Close to Home

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The road ahead was clear and dry. The headlights of the Jeep illuminated the empty street. At two-fifteen in the morning Brian had the city to himself. He yawned. It was actually early for him to be going home. He had had his cock sucked in the backroom at Babylon, but had been unable to find a worthy subject for the reigning stud of Liberty Avenue to take home with him. The satisfying buzz he had enjoyed earlier in the night was long gone. He hadn't felt like starting another one. He had a big presentation to make tomorrow, actually today, now that he thought about it.

Brian turned onto Highcastle. He'd be home in less than five minutes. The headlights of another car suddenly shone into the Jeep. Some other poor soul was out in the wee small hours of the morning. Brian watched as the other car rapidly approached. The fucking idiot must be traveling at a good clip. Brian frowned as the car lights veered into his lane. What the fuck was this imbecile doing?

Brian slowed a bit hoping the wandering vehicle would pass him by. The car drew nearer and Brian sped up again to get past him. He would be home in a couple of minutes - home and safe. The car drew almost level with the Jeep and Brian watched in fascination as the lights once again veered towards him. He pulled the steering wheel sharply to the right trying to avoid the tons of metal hurtling at him. There was a huge sound of crunching and breaking, and then scraping as the Jeep was bent in half and dragged down the street. He could taste copper in his mouth and there was agonizing pain and then total darkness.

"No!" Brian screamed as he thrashed around in his bed.

His eyes flew open. His breathing was ragged and sweat matted his hair to his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

"Fuck!" he muttered.

He hadn't had that dream for a few weeks. He was hoping maybe it was finally over and he wouldn't have to relive that accident ever again. No such luck!

Gradually his breathing began to return to normal. Brian sighed and realized he needed to piss. He reached up, his hand encircling the grab bar that now projected from the wall above his bed. He levered himself out of the bed and into the wheelchair that sat ready for him. He wheeled himself into the bathroom. Sliding forward on the chair he was able to piss into the pitcher-like urinal that swung out next to the toilet.

Brian turned and wheeled back into the bedroom. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It told him that it was almost three a.m. Another sleepless night lay ahead, another long restless night. He wondered if he'd ever get used to the empty hours of the night. With a scowl he wheeled himself down the ramp from the bedroom and over to the computer. He might as well see if any other night owls were online.

He logged on to his favorite chat site. He never thought he would become a computer geek, a pathetic, lonely asshole whose main contact with the world was through computer chat rooms. But since the accident, that's exactly what he had become. It was much easier to talk online than in person. On the computer he didn't have to have his game face always in position. He could be a normal man, an ordinary man, a man who could walk and work and fuck. This way he didn't have to look at them, didn't have to see the unasked questions and the pity when they looked at him. The pity was the worst.

Brian shook his head and signed in with his web name PP. That always got him attention. Brian grinned. Let's see what delights awaited him tonight. Brian scanned the list of who was online. There were a couple of the regulars that he had talked to before, but he wanted something different, something new.

"Hmm," Brian thought. There was someone new calling himself or herself BB. BB and PP seemed destined for each other. Brian checked the stats on BB - male, twenty-two, artist, definitely not Brigitte Bardot. That wasn't much information to go on, and there was nothing to say that any of it was even close to the truth.

"What the hell!" Brian said aloud and asked for an IM.

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BB: Hey, how ya doin' tonight?

PP: If I was smart I'd be asleep.

BB: But then you'd miss this once in a lifetime chance to talk to me.

PP: Cocky little bastard, aren't you?

BB: You have no idea.

PP: You're an artist?

BB: Yep.

PP: Any good?

BB: Well, they always say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

PP: So, are you any good?

BB: I'm making a living.

PP: Wow, in the art business, that's a major achievement.

BB: I know.

PP: You're kind of young to be a successful artist. Did you lie about your age?

BB: Yeah, I'm really 92.

PP: Oh, an old geezer.

BB: What do you do?

PP: Advertising.

BB: So you're in the art business too.

PP: Indirectly. I'm the idea man.

BB: How old are you?

PP: Older than you.

BB: 93, 94.

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Brian snorted. This guy had a good sense of humor.

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BB: Hey, are you still there, or did you fall asleep at the switch? At your age…

PP: I'm not that old.

BB: Good, I was worried for a minute.

PP: How come you're up so late or are you in Australia.

BB: No, Eastern Time Zone. Just like to sleep late, work in the afternoon and stay up half the night.

