They removed the cast from my right upper arm later that week, and my left leg was also coming along well enough that there was finally talk of sending me home. With one good leg and one good arm, I was apparently going to be functional enough to mostly care for myself, although I'd need to continue therapy for the foreseeable future.

My employer's Workers' Comp insurance had paid my bills thus far and would continue to for the ongoing therapy, as well as for someone to stop by my home once or twice a day to help out. I couldn’t begin to imagine what they’d already paid out, but I knew it was an astronomical sum. Fortunately, my boss was a cool guy and was legitimately concerned; when I’d tried to apologize for the expense, he’d assured me that this was the reason he had good insurance and that he was just happy I hadn’t been killed.

I’d been the foreman on the job the day I’d gotten hurt, and a bunch of the guys had salvaged the climbing belt I’d been wearing at the time and had it framed for me. It was badly scorched, the heavy nylon strap partially melted, and the buckle bent and contorted by heat and force, the vagaries of lightning; no wonder it had failed so spectacularly! It was a gruesome but cherished memento, and them saving it and bringing it in when they visited had touched me deeply.

Other things continued as they had since I’d awoken, improvement gradual but steady. Brad and Eva remained curious about the ‘side effect’ of their sessions with me, but when I continued to profess ignorance of the cause, they apparently decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Fortunately, appearing ignorant is something I do very convincingly.

Angie and I seemed to grow closer as a result of our astonishing evening together; after an experience like that there are few secrets (although I continued to keep just the one) and we were able to openly confide in each other about many things. She had ultimately told Ben, her husband, everything. The spur of the moment oral sex, me overflowing her mouth with a monster load, the mind-blowing orgasms, every tiny detail, just as she’d promised.

He’d been hurt and jealous at first, as well as strangely, intensely aroused, but then they’d had their own amazing night-long romp and now she said their sex lives had reached heights that neither of them had imagined possible! I don’t know that I had anything to do with that aspect of it, but if I did it was a gratifying feeling. I sort of hoped I had, but mostly I was happy for her – and for him, of course, although we’d never met. She and I discussed whether we might ever try it again, but hadn’t at that point.

Julia, though… Julia, the object of my dreams and fantasies, remained an enigma. She was always friendly enough in her very reserved way, and caring, careful, and thorough in her duties as my physical therapist, but she was closed off. She often seemed rather sad and distant, like her thoughts were a million miles away, and I sensed a caution about letting anyone get close; not my new spidey-senses, I still had virtually no reading from her there, but just normal, everyday impressions that any moderately observant person might pick up.

I ached to know more about her as I found her more attractive by the day, but she remained a mystery and any relationship we had remained professional and superficial.

At least it did until the day she surprised me with a very personal question. My left leg and right arm were pretty much back to normal, or at least to about eighty percent, although they were still tender and weak, and I was slated to go home in two days. The cast remained on my left forearm and wrist, and my steel and chrome “Terminator” apparatus was still on my right leg, however, so I’d be very limited.

Still, I was up on the table and Julia was doing her best to work me out, trying to get my limbs as flexible as possible and help me get my strength and balance back. She seemed to be in her usual distant zone, so I mentally departed as well, allowing daydreams to take over.

She was pushing my damaged leg up, my foot toward the ceiling and my back on the table, working on a series of stretches for my hip flexors, hamstrings, and glutes. With my leg locked straight from ankle to hip by the metal framework, it was an awkward, undignified, and often painful stretch.

I was focused elsewhere, trying to block out the discomfort, when out of the blue she asked, “Jon, are you Jewish?”

It brought me back into the room, but it also baffled me momentarily because it was such an odd question. "What? Jewish? No, I'm Presbyterian, but lapsed, I suppose. Why would you think…”

It suddenly dawned on me why she might ask that question; another in the endless series of ridiculous wardrobe malfunctions, obviously.

It surprised me that she would ask like that, so bluntly. It was entirely out of character for her, but I decided to answer as straightforwardly as I could to avoid embarrassing her. Still, I laughed a little self-consciously as I replied, “Oh, that. No, it’s not because I’m Jewish; for the last few generations, I think almost all of the males in my family have been circumcised. I guess you’d call it more of a family tradition or custom at this point because it's definitely not a religious thing for us."

