Shane looked down at the tousled blonde head tucked in between the warmth of his ribs and his arm, where she had fallen asleep. Across his legs he felt the weight of her left leg’s heavy plaster cast, the cotton stockinette tickled the hairs at his ankles and he stretched with renewed interest, thinking about doing it again. The only question was how did he want it this time? The first time he had pushed her nearly off the bed, tummy down, her hands bracing her upper body off the floor as he pumped into her, his palms spread over each butt cheek, massaging the white skin in broad strokes. He had heaved down hard and steady, arching and pulling out, teasing her, then slamming deeper between the dark blonde furrows of her nearly shaven pussy; as he withdrew she was both crying for more and coming herself. He had then gripped her at the waist and drove in to the hilt, till she panted from his weight overtop, his hands now kneading the swinging globes of her breasts. She had wanted him deep and this was as deep as he could give a woman who had one leg in a full cast. "New" experiences be damned, there was everything to be said for knowing what to do and how to do it. He bit her neck and slowly pulled out of her pussy, holding himself up with one arm, the other hand spreading her now reddish butt cheeks just enough to slide a finger into her ass to the last knuckle as he pushed his swollen dick back into her wet cunt. The moment she had rocked back into him it had set him off, that and her moaning that she couldn’t take it any more. Very, very nice.

She was better than most, too good, maybe. It would be hard to leave this one behind. Shane glanced at the travel clock behind her head, they had perhaps an hour before his flight would start the initial boarding call. These connecting flights were hell. He slid down on his left hip without disturbing his lover and caressed her soft cheek, his thumb rubbing over the pale cheek bone, playing with the multiple gold studs in her ear lobe. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, staring at him in confusion. They hadn’t gotten to the names part yet. Traces of her dark blue iridescent eye shadow covered his fingers; absently, as she watched, he wet a finger and twisted his nipple, smudging its stiffening outline with the powdery glitter. As he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers he exhaled, deeply, with need.

She smiled, cat-like, enjoying watching him stimulate his own nipple, her hand sneaking through the covers looking for the erection that she knew was there and let the tip of her little pink tongue dart provocatively from between her lips, past the slight overbite that had driven him wild. He waited for that tongue, the little flicks across his nipple, circling and playful, before she used her teeth. He arched with anticipation, stretching his full height, his long body taut under her cool probing fingers. She licked under his balls, then kissed the tender side of the shaft where the two connect and nibbled up the shaft, giggling. She pulled at the dark hairs that nested around the penis, towering above her Angelina Jolie – like lips. When she inhaled hard, readying herself for her work, he stiffened. There was nothing like the soft wet tissues of a woman’s mouth. Although he really wanted her to sit on him he’d settle for a side-fuck, laying on his side with her casted leg overtop his leg. He opened his eyes just in time to see her tongue flatten out against the shaft of his penis, licking him straight up till he could only see the pointed tip of her tongue peeping over the head. Her cheeks hollowed as she went down on him, making him jelly in the knees, his fists grabbing her hair, nails digging into the back of her head, urging her to keep it steady, keep it deep. This was okay, too, he decided, even better than the first time.

And she had given him such incredible head, in the dark recesses of terminal garage, fourth level. He had barely managed to close the door of her car, after laying the crutches across the back seat and throwing in the duffel bag that she had called her luggage, when he felt her lean into him, arms going round his waist. He had returned the kiss, surprised. It was a good first kiss, serious, with an active tongue, but, it was the manner in which she pushed against his inner thigh with that cast, as if kneeing him, using it to nudge open his legs even wider that made his dick shoot up like a rocket. He was a well-built man but he loved the feel of a cast’s solid mass, its enormity. The very sight of it had been enough to make him follow her down the ramp as they got off their flight and help her negotiate the crowds.

