A NIGHT OF HEALING AND DISAPPOINTMENT by Ashley Martinez
Let me tell you the whole story just to tell you how it goes down.
So I went to my aunt’s house—well, not my aunt, but she’s my mom’s best friend—and he—my aunt is actually his aunt—was there and he didn’t have a girlfriend at the time. I told myself I’d finally tell him, that I was going to do it, that I was going to admit it.
We were sitting outside drinking and having fun, and I literally looked over at him and I said, “You know what? I love you and I’ve always loved you and just—hmph.”
And then he kissed me. For five minutes. Then he stopped.
“Little,” he said, “what’s wrong? After what that guy did to you I figured you would want me.”
So I slapped him on his head. “What the hell are you doing,” I asked. “You know that I love you and that if we go this far, you’re going to regret it. I’m in a wheelchair, and you’re going to think you took advantage of me.”
In my head, I also thought he wouldn’t think I was a real woman. I’ve had experience with this before. I was my ex-husband’s human sex doll.
Even with that thought, I knew I was about to be with a man who I loved and respected more than anyone. He was my friend. He was the man I loved. All at the same time. My worries came from not having my pretty, long hair anymore—the ex cut it off. My clothes weren’t good either. For the past month I felt and looked like crap.
But it was going to happen. It was happening now.
He picked me up and carried me inside. He laid me down and tried to take off my shirt and laughed. While he was looking at me, he said, “I never realized how beautiful you are.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You know what I have to wear because I can’t go to the bathroom. If we do make love I don’t want you to feel weird or that I’m any less of a woman because I have to wear what I have to wear.”
“I know.”
Then I remember it coming off and I didn’t care. I wanted him. And he damned sure wanted me.
I remember that ten years of love came out in five hours of breathlessness—and when I say breathlessness, I literally mean breathlessness. And it didn’t hurt. And it didn’t hurt. And I wasn’t just a girl in a wheelchair.
And it didn’t hurt.
I was—for one night—Abe’s girl. After being friends with him for three years, and after seven previous years of being attracted to him, loving him.
He was strong. He was really strong. And I felt it. But it didn’t hurt.
The cerebral palsy melted away. The spasms, the weak bladder, the “child” voice, the ugliness. Everything worked. My body worked; my mind worked.
My heart worked.
And I wanted to tell you this even though it’s not practical and it’s not responsible from a modern woman’s perspective, I guess, but I wanted my whole body to open. My womb, my body, my spirit—I wanted to receive life. I’m not saying I wanted to get pregnant, but I did want it because I loved him. And I thought if physical love could be that powerful, I knew that if we had a child it would have been one created out of total love and happiness.
And he wasn’t even grunting the way a guy does. He was soft. His voice was soft—not like the way my ex-husband used to grunt when he used me.
I wanted a baby. I had already lost two. I just wanted life, I wanted to be married, I wanted to have babies; I wanted to live and be a woman—and not just a disabled woman. I wanted to live. To be alive.
And then the morning came, and life came as it always does. And he realized what he had done, and he got up and left.
And I was alone.
But I knew I had to make amends with my God and reconcile myself. So I went the next day to the priest, and I confessed my adultery, and I spent three—now it’s four, I guess—years doing penance for the desire I still feel. For that need for him to love me. I do it by fasting and doing rosaries and mortification, which is when you admit that you’re going through a time of temptation and desire. You do it to show the Lord that He’s more important than any experience or encounter. That He fills those desires with His love and strength.
He doesn’t require me to be any more or less than I am. And He is more important.
//ww
So I went to my aunt’s house—well, not my aunt, but she’s my mom’s best friend—and he—my aunt is actually his aunt—was there and he didn’t have a girlfriend at the time. I told myself I’d finally tell him, that I was going to do it, that I was going to admit it.
We were sitting outside drinking and having fun, and I literally looked over at him and I said, “You know what? I love you and I’ve always loved you and just—hmph.”
And then he kissed me. For five minutes. Then he stopped.
“Little,” he said, “what’s wrong? After what that guy did to you I figured you would want me.”
So I slapped him on his head. “What the hell are you doing,” I asked. “You know that I love you and that if we go this far, you’re going to regret it. I’m in a wheelchair, and you’re going to think you took advantage of me.”
In my head, I also thought he wouldn’t think I was a real woman. I’ve had experience with this before. I was my ex-husband’s human sex doll.
Even with that thought, I knew I was about to be with a man who I loved and respected more than anyone. He was my friend. He was the man I loved. All at the same time. My worries came from not having my pretty, long hair anymore—the ex cut it off. My clothes weren’t good either. For the past month I felt and looked like crap.
But it was going to happen. It was happening now.
He picked me up and carried me inside. He laid me down and tried to take off my shirt and laughed. While he was looking at me, he said, “I never realized how beautiful you are.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You know what I have to wear because I can’t go to the bathroom. If we do make love I don’t want you to feel weird or that I’m any less of a woman because I have to wear what I have to wear.”
“I know.”
Then I remember it coming off and I didn’t care. I wanted him. And he damned sure wanted me.
I remember that ten years of love came out in five hours of breathlessness—and when I say breathlessness, I literally mean breathlessness. And it didn’t hurt. And it didn’t hurt. And I wasn’t just a girl in a wheelchair.
And it didn’t hurt.
I was—for one night—Abe’s girl. After being friends with him for three years, and after seven previous years of being attracted to him, loving him.
He was strong. He was really strong. And I felt it. But it didn’t hurt.
The cerebral palsy melted away. The spasms, the weak bladder, the “child” voice, the ugliness. Everything worked. My body worked; my mind worked.
My heart worked.
And I wanted to tell you this even though it’s not practical and it’s not responsible from a modern woman’s perspective, I guess, but I wanted my whole body to open. My womb, my body, my spirit—I wanted to receive life. I’m not saying I wanted to get pregnant, but I did want it because I loved him. And I thought if physical love could be that powerful, I knew that if we had a child it would have been one created out of total love and happiness.
And he wasn’t even grunting the way a guy does. He was soft. His voice was soft—not like the way my ex-husband used to grunt when he used me.
I wanted a baby. I had already lost two. I just wanted life, I wanted to be married, I wanted to have babies; I wanted to live and be a woman—and not just a disabled woman. I wanted to live. To be alive.
And then the morning came, and life came as it always does. And he realized what he had done, and he got up and left.
And I was alone.
But I knew I had to make amends with my God and reconcile myself. So I went the next day to the priest, and I confessed my adultery, and I spent three—now it’s four, I guess—years doing penance for the desire I still feel. For that need for him to love me. I do it by fasting and doing rosaries and mortification, which is when you admit that you’re going through a time of temptation and desire. You do it to show the Lord that He’s more important than any experience or encounter. That He fills those desires with His love and strength.
He doesn’t require me to be any more or less than I am. And He is more important.
//ww