I love so many things about my Bug. He's incredibly generous, surprisingly positive and a friendly disposition, but his body's been this area of exploration that I've loved since coming together.
The first thing I noticed about Bug when I set eyes on him were his hands.
His right hand is clenched into a fist and depending on his mood and level of tension it can be opened easily or have to be pried open, cartilage cracking. The tip of his middle finger is crunched under another finger and has flattened slightly over years of pressure. Lots of time he holds his forearm up and his little fist waves like a little pink flag.
His left hand is bent at a forty-five degree angle and his pointer finger is perpetually pointing outward whenever his arm is raised. When he's relaxed, watching TV, this hand rests in his lap at its irregular angle.
If you get up real close you can see pale pink little scars on his wrists and up the underside of his forearm; an attempt when he was a wee little Bug to straighten his wrists. It was successful on his right hand, but not so on his other. He was in an entire body cast to try and straighten all his limbs. Bug has no memory of this, but his Mom told us the details of that time. Apparently the tendons were so taught in his legs that they were pulled up in a kind of fetal position. They cut the tendons to release the tension and straighten his legs.
The next feature that captivated me were Bugs' huge brown eyes. They're expressive and can tell me so much with a glance, twitch or stare. I can tell what Bug needs many times just by where and how he looks. I learned recently that this was a 'bad habit' when he was little. His Mom told me that she had to get Bug to ask for what he wanted as he relied on eye contact. This was to encourage him to speak, which isn't something Bug is terribly confident with.
Bug's eyes tell me so much and a lot of the time I rely on them to tell me what he sometimes has difficulty saying. This may be our 'bad habit' together, but for now it does help. It feels like a secret language between Bug and I when we're out with other people. We can catch each others glance, he rolls his eyes, laughs and we both know what he's thinking. I guess lots of couples have these ways of communicating.
I also love Bug's legs. They're strong legs; he's got a strong body. His legs are skinny and covered in light brown fine hairs, but there are these oval shaped bare patches of the softest skin on the upper sides of this thighs. Threadlike white scars run along his hips from his childhood surgery. He can bear his weight when pulled to standing, but his legs couldn't hold him unassisted. When I'm helping him go to the bathroom and I'm holding the plastic urinal so he can evacuate his bladder, I'll often nibble on his knee caps. I'll rub my beard on the soft skin, then gently dig my front teeth in and gnaw on a morsel of skin. He doesn't like me doing this because he's afraid he'll spasm and bang his knee into my mouth. This doesn't stop me; actually I nibble on other parts of his body too: earlobes, hips, his rib cage.
His ribs have grown inward causing a large depression in the centre of his chest right between his nipples. When he's lying in the tub, water creeping up his body and slowly filling up the indent in his chest, I call it his tide pool. The way the bones have grown has caused two hills at the bottom of his ribs and there is a small depression between these rises of bone. This depression is one of my favorite nibbling places.
Despite his disability, Bug has a very expressive body. He rocks when he's excited and his arms become animated when he's trying to tell a story or get a point across. His whole body comes alive when he recounts a particular scene from one of his many favorite TV shows or a movie.
When he laughs his whole body laughs; his feet shoot out, his arms waving like wings at his sides, his body rocking and his torso bobbing up and down as each shake moves through him.
Maybe his laughter is the favorite part of his body. Is that possible?
Laughter brings everything to life and Bug and I laugh all the time. It's a beautiful thing to see his eyes alive and then squint shut when he finds something really amusing. His hands wiggle around and get pulled in close to his chest and then fling out again. His legs move ridged like a pair of scissors and be sways back and forth on is wheelchair seat.
Sometimes, when he's unaware, I'll watch him.
At these times he looks so peaceful.
There's a window in the door to his home and a blind covers this window, but it's not quite long enough to cover the glass. I'll get down on the concrete pad outside just before I use the key to open the door and disrupt his alone time. I'll be on my knees on the hard concrete and watch him as he watches TV, waiting for me to come over and get him ready for bed. I know he can't see me and I'll watch for a few seconds. I'm aware that it would look weird to someone walking by, seeing this guy crouched on the ground spying on someone inside.
Bug knows I do this, 'cause I've confessed to him. He laughs and asks why. I shrug and give a vague answer.
I like seeing him, confident, alone in his home, unaware that he's being watched.
There's a myriad of details and topics to cover; focusing on just one facet helps keep me focused.
Until the next time...
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