As she began kissing his neck and pulling at his shirt he felt her ease down onto her good leg, the casted one straight out to the left. Amazed, fascinated, he watched her withdraw his engorged dick from the boxer flaps and simply, beautifully, begin sucking on it without so much as a wobble. She had done this before. He gave her his hands to hold herself steady as she bobbed over the head of his dick, swallowing him every few seconds till he felt the head hit the back of her throat. He could barely stand, still seized with wonder that never once did her casted leg cause a problem. She rocked back and forth, devouring him, the heel of the cast rotating with her, the toes wiggling. The mere sight of them, in the same deep violet of her dress, made him explode like it was his first time. As he muffled a harsh groan he congratulated himself, if nothing else, he knew a good woman when he saw her.

It was a certain kind of woman that Shane pursued. Irresistibly, they had flitted in and out of his life every where he went. He found them in little Chinese groceries, saw them getting out of Midtown cabs with difficulty, and resting against some terminal loading gate in Atlanta awaiting help from the flight attendant. They stood self-consciously in movie queues, almost apologetic, aware that they were different. He found them in restaurants from Sydney to Cleveland to Istanbul, drawn to his level gaze as they sat with just the one leg carefully perched to the side, returning his disarming smile. Embarrassed or excited, they would feel his glance slide down their leg to their pretty foot with proprietary interest; it made them feel as if their exposed toes were a delicious, private treasure suddenly put on display. Sometimes it was an arm that they so tenderly held next to their bodies, absently wiggling the long fingers in response to an unseen itch and nearly driving him into cardiac arrest.

This one, the blonde, had been in First Class, alone. He felt her eyes on him before he noticed her; although, with her shocking nail polish and smudgy eye makeup she was hard to miss. About thirty, model-perfect, the milkiest of white skin and gentle overbite he gave her a long look before being jostled from behind by some matronly heifer returning to Chicago with all her shopping bags in tow. From his seat, on the aisle, he caught glimpses of her casted leg in the aisle of First Class as the curtains opened and closed for the attendants. Once he caught her looking back over her shoulder. He gave her a crooked smiled, tilting his head, and disappeared behind his copy of "Men’s Journal." Make them come to me, always.

He made one trip to the airplane’s bathroom, using First Class since it was the closest. He dawdled, as if struggling to maintain balance walking up the aisle, his hand just grazing the back of her seat, fingers tangling in her long blonde hair. When he looked down, he smiled again, "sorry." She wore a spaghetti-strap dress, not unlike lingerie, with a gaping cleavage. The matching violet bra was clearly visible; she smiled in return, and pulled her pamina shawl about her shoulders. He liked that about her. Too bad he didn’t have a lay-over in Chicago.

Still, he made the effort, as much from habit as anything else, flirting lightly with the attendant, about turbulence and altitudes and holding patterns they would inevitably encounter en route to their scheduled landing in Chicago. Anything to keep the blonde’s attention on his lanky frame, with his $450 John Varvatos sweater, the leather Eisenhower jacket, the linen trousers. The only way clothes looked better on Shane- standing was with Shane-walking. It all went into the "notice me" part of the invitation.

He had long ago perfected that fleeting look of invitation, direct and implicit with desire. Turning away from the attendant just slightly, it was enough to put him in full view of the blonde, and from under his hooded eyes he let her know he was devouring every detail of her cast, from the tuft of stockinette to flowery, scribbled names of friends. It was the kind of behavior that made him both instantly alarming and incredibly appealing, it was a look designed to make women quiver. He seemed to know that in a cast everything had changed for them - and that, for awhile, they were indeed different, they were someone else, someone who had inexplicably caught his full attention.

Sometimes they followed his lead, sometimes they wanted him to approach them; and, in the casual guise of light conversation he lavished all the attention he wanted on their leg, stiffened in its plaster cast, or arm nestled in the colorful layers of a fiberglass cast. It would be enough to separate him from the routine pick-up – and, enough time to rub those perfect toes, kiss the tips of her shy, curling fingers, nestle the foot in his lap, her heel pressing rhythmically against his massive erection. The one sexual adventure none of them had ever considered was about to happen.