She had stopped pushing on my leg and was standing still, just holding it upright and looking at me. Her face wore a bemused smile, a bigger and more genuine smile that I’d ever seen on her before. My god, she was so beautiful it took my breath away!

My thought process demolished by her beauty, and still in the awkward position that had apparently exposed my circumcised dangly bits to her, prompting her question, I instantly descended into my standard babbling idiot mode. “That’s a weird custom anyway, isn’t it? I mean, here the little baby Jewish boys are born with a tiny built-in yarmulke already in place covering one head, and then they slice it off and make them wear one on the other head from that point forward. Symbolism, maybe, although I don’t get it; dirty trick - they should make up their minds first…”

Her peal of laughter stopped me in my tracks, thank God; it may have been the only thing that could have, and I was sinking fast. The sound was gorgeous, a wonderful, honest, mirthful, musical laugh. In all the time we’d worked together on my therapy, I’d never seen such a full, genuine smile on her face, and I’d never heard her laugh out loud. I thought it might just be the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

She slowly lowered my foot back down the surface and stepped closer to the head of the massage table, leaning her hip against it. She was still smiling broadly as she said, “As fascinating as your family's genital history and your religious philosophy are, Jon, that’s not at all why I asked you that.”

“Oh. Really? Well, color me embarrassed.”

She laughed again. “Don’t be, it was a weird question and that was a logical assumption. Besides which, I needed that laugh; I don’t think I’ve been able to laugh like that for a very long time.”

“You should; you have a beautiful laugh. If it wasn’t that, though, then what made you think I was Jewish?”

“I didn’t think you were Jewish, Jon; I realize that many non-Jewish men are circumcised. I just thought it would be rather fortuitous if you were. Have you seen your scars?”

“Ugh, yeah; don’t remind me.” I wasn’t sure what my impressive collection of ugly scars had to do with Judaism, but I suddenly hated that she was exposed to them every time she saw me. Funny, but it hadn’t mattered to me at all until that moment.

“Not all of your scars, just your lightning burns on your shoulder and ankle. I was looking at the one on your ankle just now, which is why I asked.”

“My ankle? My ankle looks Jewish?”

She laughed again. “It does now. Your scar – both of your burn scars – are almost perfect six-pointed stars. Stars of David, you know, a Jewish symbol like on Israel’s flag.”

“Really?” I’d seen them of course, although the one on my ankle was tough for me to see since I couldn’t bend that knee and the one on my shoulder had mostly been fully or partially covered by the several casts I’d gone through, the last of which had now been removed. “I guess I haven’t looked at them that closely – couldn’t, most of the time.”

“Hold on…” She crossed to the counter and withdrew a small, handheld mirror from the drawer, the type a barber or beautician might use. “Here, look.”

She held the mirror so that I could see, first the one on my shoulder before she moved down to my ankle and showed me that one as well. Damned if she wasn’t right; both scars, each between three and four inches across, were nearly perfect Stars of David, pink now but slowly fading to white.

I stared. “Huh, look at that! I wonder if that’s a sign; maybe I’m supposed to convert to Judaism.”

She smiled slyly. “Well, you do have a head start on the circumcision, after all, thanks to your family tradition…”

I laughed, embarrassed still about my faux pas, but delighted by the display of her quick sense of humor. “Good point, because the prospect of a bris would definitely be enough to discourage me. I wonder if one of my doctors is a Jewish prankster of some kind and arranged for the scars to look like that; I think several of them are Jews.”

She smiled again, her guard still lowered. She reached out and laid her hand on my arm as she said, “That could be it, I suppose, or just the weird result of a lightning strike. It can do a lot of strange things to people.”

I barely heard her, paying no attention to what she was saying because when she’d laid her hand on my arm she was suddenly there, in my head, her feelings and emotions open to me for the first time ever. Our candid moment of embarrassment and laughter seemed to have breached the barriers she’d erected and suddenly I was able to ‘read’ her, as I could with everyone else. It caught me by surprise, but I tried to recover.

