Learning Disabled Son
It was a potentially awkward situation. The son sat to my right. The father sat to my left. We alternately made and avoided eye contact with each other. I was about to shag the son and take away his virginity. The father had been the one to set up the meeting. His son had learning difficulties and had never had a girl-friend. This young man was really lucky. Very few carers or parents looking after disabled people ever acknowledge that the person they are taking such impeccable care of has a basic need that they cannot fulfil — the need for intimacy, sex, a hug, a blow job, whatever; the things every one else take for granted.
The arrangements were done via email at first. The father had found me listed on the TLC web site aimed specifically to list escorts that welcome disabled men and women as clients. He wrote and explained he was writing on behalf of his son whose learning difficulties meant he could neither read nor write. There was a slight risk of him having an epileptic fit — slight because he hadn’t had one in years. But it was anyone’s guess what the excitement or trauma of sex for the first time might trigger. I was a bit alarmed that perhaps he had picked me without the son’s input, but I needn’t have worried. Mother, father and son had all looked at my profile and decided that I’d be the chosen one.
As I am attracted to older men, it was natural that I’d size his father up when they arrived. He was definitely worth checking out. In another life, I’d have flirted outrageously with him if our paths had crossed. He had to be at least in his fifties and had kind eyes, a gentle smile, and stood tall and proud (I have nothing against short men — they have easier access to my nipples). I guess I didn’t check his son out that much since it was a foregone conclusion that I was going to have him anyway! But he wasn’t bad looking either. Too young for me to chat up outside of work, even though he was actually older than he looked.
The father declined the offer of tea or coffee. I thought perhaps he couldn’t wait to be away from the awkward situation. Or maybe he was just being sensitive to his son’s feelings who clearly resented the fact that he needed his father to bring him over. There was a typical parent-child moment when the son snapped at him for belatedly remembering to tell me that he had a nut allergy.
“Why couldn’t you tell her that by email?” he pouted, exasperated. I personally couldn’t see the difference. It was good to know. But maybe, for a moment, he felt embarrassed to be spoken about as if he were not there. It is really hard in these situations when you have a go-between acting out of sincerity. His father apologised curtly as if to forestall a major storm brewing. I guessed they’d discuss this later. Calm was restored.
I would actually later learn that the young man’s mother was waiting in the car downstairs. Both parents went to a local wine bar (to steady their nerves or drown their sorrows?)
Alone at last, I led my soon-to-be-a-virgin-no-more upstairs by the hand. I helped him with his shirt buttons, belt and zip and slipped his jeans off. He kept his socks on. Then I pushed him back lying on the bed so he could watch me undress. I guessed he’d done a fair bit of browsing online and through magazines. This was the time to find out if there was anything in particular he would like to try. He was mute and gulped. So we kissed instead, which seemed to relax him.
It was clear that no initiative whatsoever was going to come from him, so I worked my way down from his lips to his groin. And when I took him in my mouth, he declared:
“That is well nice!”
I gave him the option to put the condom on, but his hand co-ordination and nerves meant he couldn’t. I took over and slipped it over his cock. He was so well endowed that, even when not fully aroused, the condom was easy to slip on and stayed on for the duration.
He loosened up a bit and it made a change to hear about himself from his own lips and not via his father. His mother, he told me, had approached him before they left home and asked him if he was sure he wanted to go ahead with it. He had never been surer of anything in his life. He was tired of being a virgin. I asked him if he’d never been attracted to any of the girls at the school he went to. It had been a Special Needs school and, without going into any details, he said he hadn’t fancied any of the girls there.
As the hour drew to an end (I had told his father to start counting the hour not from when they had arrived but from when he had left us alone together), the young man was coming out of his shell and asking very politely if we could do this, or that, or that again. One minute he wanted more oral sex. The next he wanted me to ride him again. I glanced at the time and realised that his father would be back any minute. He groaned and looked frustrated. He hadn’t cum yet. But he was happy. Just then, I saw the light on my phone flashing — I turn the ringer off during sessions. It was his father at the front door. Neither of us had heard the front door bell ring.
We scurried about like illicit lovers caught in the act. I made myself presentable and zoomed downstairs to let his father back in. I left the son getting dressed, something he has to do a bit more slowly than usual.
“It wasn’t too traumatic?” his father asked kindly as I let him back in.
“No, I think he enjoyed it once he got settled,“ I assured him.
“Actually, I meant, I hope it wasn’t too traumatic for you!”
Injecting humour into a moment more awkward than asking one’s prospective father-in-law for his daughter’s hand in marriage was greatly appreciated. We both chuckled quietly. I felt I had to be on my best behaviour. There was this “I know what you did last Summer” feel to our conversation as we made our way upstairs. Soon the son came downstairs, dressed and looking a little sheepish.
And then they were gone. And life could return to what is normal in the life of a professional London escort.
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