I was pissed. I gave him some hell for ditching me and being a shitshow.
At the same time: it inspired me to be a shitshow myself. Perhaps as a way of getting even, if nothing else.
Several nights later, we were at a bar near Ben’s apartment. I got us a couple beers and noticed a woman sitting at a nearby bar stool, glancing at me. I smiled at her and we exchanged a few words. I went back to our table. Ben mentioned that this girl had been looking at me all evening and I should talk to her. I went up there and did just that. She was talking with several other women on either side of her, who I would later find out were not friends, but just people she’d met that night. Her name was Rachel. She had long, curly black hair and a face that was pudgy but sweet.
Two other important attributes to her: she was very short. She had a broken leg. A crutch leaned against the bar.
We hit it off. But I didn’t want to leave my messenger bag in this bar. Sure, I could have simply asked Ben to take it home for me and stayed there. But I wanted to make her want me A LITTLE. Even though I did not really give a shit either way that night. So I told her I was heading back to my buddy’s apartment and that MAYBE I’d be back.
On the walk up the hill (everything in San Fran is a fucking hill), Ben encouraged me to go back to the bar and hang out with that chick. I had already made up my mind to do so. I dropped my bag off and he settled in to watch more X-Files reruns and said to keep him posted. I returned to the bar, where I found Rachel chatting with one of the women who she’d been hanging out with before. I tapped her on the shoulder and she seemed happily surprised to see me. Things were off to a good start. To get the other woman there to fuck off, I asked her a couple things and learned that she had been stood up by a date. I made a joke at her expense about this. She gave me a long look and eventually left. I wasn’t being very nice, was much less kind in general in those days.
But Rachel did not seem to care.
I learned that she was from Michigan, had gone to college in Maryland, and now lived with her sister and her sister’s baby in San Francisco, where she was a nurse. She had broken her leg in a skiiing accident recently. I’m not sure where one goes skiing during the summer, but I didn’t ask. Her brother lived in Chicago, where I currently lived (for grad school). We moved closer to each other as drinks were consumed and night proceeded. I put my hand on her leg at one point to make a point. I looked into her eyes and touched her shoulder and made a joke. She laughed and did not stop me.
Finally I told her I was going to two things. One, I was going to kiss her. Which I did, which led to us making out for a while right there at the bar. Two, I was going to use the restroom. While taking a leak I texted Ben that it looked like I was going home with this girl. To my surprise, he said he’d be at his friend’s place nearby and would leave the door unlocked.
It was only walking up the hill that I realized a couple important things about Rachel. One, she was not just short. She was midget. A verifiable Little Person. I am not sure why it took so long for me to notice. Two, she really did still need her crutch. I worried a little about her making it up the hill. But, grown (if not in stature) ass person that she was, she was fine. We took the elevator up to Ben’s apartment and were all over each other as soon as we got inside. I slid my hand under her shirt from the back. I hooked a couple fingers under the waist of her pants and moved them around her waist, eventually unbuckling her pants and sliding my hand a little farther down, in the front. She gasped at the feeling of my fingers.
Minutes later I was going down on her on the couch. I suppose I should make it clear that everything about Rachel was normally proportioned. She had a normal sized pussy with a tuft of hair on it. Her boobs were of a normal size relative to her body. There was nothing deformed about her. I recall looking up (while still licking of course) her stomach and seeing her arm crooked backward, her grabbing on to the headrest while she moaned. I also remember pulling my face back while between her legs at one point and looking at the gaping-ness of her labia and wondering, Will I remember this moment exactly? And what do you know – years later, I have!
At some point during me giving her tongue she moaned with more emphasis a few times and said,
“I want to kiss you.”
At which point she pulled me up to her face and kissed me. My juices were all over her lips. I kissed her deeply and went back to pleasuring her. After at least a few more minutes of that, I figured we were both ready for phase 2. I sat up. Because I had no shame about raw dogging strangers in those days – I did it more frequently than I should – I asked if she was on the pill. She said no, and that I better had a condom. Roger that. I fished it out of my duffel bag and rolled it on.
I climbed back on the couch and fucked her. I made sure to go slow and steady at first – my basic approach being to take it slow and gradually speed up and go harder. Which essentially worked to plan. At some point I got a little tired of looking at her face – most women close their eyes and part their mouths a little, it gets predictable – and was staring at the blank T.V screen. Rachel started making much more enraptured sounds as I did that. I don’t know if it was to get my attention or not. But it worked. I turned back to her and asked if she liked it rough. She said,
“Yeah…yeah I like it…”
I started moving my cock a little more and said, redundantly,
“I’m going to fuck you harder.”
This ultimately meant that my head lurched forward and I looked OVER the top of her head, which was still rested on the headrest – if you’re going hard and deep with such a shorty, you’re going to looking at the floor each time you plunge in, just basics physics. I did look to the side of the couch and saw her grabbing at the material of the cushion, yanking it into a wad and letting go. I felt myself getting close to getting off, but I also felt her arms squeezing my back and heard the her vocals sounding quite a bit …MORE. And I wanted to see her face. So I whispered to her,
“Look into my eyes when you cum.”
Rachel said (I’ll include the moan-y stuff),
“Uhhhh Uhhhhhhh I AM…cumming…”
And a remarkable thing happened: first, her good leg kicked into the air. I felt her thigh moving in this way against my butt, that’s how I know. Next, her broken leg, too, rose. Not to full kick, but it extended. Up into the air
.
Holy shit, did this chick’s orgasm just cure her leg?!?
I came myself. Slowed down as I did. We lay there, both sweating, breathing hard, a mass of one-night-stand. I pulled out of her and there was no condom on my cock. She fished inside herself and yanked the crumply wet thing out. I flushed it down the toilet, which apparently you aren’t supposed to do- sorry, San Francisco water supply!
She did not spend the night. I asked her if any cum had gotten inside her and she said it was okay, she couldn’t have kids anyway. I asked why not and she thought for a moment.
“TMI,” she concluded.
We exchanged numbers and kissed and she left. Made her way back to her car. Ben called shortly after.
“Hey man – is she spending the night?” He asked. I told him the coast was clear.
I woke up the next morning with the taste of pussy lingering in my mouth. Ben said there were stains on the couch that he had to clean off. I did not give a fuck. For the rest of the visit, we did things like race over the golden gate bridge and went to Chinatown. Rachel texted me over the next few days. But what was important was that my friendship with Ben was, if anything, solidified.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/11gmyek/fucking_a_nurse_with_a_broken_leg_on_a_couch_in