“Uh, lightning, yeah it does. Kills ‘em mostly, I guess, so what’s a few freaky Jewish scars compared to that?” I could feel her amusement, the sense of humor that had been triggered by my earlier stupid assumption and response, and an overlay of joy, perhaps surprise and delight she still remembered how to laugh. Beneath it, though, there was a deep sadness accompanied by fear, or at least by a powerful feeling of trepidation and caution with a tinge of what might have been resignation, or maybe fatalism.

The fear, caution, and sadness were the fallen bricks that had made up her wall, and I wanted desperately to avoid saying anything that might rebuild it. I retreated to safer ground. “So tell me, Julia, how am I doing, really? I’m supposedly getting sprung from here in the next few days; am I going to be able to hop around and take care of myself okay?”

She smiled. “Mostly, I should think. Are you worried about it?”

“A little, yeah; it’s been a while since I took care of myself, but I am looking forward to getting out of here, if just for the freedom and to get outside more.” I’d been able to take a few short excursions outdoors, usually getting wheeled out in a wheelchair and then walking around outdoors on the grounds with one of the therapists helping me.

I’d especially enjoyed the walks with Julia, as I’d told her, and the various casts and braces coming off had allowed me to graduate from hospital gowns to an actual chambray shirt and big boy pants, albeit with velcro closures all the way down the right outer leg seam. At least I was no longer mooning everybody, and the catcalls and whistles from the staff had slacked off.

“Do you have someone that can help you out around your place?”

I shrugged. “Sort of, but not anyone I can impose on very much or very long. Some friends. My sister might come back for a few days.”

“You’ll have a home healthcare worker stopping by every day for awhile, and we’ll be coming to you for therapy until your right leg improves enough for you to drive to us. You should be fine.”

She touched me again, and I was relieved that I could still read her; unlike most other reasonably healthy people I’d “read” since my injury, her sexuality was not strong, not as apparent as most. ‘Dormant’ is the word that popped into my head, as if she’d repressed her needs and desires or intentionally put it in the background, stored away for possible future use.

I’d always been aware that people are sexual animals, you hear and read it everywhere, but I’d never realized what a powerful part of most people’s psyche it is, so that had been an eye-opener for me. Not Julia, though, or at least I couldn’t tell; she’d been so successful at burying it, packing it away, that it might have been a trickle or a raging river but it was impossible for me to determine which. In that respect, she remained an enigma.

“Julia, what are my chances of getting you to do most of my home therapy? I mean, I know you need your days off, but otherwise…”

She paused and regarded me silently for a moment, and I prayed that I hadn’t gone too far and pushed her back behind her wall.

“Why?”

“Honestly? I enjoy being with you, but also it hurts less when you do it. We can be doing the exact same exercises and stretches that Brad and Eva do, but for some reason, I feel less pain.” It was true; I think it was mostly because I was distracted by looking at her, by absorbing her gentle beauty and following her softly-spoken orders. She somehow made me feel good just by being there.

“I’m sure we can work that out if you request it, Jon. I enjoy doing the in-home therapy for certain patients while most of the others either think it’s a hassle because of the travel or are uncomfortable with it. I’d be happy to do it if you’re sure.”

“I am. Thanks, Julia, I really appreciate it.”

As she finished up my therapy for the day, I tried to gently nudge a few happier images into her mind. She was as complex as anyone I’d read, no single overpowering emotion but a jumble of things all churning at once; a thread of melancholy and something dark but indefinable – maybe caution, perhaps fear or dread – ran through it all, though, and that was what I tried to displace.

I was getting better at it, at what I thought of as ‘pushing’ positive things in to replace negative ones, but still, I was rarely sure how well it had worked. I was also constantly aware that I was intruding where I had no right to be, but I had no ability to keep other’s emotions out of my head when we came into contact so I rationalized my trespassing in their minds as a fair trade-off, done with the best of intentions. Bullshit, of course, but it was my excuse.