The blonde sipped a glass of white wine, seemingly unaware of his presence. Occasionally she tipped her glass a bit too forward, as if jolted by the motion of the plane, and dribbled wine into her pale cleavage; the beads of wine rolled between the breasts. She dabbed at them, pushing them aside, with disinterest, as if no one else was in First Class. The attendant, who was even less interested in the blonde, reluctantly left Shane to answer a call from the pilot’s cabin.

Shane, now unencumbered, stood to his full height and watched the blonde idly dab and re-dab the same furrow between her plumpish breasts. That decided it; he would be sucking on those breasts twenty minutes after landing; he’d find a way to wedge his dick all the way from her belly button to her mouth, between those twin mountains. He’d have her somewhere, somehow. He had spent at least fifteen years of his life successfully bedding every attractive or intriguing woman in a cast that he chanced to see – it was a quest which had become his unquenchable master - the only true sexual gratification that was worth having. For a man who could get any woman, and had always known it, these women presented a unique challenge, an unexpected conquest, a delicious alternative to the boredom of routine dating.

She looked up suddenly, downed the glass of wine, and licked the taste of it from her lower lip. He stepped forward, one chair row at a time, and let his eyes travel down to her casted foot. What she was advertising was all very nice but what he wanted didn’t stop at her pussy, hidden somewhere under the stretchy nylon of her dress. An inch before reaching her foot he leaned down and brushed invisible lint from his pant leg, his eyes fascinated by the exact match of nail color on her toes to match the dress. An excellent pedicure, feet that had been lavished over were a special treat for him.

The blonde stole a glance at his kneeling figure, a shiver running up her spine; for some reason she thought she saw him about to touch her foot, her toes. She immediately fantasized as his head bent over her cast, imagined that she could see his fingers spreading the toes, inserting his tongue. A rush of heat swept over her, as if someone had turned a blow-torch on her naked body. He stood up, slowly, passing her by completely, without a single exchange. That would come later.

With a half hour left before he would have to catch his connecting flight Shane tried to sit up, suddenly alert, the room no longer swirling around as it had when the blonde had dragged herself over his lower body, still sucking down his erection in hungry gulps. At this rate he would miss his flight, totally screw up his schedule. He focused on her face, the strands of hair wet with sweat, her lips swelling from the effort to get him off yet again. He moaned to himself, "Oh what the fucking hell," he’d get another flight out of Chicago.

Although everything was still slick with his last cum but there was enough left in him to handle her insatiable appetite. He gently pulled back her hair, till his dick popped out from between her bruised lips. With one sentence, "up we go," he hoisted her high enough to swing her casted leg over his hip. He told her to lean to the right, onto her good knee, and she did so. She fell forward, against his chest, as he wedged the head of his dick between the soft furrows of her labia, holding the casted leg up high. He felt it push against the opening without luck, mashing the far side repeatedly, till she started laughing. He felt her long fingers around his hand, guiding the head of his dick over an inch, and in. It nearly sucked his whole arm in with it, or so it seemed to Shane. The casted leg came down atop his thigh, inert, while he was driven deep into her, gravity alone sealing them together. She made all sorts of cooing noises, rubbing her clit and mound back and forth, letting his dick inside her stimulate the G-spot ridges. He had enough stiffness left to keep her penetrated, she did the rest, rocking on him, fingering herself, screaming out and tonguing his ear when what she really needed was another dick to suck on as she came.

He rolled her over to her back, unable to stay hard inside her any longer. Despite her protests he sat back, his whole body tingling with something undone. He rubbed his jaw, thinking, then, laying against the casted leg, he teased her mound with his thick, tousled hair, his fingers probing and poking her cunt and ass. His neck scraped against the cast at her thigh, which he liked, and he fought off her hand, trying to finger herself. With his forefinger he teased the underside of the clit, till it stood up hard and rigid. He licked the nub, lightly, which drove her crazy, and slid his thumb into her butt, not stroking, simply plugging it good. The blonde heaved and came hard, her hips rolling. It felt like the skin on the back of his head would be rubbed raw from her cast but that just excited him all the more, he sucked harder on the clit, making her come again, eager to exhaust her, finally. She flailed for a moment, begging him to fuck her again, when he went onto his belly, between her legs, and tongued her cunt, her ass, biting at the labia and squeezing the mound with his hands. He blew into her cunt in short sharp breaths just as he slid both thumbs into her ass, and gently pulled it wide open. She arched in a last scream, nearly ripping the hair from his head.