PP: Must be nice to make your own hours.

BB: One of the perks of being a starving artist.

PP: I thought you were making a living at your art.

BB: I am. I just haven't quite reached the level of luxury to which I would like to become accustomed.

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Brian snorted. A man after his own heart.

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PP: Do we ever reach that level?

BB: It doesn't take all that much to make me happy.

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Brian hesitated. There was only one thing that would make him happy, and he could never have that. His legs would never work again.

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BB: Are you there?

BB: What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?

PP: I'm tired. I have to go.

BB: Sure. I'm here most nights if you want to talk again.

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Brian logged off. He didn't think he'd ever talk to BB again. He wasn't sure why, but something had hit too close to home.

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The next morning Brian awoke with a start. He had a vague memory of his dream, of the accident. His head throbbed dully. He reached for the bottle of painkillers that he kept on the nightstand. He stared at the bottle for a moment and then set it back down. He didn't really need the strong ones right now, extra strength Tylenol would do for his headache. He downed a couple.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost nine. He should have been up and working an hour ago. That fucking dream and his little encounter with BB on the internet had left him sleepless for too long last night.

Brian levered himself out of bed and into his chair. He smelled and so did the sheets. He had jerked off after he had talked to BB online. Something in his brain had pictured a slim, lithe body with a beautiful face attached. And it had a brain, something that so few of his sexual contacts ever had. BB had been stimulating and that had been scary.

Brian wheeled himself into the bathroom and took a piss. He then maneuvered himself onto the bench in the shower. It hadn't taken too much to outfit the loft for his new status in life. The bathroom had been one of the major things - grab bars and the built-in bench. He had had the sink lowered, as well as installing the urinal. He had fought that idea but soon discovered he liked it a lot more than pissing all over his shoes.

It was over two years since they had released him from the hospital and then rehab. He had come home to the completed renovations, accompanied only by the life sentence that they had given him. He would never walk again. His spine had been too badly damaged in the accident.

Brian turned on the shower and let the warm water pour over him. It was one of his favorite places to think. He remembered the days alone in the loft after he got out of the hospital. He had thought he would go crazy. He hated everything, hated himself, hated what he had become, hated the life he had been doomed to live. He refused to have visitors, didn't want to see his friends or have contact with anyone. The only person who got in was Trey, his physical therapist.

Trey was a huge black man who spoke with brutal honesty and drove Brian with relentless cruelty to strengthen his arms and his body and his spirit. At first Brian just wanted to die. He saw no reason to exercise or try to improve. Trey had been at him constantly, haranguing him as a coward, a wuss, a baby, a fucking stupid son of a bitch.

After Trey had said that, Brian had asked if Trey had met his mother. That had been the beginning of the turnaround. It was the first time that Brian had shared a laugh with anyone, shared anything at all since the accident. Trey had said he hoped never to meet Mrs. Kinney if Brian thought she was a bitch, because her son had the monopoly on bitchiness as far as Trey was concerned. They had laughed then and become friends.

Brian still saw Trey about once a month. He would stop by and make sure Brian was keeping up with his exercise regimen. He would usually bring a new exercise for Brian to try, something that would supposedly increase Brian's muscle capacity or his endurance or his flexibility or his sexual prowess.

That was a standing joke between them - Brian's sexual prowess. Trey was about as straight as they came and from what Brian had surmised quite the ladies man. He had a voracious sexual appetite not unlike Brian's, just not for the same sex. Once when Brian was feeling like shit and bemoaning his piss poor life, he had mentioned that he had been considered the stud of Liberty Avenue and now he couldn't even get it up. Trey had set him straight about that. He had read Brian's medical history. He told Brian that he needed to get off all the fucking medication he was taking and then he'd be able to get it up anytime he wanted to. Brian had been stunned. He had no idea that it was the meds that were making him impotent.

Trey told him about several other paraplegics that he had worked with who enjoyed very fulfilling sex lives. Brian wanted to know if any of them had been gay. None had. So Brian had said he didn't see how he could be the consummate top in the condition in which he found himself. He would never forget Trey's answer.

"I hear you're a pretty creative fella in advertising. Use your fucking imagination!"

And Brian had. He had weaned himself from the pain medication realizing that he didn't really need it for pain. He had needed it as a crutch because it dulled everything, including his thoughts and needs and even his sense of himself. He had Trey to thank for that realization. His life was still crap but at least he had learned to fuck again.