With Julia, when we parted, I had a sense that maybe I’d helped just a little. She paused as we broke contact and looked at me oddly for a long moment like maybe she’d sensed something and was about to ask me about it, but she let it pass. It’s funny that only Ella had reacted similarly, as if she had sensed my presence in her mind, but that was early when I had no idea what was happening and it hadn’t happened again so I’d sort of forgotten about it.

Over the next few days they got the cast off my left leg and reduced the one on my left arm to encompass only my wrist, hand, and lower forearm; I had finger and thumb usage with only minor pain, but still couldn’t bend or put weight on the wrist. My right arm was almost fully functional and, other than somewhat restricted movement at the shoulder, essentially pain-free, so as soon as I built up my strength and felt steady on my left leg I was going home. With one good arm plus one good leg and a crutch, I was fairly mobile! It felt really good.

On my last full day at the rehab center, I was lucky enough to have Angie as my nurse; I think she shifted some things around to make it happen that one last time, but I was more than happy with the outcome.

We hadn’t engaged in any further sex play after the one time. First, she said the renewed spark with her husband was still glowing nicely and she didn’t want to risk messing it up, but also I had a functional hand available and so the raison d'être for that first experience, which I thought of as a pity handjob/blowjob but she called “doing a good deed” no longer existed. I think we were both also more than a little concerned about how it had so quickly flamed almost out of control that first time.

On that final day, she bustled in, her usual bubbly but efficient self. “Hey, my last day with my favorite patient! I’ll miss you, but I’m glad you’re finally able to blow this joint.”

“Me too, Angie, but yes, I’ll miss you too, and all of the other amazing people that work here. I’ll never forget everything you did for me.”

“Me either!” She wiggled her eyebrows lasciviously, just in case I’d missed her true meaning; I hadn’t, of course.

I laughed. “Yeah, that too. Maybe especially that! Someday maybe I’ll have another experience that intense, but I’m not betting on it.”

“Mmm, yeah, I think the same thing. That was… let’s just say I still think about it all the time.” She seemed to mentally shake herself, to dispel what she was feeling. “So, am I bathing my big guy today?”

“You know I can do about ninety percent of it myself now, right?”

“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?

“I really wish I could just take a shower – not that I’d object to you joining me to wash my back.”

She smiled. “That would be fun – and we could bag your arm to keep the cast dry, but you know you have to wait until that contraption comes off your leg and the wounds where the rods and cables enter heal up a little. So then, a bath and a shave, just for old time’s sake?”

“Sure, why not? You gonna shave my face this time, or same as always?”

She laughed. “I’ve offered to shave those other bits for you, but you keep turning me down. Coward.”

“I told you that you could shave mine if I could shave yours.”

“And you know perfectly well, having felt it, that mine is as smooth as the day I was born. Waxing is way better than shaving.”

“You keep talking like that and there’s going to be more of me to wash.” I was relaxed with Angie now, our intimate evening removing the embarrassment over becoming aroused, and as a result, I usually did.

“I’m counting on it!”

She did keep teasing, and soon there was indeed more of me to wash. I received Angie’s usual gentle, sensual, thorough bath, and I was hard as a rock most of the time. I was picking up that she was as aroused as I, and, since our sudden storm of a tryst I’d been intentionally trying to “push” sexual feelings and images into her mind rather than just letting the ‘side-effect’ do its thing, and she’d proven very receptive – perhaps increasingly receptive, as if her mind was gradually being trained to absorb the sexual images and sensations.

I attributed a lot of her new-found sexual energy with her hubby to what I’d been doing, and I was concerned about what might happen to her after I was no longer in the hospital. It felt to me like she was internalizing it, however, like her awakened sexuality was becoming a part of her persona, so I tried not to worry about it.

About mid-bath, my soapy erection in her hand and her head full of my projected sexual images, she said, “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about coming in here, spending the three seconds it takes to get you hard, and climbing aboard. It’s almost a damn obsession sometimes!”

“Well saddle up, cowgirl, let’s see if you can stay on the whole eight seconds.”