With the blonde limp, quasi delirious, Shane moved lower, to the edge of the bed, and ran his hands over the cast. He couldn’t get enough of its textures, its little inadvertent bumps and ridges, the way it disguised the shapeliness of her leg, the way her toes surprised him, suddenly reappearing at the other end of the long plaster tube. He tickled them, just to see what they might do. Leaned over and kissed their soft edges, ran his tongue under the pillowy pads and into the crease, between the toes. He stroked himself lightly, with a whisper of pressure; he just enjoyed the pleasure of sucking on beautiful toes, caught in their protective cast, while feeling his way through a new erection. He could play like this for hours. Or so he thought.

He never lasted as long as he thought he did, something about a cast, on the arm or the leg, unnerved him, drove him to any length to possess the woman, the girl, in the cast. And finding girls in casts proved to be easier than he had ever expected.

In high school, where it had all began with Cheryl, he found his girlfriend’s many extracurricular activities were an astonishingly fertile source. Almost every rehearsal for her theatre club provided a twisted ankle or pulled back muscles, stubbed and bruised toes from moving props about the set that needed massaging. Some of the girls sensed that Shane was more attentive to them sitting forgotten on the sidelines nursing their swollen wrist or throbbing toes than he was to Cheryl, mid-stage, emoting and abusing Andrew Lloyd Webber with her off-key vocals. They may not have fallen from that ladder on purpose, or tripped over the electrical cords as if planned, or suddenly banged their knee into the amps - which had not been moved since Nixon was in the White House - but, it was sure nice to have him all to themselves. He had such a friendly manner, an engaging smile, with dark brows and hooded, hazel eyes, the permanently tousled hair, long on the neck, and always in his eyes. His long, strong fingers felt like velvet, smooth and yet probing their bruised bones and aching muscles. If these careful ministrations also led to heated kissing and groping through zippers and bras in storage rooms, in between scenes, while no one was looking, it also served Cheryl, though she rarely knew the actual cause of his pent-up desires. She was attractive in her own right and assumed his unabated sexual hunger after rehearsals was due to her own powers of arousal.

If he was never "not in the mood" Cheryl was the envy of her peers for other reasons as well: how many other boyfriends bothered to attend every game their girlfriend played? And Cheryl had a sport for each season’s turn: soccer, tennis, and softball but he never failed to be with the team, nodding sympathetically to the latest injury one of her team-mates suffered, taking one of them home or accompanying them to the waiting ambulance. His training in emergency rescue every summer as a lifeguard, with Cheryl, had made him an acceptable sideline visitor even to the testiest of Cheryl’s coaches and failing that he always had his camera with him. He had yet to find a coach who could resist having her team’s photo in the school paper for even routine games. Shane, from the beginning, was a detail man.

He knew when to make his entrance, when to change his long stride to a cocky saunter or when to appear unaffected and spontaneous. He had always been on the lean side and as he shot up through high school his assured loping walk made him seem even taller. Now, as he entered onto the field, crossing over the flat stretches between the games, every one of Cheryl’s team-mates knew he was approaching. He mentally reviewed the faces, which ones were due to get new x-rays, or go for therapy on their hand, or had just dislocated a shoulder and were out for the season. He calculated their desirability, not on appearance, but on their manner. He was particularly attracted to the girls who were as fascinated as he was by their various injuries and welter of Ace bandages, casts, and occasional braces. They didn’t whine about needles or blood-work or pain, instead, they understood it was part of the risk of having a very physical life. Things break. Things mend. And for Shane Orsini the details that mattered were found in the erotic, almost magical space between those two realities.