Brian turned off the water in the shower and reached for the towel that hung outside. He started to dry himself wondering what the rest of the day would hold for him. Most days he never left the loft. He worked on the computer keeping in contact with the office through his assistant Cynthia and through conference calls when necessary. Only occasionally did he go in to the office.

All this had come about gradually. He had spent over a year recovering from the accident. He had received a huge settlement from the insurance company of the drunk driver that hit him. He knew that fucking imbecile was in jail somewhere, although it had been almost three years since the accident. The bastard might already be free. He, on the other hand, would never be free - of his wheel chair.

Once he finally got back to the loft and started working with Trey, he began to take some interest in other things than just his own sorry ass. Trey had helped him a lot with taking his life back into his own hands, if not his own legs. Trey had kept at him about finding something he was interested in to fill his days. He didn't need to work. He had enough money to see him through whatever life he had left in him. But gradually that wasn't enough.

One day he had called Cynthia to see how she was and how things were going at Ryder. She was working with some other account exec and not liking it very much. She told him about the campaign they were working on and the lame ass idea that they had come up with. Almost immediately Brian had come up with something fifty times better. He and Cynthia had discussed ideas and she had had the art department draw them up. When it was ready Brian and Cynthia had presented it to Ryder. When they got the account Ryder had asked Brian to come back. Brian had negotiated the system they used now where he worked at home and came to the office only rarely.

Brian finished dressing and went to his desk where he put in his call to Cynthia.

"Hey, Boss," she greeted him.

"All ready for tomorrow's presentation?" Brian asked, never one for pleasantries.

"All set. It's scheduled for ten."

"I'll be there if you still think it's necessary."

"This is a huge account, Brian. I know they are going to have questions for you, questions that neither Ryder nor I will be able to answer."

"Fine, I'll be there. How do the boards look?"

"Great. Do you want me to bring them by after work?"

"No, I trust your judgment."

"Okay, so I'll see you in the morning."

"Right," Brian said as he hung up. He didn't like going in to the office but tomorrow would be one of those days.

Brian spent the next couple of hours polishing up his spiel for tomorrow's meeting. He grabbed a quick sandwich before getting ready to go to his doctor's appointment at two pm.

Going anywhere was such a production. Brian loaded the saddlebags on his wheelchair with all his records and documentation that he needed for the doctor. He had to go every three months for this fucking check-up and review of his situation. He grabbed his keys from the bar and wheeled himself out to the elevator. He pushed the button to call it up to his floor and wheeled himself back to set the alarm and lock the loft door. By the time he had that done the elevator had arrived. He lifted the gate and got aboard. Silently he rode down to the main floor.

As the elevator came to a stop he hesitated to raise the gate. Somebody was getting their mail. He had a fleeting glimpse of someone with blond hair and a slim body disappearing up the stairs. He felt his cock stir as he remembered his imaginary BB from the previous night.

"Stop it!" he muttered to his overactive dick.

He shoved up the gate and went to the mailboxes. He wondered who the blond was. Most of the names on the boxes were unknown to him. He had never been one to talk to his neighbors, and since the accident he had studiously avoided doing so. Some new people had moved in. He didn't know any of them. He stuffed his mail into the saddlebags noting that the supplements Trey had told him to order still had not arrived. He'd have to check on them on the internet.

He wheeled himself down the hall to the back door. He had paid to have a ramp installed there which gave him easy access to his van which awaited him in the covered parking area behind the building. He shook his head. Who would have thought Brian Kinney would be forced to drive a fucking van? He had fought it for awhile, but it turned out to be easier and more efficient to have the van, so he had given in. He hit the remote and the side of the van opened dropping the lift to the ground. He slid on top and used the remote again to raise himself into the van. Once aboard he pressed the button that retracted the lift and closed the door.

The van contained only one seat, the passenger one. Brian couldn't remember when he had ever had a passenger in the van with him. He had had the salesman who sold him this totally un-fuckmobile. He had ridden in the passenger seat explaining to Brian how to use the hand controls, helping him get the feel of the cumbersome vehicle. No one else had ever been in it.

Brian set the brake on the wheelchair after he positioned himself in front of the steering wheel. He locked the chair into position and pulled the seatbelt around himself. He was off for another great adventure, or what passed for adventure in his for shit life. He turned the key in the ignition.

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