She laughed. “Not going for any endurance records, huh?”

“A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but I don’t think it would take a hell of a lot longer. I’m just being all honest and realistic-like, here.”

“Me either, Jon; I don’t know what it is, but I get so aroused that I feel like I’m right on the edge of an orgasm when I spend time with you. Do you suppose it’s because we had that weird, incredibly intense experience together?”

“I don’t know… I suppose that must be it. I can’t imagine what else it could be. Go ahead and have one if you want, enjoy yourself; I don’t mind, I promise.”

She laughed again. “I wish it was that easy, I could use it, but I’m always just almost there, then we part and it lets up. Plus, the middle of a busy weekday shift is no time for fun and games!”

I couldn’t help it, I swear; in a fraction of a second, a mental image of Angie lying naked on her own massage table popped into my head. In my mind, I was standing alongside her, one hand squeezing her breast and toying with her erect nipple while with the other I was slowly sliding my finger up and down in her hot, slippery, aroused sex, my fingertip gliding over her opening, parting her inner lips, bumping over her swollen clit, again and again as her sweat-sheened body writhed on the table. In the next microsecond, I pushed the image and my sudden arousal at her.

It was an invasion of her mind, I knew that, something she had not consented to verbally but something I seemed powerless to stop. I felt her body stiffen and her hand closed tightly on my balls while the nails of the other dug into my thigh, and then she moaned.

Her moan, her visceral arousal, triggered the next image in my brain. In it, my head was between her legs, my face at her aroused sex, my tongue and lips savoring her sweet, musky juices as I lapped eagerly at her, her hard clit at the tip of my tongue, flicking, flicking, her hand in my hair holding me in place as her body bucked and writhed, demanding more.

She shuddered and moaned again as my mind thrust that image into hers – or, perhaps more accurately, as my own intense arousal at that mental image transferred to her. Her breath came out in a rush, and as she gasped for air her upper arms tightened against her generous breasts, pushing them together and causing them to strain against her thin scrubs, nipples jutting.

“God, Jon… ohhh, my god. I think… I think I’m…”

Her impending orgasm washed over me, and the next image in my head was her naked form above me, riding my hips as she’d suggested, her hand gripping my cock as she guided it into her hot, velvet sex and rode down, perfectly engulfing my length in her tight heat. The intense arousal of that thought too was instantaneously pushed into Angie’s willing, eager mind, in much the same way that my cock, in my imagination, slid into her equally willing, eager pussy.

"Jon, oohhh, fuck, I'm... I'm gonna...ohhh, god!"

Angie came. One hand left my body as she thrust it between her own legs, rubbing frantically at her pussy as her orgasm flooded her, while her other wrapped tightly around my straining erection as I ejaculated madly into the air! As before, her arousal and sudden orgasm had triggered my own, and my cock spasmed and pumped as I shot blast after blast of glistening white skyward even as Angie moaned and whimpered, trying to stifle her sounds as she humped herself against her own fingers.

It ran its course, each of our orgasms on its own schedule, and as the warm, carnal waves of sexual energy began to recede, lapping gently at our spent bodies, we slumped in exhaustion. She caught her breath first.

“Good God, what the hell was that? I just…” She seemed to suddenly become aware of the dozens of spatters of semen that had rained down on her, on me, and on the bed and floor around us. “You came huge!”

Weakly, I answered, “I did, yes. Sorry, but I couldn’t help it.” And I couldn’t, not at all. As fun as this was, I knew I’d have to find some way to delay my own orgasm, to exert control, although thus far the power of Angie’s orgasms had so overwhelmed me that I’d had no chance. Still, though, I sort of assumed there would at some point be one or more other women in my life, and I didn’t want to get a reputation as a one-pump chump, even if any potential future lover managed to come as quickly as Angie!

“No, me either, Jon. It was incredible… the orgasms I have with you are like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and they happen fast and without any warning, and without really having sex. It’s very weird, but my god, it’s like some kind of magical explosion! Good-weird, for sure, but weird.”

