My ex-girlfriend was fourteen years older than me, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. Her job kept her active, and since she didn’t have a car, she walked everywhere. That weekend, I was visiting her when we realized we needed to make a trip to the hardware store. She helped me get dressed and settled into my wheelchair, then turned to me with a playful smirk.
“What should I wear?” she asked.
Now, with a body like hers and my love for pushing boundaries, I couldn’t resist. “That little white top,” I said, “and the short black mini-skirt.” Then I grinned. “And no panties.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she pulled on the tiny skirt. “You’re terrible,” she teased, but she didn’t hesitate. The thrill of it had her just as excited as me.
By the time we stepped into her backyard, she was already feeling the heat of our little adventure. My van was parked behind a closed gate, giving us a little privacy—or at least the illusion of it. She opened the rear door and bent down to lower the ramp, keeping her legs together at first. But from where I sat, I had the perfect view of her skirt riding up, revealing that she had followed my instructions exactly.
I took in the sight—her bare, perfectly smooth skin, the way the cool breeze played against her, the hint of dampness from her arousal.
Just as she started to straighten up, I couldn’t help myself. “Stay like that,” I murmured. “And spread your legs.”
She glanced over her shoulder, biting her lip, then did as I asked. A shiver ran through her as the breeze teased her most sensitive spots. I could see the thrill of it washing over her—half embarrassment, half exhilaration.
After a few delicious moments, she got me into the van, secured my wheelchair, and climbed into the driver’s seat, tugging down her skirt as best as she could. We were both grinning like kids with a secret as we drove toward the hardware store, imagining all the ways this little adventure might play out.
When we pulled into a handicapped parking spot right in front of the store, the game got even riskier. She carefully stepped out, moving slowly to keep her skirt from riding up too high. But when she reached the back of the van to lower the ramp again, there was no way around it—she had to bend over.
We both knew it, and we both knew she was giving an unintentional (or maybe slightly intentional) show to anyone paying close enough attention.
Trying to keep a straight face, she got me out and leaned back into the van to put away the tie-down straps. And there it was—one last perfect view just for me.
By now, a curious car guard had wandered over, eyeing my wheelchair with interest. Or at least, that’s what he pretended. More likely, he’d caught a glimpse of my ex’s little predicament and was looking for an excuse to stick around.
"Need a hand with anything?” he offered, a little too eager.
She and I exchanged amused glances. “No, thanks,” I said smoothly. “We’ve got it under control.”
We wheeled into the store, giggling like naughty teenagers. Even as we shopped, we kept laughing about the whole situation—the car guard sneaking peeks, the challenge of avoiding a full public display, and the delicious risk of it all.
And sure enough, when we returned to the van, the car guard was right there, waiting.
He gave us a friendly nod, but his eyes were definitely more interested in my ex than me. She gave him a polite smile, then went about securing my wheelchair. This, of course, required her to bend down again, forcing her to concentrate hard on keeping her skirt in place. The poor guy did his best to act casual, but we could tell he was hoping for another glimpse.
After finally getting me settled, she hopped into the driver’s seat, and we both burst out laughing. “I think we just made that guy’s day,” she whispered.
I smirked. “And mine.”
Back at her house, after she helped me out of the van, she took her time putting away the straps and closing up. She knew I was watching. She wanted me to watch.
And when we finally made it inside, all the teasing, the stolen glances, and the delicious tension exploded between us. We didn’t even make it past the front door before we were kissing, hands everywhere, like two teenagers who just couldn’t wait any longer.
That trip to the hardware store? Definitely one of my favorites.