“I’ll say! It’s just as intense for me, in case you couldn’t tell by the way I tried to repaint the room. Fuck, there’s cum everywhere!”

“It’s perfectly all right, Jon; I love that you came like that, because I sure did.” She shook her head, laughing. “Lord, though, what a mess you make! I’d better get that cleaned up before anyone comes in.”

“I guess.” I paused as she released me and turned toward the sink. “Hey, Angie?”

She turned back toward me. “Yes?”

“Holy shit!”

She grinned. “I couldn’t agree more! I have no idea what just happened, but you and I have some weird sexual energy together, some crazy erotic ‘vibe’ or something. Don’t get me wrong, it was great, but I don’t understand it.”

“No, me either.” I did, of course, but only to a certain extent. How I could cause her to reach orgasm without laying a finger on her was still a mystery, one I didn’t want her to dig into any more deeply at that point. As she returned with some paper towels and began to track down and remove all evidence of my sudden geyser, I moved on.

“Are you aware that you have a big, wet, soapy handprint on the crotch of your pants?” It was from her own wet, soapy hand, left behind as she’d so desperately masturbated.

She stretched forward to see past her breasts, pulling the front of her pants out into sight. “Oh my god, that’s gonna show! I’ll need to sneak to my locker and change.”

“Yeah, just carry something in front of you; guys know a million tricks for hiding embarrassing, spontaneous erections, all learned at an early age, so apply some of my knowledge.”

She smiled. “And we ladies always know exactly what you’re doing and why, so don’t kid yourself.”

I laughed. “I don’t doubt it. I’m glad to be going home, but I’m going to miss you, lady. You’ve been amazing through everything.”

She leaned down and carefully kissed my cheek, a quick peck, apparently leery of another sudden conflagration. “I’ll miss you too, but you can stop in here and see us anytime you feel like it. We like to show off our success stories.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably do that, at least for awhile, to avoid withdrawal symptoms.”

“You also have an open invitation to join me and Ben for a threesome when you feel up to it if that interests you.”

I stared. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s actually from him, but I wholeheartedly seconded the motion.”

“Wow. I’ve never been one-third of a threesome before. I guess that might be fun - I mean, I know it would with you, but with your husband involved…”

“I wouldn’t be too surprised if he mostly just wants to watch; seeing me with you, watching us entertain each other, that’s really more his fantasy than participating. But he is my husband so if he wants to play too…”

“No, I get that. It’s only fair, after all, and I really do enjoy making you come, although it seems to be a mutual thing. It’s very interesting food for thought, and I’ve thought many times about all the other things we could do together.”

She laughed. “Me too, but don’t let’s start down that road or I’m going to need another orgasm or five.”

“Angie, you ever tried a DP?”

“Stop it!”

“Me either, but that might be fun. I call dibs on your wet, horny pussy!”

“Stop it, I said. You’re terrible, but I can sure tell you’re feeling better.”

I laughed as she turned away and pulled a notepad out of the bedside table and silently wrote something on it. “Here; this has our full names, address, home phone and my cell. Call if you’re ever interested, but remember we have to arrange to take the kids to the grandparents or something, so don’t wait ‘til you’re horny and desperate.”

“That’s kind of my normal state of existence, Angie; how will I know when to call?”

She smiled. “Trust your instincts. Hey, Big Jon, if I don’t get back by before you leave, it’s been a real pleasure having you – and I mean that!”

“Thanks, Angie, and likewise. It’s been… memorable, let’s say. Very memorable.”

“Be seeing you, Jon.”

“Sure hope so!”

And with that, she took her leave.

It went that way the rest of the day, with many of the tremendous staff of the rehab hospital, by now my friends, stopping in to say goodbye - albeit without the sexual adventures with any of the others that I’d enjoyed with Angie. I was to be released the next morning, right after a quick physical from Dr. Arthur to make sure I was as fit as possible to go home.

I slept fitfully that night, partly due to excitement about going home and partly due to trepidation at being on my own again in my compromised condition. Still, it was time.

All went well, and I was given the stamp of approval for discharge the following morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It went smoothly, for the most part, better than I had expected and my recovery progressed. Julia, as promised, picked up my therapy sessions four days each week, and a new guy, Don, took the other two. I got Sundays off for good behavior but tried to do some extra exercises every day. I was tired of being gimpy; I wanted to be the active, athletic guy I’d always been, even though I knew I would probably never get back to a hundred percent.

Things progressed steadily, both with my recovery and in my growing friendship with Julia. Her walls, once breached by our inane misunderstanding and resulting laughter, stayed down. I had the sense that she could instantly rebuild them if I stepped wrong, so I stepped carefully. I continued to “read” mostly sadness and caution from her, perhaps a tinge of fear and resignation, but she seemed to slowly grow happier as time went on.

I tried, each time we touched, to gently nudge a sense of peace into her mind, and tried to work out ways to add a blanket of reassurance, a sense that I was there for her as a friend and someone that cared and would never do anything to hurt or betray her. Something told me that she’d been badly hurt before and that her barriers had been the mechanism with which she’d responded, and I didn’t want to take any chances on being associated with that.

Spending as much time together as we did, most of it now in private, we were relaxed and more open with each other. We talked about our lives, and our hopes and dreams, and while I was completely open with her, I knew there were some areas of her past that she was avoiding. My affection for her grew, and I sensed that she’d let me into her life to a degree she hadn’t with anyone else for a very long time; I wanted to tell her how I felt, but I was afraid of the reappearance of the walls.

As I’ve mentioned, Julia’s sexuality was not as large a portion of her being as it seemed to be with almost everyone else I’d come into contact with. If I’d been surprised by how much of a factor it was for most, I was now concerned about how little it seemed to matter to Julia, or, at least, why she was so different. Her dormant sexuality was far more akin to what I’d felt from people who were grievously injured, or perhaps even in the end stages of their lives, a discordant note in someone so beautiful, young, and vital.

I was, as with everyone, uncomfortable about invading her privacy, but I had yet to figure out – other than avoiding all contact - a way to block her feelings and emotions. Inevitably, I received input from her and responded with whatever felt right; apparently, empathy was something that came with this “gift” of reading the emotions of others, because I don’t believe I’d had much of it before.

Another oddity about Julia was that she seemed to occasionally feel me in her head. I suppose, given that I’d spent more time with her – and in her mind – than I had with anyone else, that her occasionally sensing some small tickle of it was to be expected, but every once in a while as I’d gently try to push some more positive emotion into her mind she’d stop what she was doing, and a small, pretty frown would crease her brow. She never said anything, never seemed clear enough on it to ask, but it happened too often at just the right moment to be mere coincidence; she obviously felt something.

It stayed that way until two incidents - both in her company, and each time in her official capacity as my physical therapist - opened her eyes to the fact that there was something strange going on. I mention that she was with me in her official capacity because, although I’d tried to invite her out to dinner or a movie a couple of times, she’d gently declined.

I’d been sure to express that it was just as friends, that it was not a date, not an attempt to become romantically involved (which, of course, it was…) but she’d explained that it would violate our professional relationship; she could not, would not date a patient or client – or, I sensed, anyone else. She had, for some reason, taken herself entirely off the market.

The first incident occurred on a simple trip to the park just down the street from my house. I was down to just the steel apparatus the length of my right leg and an elastic compression brace on my left wrist which included a steel insert from palm to lower forearm to prevent me doing anything sudden or stupid. My right arm was good, the broken humerus bone healed and the shoulder almost back to full range of motion and my left leg was also good, although the ankle I’d dislocated would always be weak and prone to sprains and the hip, which had also been dislocated, sometimes ached.

Still, with the use of crutches, we could walk to the park and had done so a couple of times previously. It was good to get outdoors, and, while exhausting, I could tell the excursions were building my strength and endurance. Julia would carefully watch my movements and tell me if I was compensating too much, which might lead to other injuries, always alert and on duty. Still, I think we enjoyed our walks together. I know I did, and her dark moods seemed to lift as well.