The attendants

January 23, 2017

“You are being rude,Steve,” an attendant tells me when I’m sick.  “Can you go to the store for bread and cranberry juice,” I ask my attendants.  “No, I’m too busy,” says one attendant sitting on the sofa.  “I’m out of gas,” the other attendant says.  There are always problems with my attendants.  They make me want to die but I can’t quit now.  I have to answer their questions.  “Where are you going, Steve, ” my attendants asked.” Out, and you know where,” I say, with a big smile.  “What time does your bus come and when do you come home,” the attendant asks.  “6:30 to 10:30,” I say.  “That’s too late, Steve,” the attendant says.  “I’m going, bye,” I drive out of the garage to the bus.  I’m going to my favorite place to relax, think, and have female attention.  I’m a man with a career and have needs like every man does.  A beer, a lap dance, female attention, and naked women help clear my mind.  I’m not disabled or have Cerebral palsy.  I’m a busy lonely man, looking for sex.  The system will always deny me what I want the most, but I’m awesome, remarkable, and whatever else disabled advocates say.  I’m just a client, who happens to be an author!

The author’s life …

January 20, 2017

“We are tired,” says my staff.  No one wants to work overnight.  The house manager will sleep on the sofa.  I will go to early to bed and get up at six.  The manager will go home to sleep for a few hours and I will work.  The local news media ignores my books again. That’s an author’s life.  I feel like a failure.  That’s life.   A sister emailed me to say that the book is awesome.  That means everything to me.  My lazy attendants wants free books.  All they do is sit, complain, and talk on their cell phones.  They are good people but they have no idea what I have to do now. Yesterday I started a new book. It’s an author’s life.

On My 49th Birthday

January 16, 2017

I understand that the system has to protect the disabled.  Most of whom are cognitively disabled that could be taken advantage of, but the educated talented physically disabled should have more freedom.  I’m a man with needs trapped by rules and my Cerebral palsy.


On My Fortieth Ninth Birthday

By Steven Salmon


I drive my electric wheelchair into my favorite place with a big smile on my face. I’m freezing, but it is January twelfth, my birthday. It’s cold and snowing on the twelfth of January.

“Hey, you are tracking in snow, Steven. What will it be?” Dave says, behind the bar.

“A Miller and Nicki,” I say, as drool flows down my Packers parka.

“She’s working tonight,” Dave says, bringing my beer to me. He has the Miller in a plastic cup with a straw. Dave puts the straw in my mouth, “I’m turning you into a lush.”

I gulp down two ounces before he takes the beverage away. The beer tastes good and makes me burp. “Thank you,” I tell him.

“I’ll be back,” he says, setting the Miller on the bar.

I sit, watching the Badgers play the Buckeyes on the big screen TV. Patrons are ordering drinks, mingling, and watching the basketball game. I’m relaxing. Gorgeous women wearing bras, teddies, and panties are sitting on stools. I’m looking at the women, deciding who else I will ask for a dance. Tonight is my night. Women are what I want.

“The Packers were killed by the Giants. The defense sucks. Are you ready for more beer?” Dave asks, picking up the cup.

“Yes,” I say, looking at the Miller, but I’m still thinking about the Packers’ loss in the last five seconds when Eli Manning hit O’Dell Beckman for a forty-yard touchdown pass. I hate to lose at anything. When the Packers lose a play-off game, it takes me a while to get over the loss. I have already counted the days until the Packers preseason game. The pain goes away as I chug more beer.

“Whoa, you drank half of it,” Dave says, holding the beer.

I laugh, watching him putting my Miller in front of me.

The Badgers are up by five points at halftime. I can’t see the TV that well. The TV needs to be bigger and Dave needs more TVs, but this is a nightclub, not a sports bar. I enjoy being out tonight. I sit, waiting and thinking about life.

It’s a new life after living forty seven years at home with my mother. I’m on my own now. Someone taps my shoulder, “Happy Birthday, Steven. Your book is out today,” a beautiful brunette says, smiling at me.

“Thank you, Tabetha. It’s a big night. I want a dance with you, Stasia, and Nicki,” I say.

She rips open the envelope tapped on my knee. “Sixty-three dollars; you are celebrating, Steven,” Tabetha says, handing the three bucks to Dave for the beer.

A tall redhead, wearing a pink negligee and high heels comes up and says, “Happy birthday, my author. Allie gave me your note that you left me a week ago. And I understand what you are feeling,” the redhead touches my arm.

I’m on the top of the world when Tabetha holds my hand, “We understand, Steven. It’s a big day and it is hard.”

I start to cry, but Nicki says, “There’s no crying on one’s birthday and a book launch.”

“That’s right, Steven,” Tabetha says. She shows the cash to Nicki and says, “Steven wants a dance with Stasia, you, and me.”

“Forget Stasia. Just you and me,” Nicki tells Tabetha. “Is that okay with the author?” Nicki asks me.

“Yes,” I tell her and follow two women to a booth. I feel like a king as my favorite strippers move chairs and tables, making a path for me.

Nicki goes ahead to pay the bouncer and removes the recliner from the booth. “You go first Tabs,” Nicki says to Tabetha. “I’ll have Tristen play our song, Steven.”

“Okay,” I say. After I make a circle, I drive the electric wheelchair into the booth as Tabetha holds open the swinging doors.

She closes the doors and I back up the chair a bit before turning off the wheelchair with my left balled fist, hitting the power switch button.

Tabetha waits for a new song to begin dancing. “Just relax and enjoy, Steven,” Tabetha tells me.

I nod, and when the music starts she is naked.

She rubs her buttocks on my boney knee during the entire song.

My contracted hamstrings prevent a woman from sitting in my lap. I can only imagine putting my member inside of a woman. I watch her breasts and body jiggle making me forget everything. There are no problems, demands, and emails to write or answer. No stupid rules like my attendants not being able to call women for sex or get me ready. The world just disappears now. When the song ends, Tabetha says, “Thank you, Steven. Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

Nicki comes in and says, “Okay, birthday man. Let’s make you happy.”

Hey, Big Spender! Why Don’t You Spend a Little Time with Me?” plays. That’s our song. It’s means a lot to me. An author is a distinguished man, spending a little time with a beautiful woman.

Nicki looks into my eyes, making me melt. She is naked, but the way she stares into my eyes makes me feel that I’m making love to her.

“Nicki, would you hold me in your arms,” I ask her.

“Sure, Steven. It’s your night,” Nicki says, embracing me while she purrs in my ear.



My Birthday

January 9, 2017

It’s my birthday this week.  I’m forty nine.  My first book comes out on my birthday.  I will be probably doing PR since my attendants are “too busy” to take their author out.  I will eat something before going out to my favorite place.  I will have a beer and a couple of dances with my favorite strippers.  It’s my birthday.  For few minutes I will be in ecstasy with her, but I want sex.  The system and the law enforcement won’t let me hire a hooker.  The strippers will make it a special night for me.  Then I will go home and I will do PR until early morning.  That’s an author’s life.

January 4, 2017

I spent New Year’s Eve on the bus since the bars were having private parties.  So I rode around on the bus after the dispatcher let me ride for a few hours rather than coming home.  I look at the Christmas lights and I went by my friend’s apartment several times.  I have a career with two publishers and an agent.  Two books are coming out in a month.  I’m on the top of the world, meeting one of my publishers this week.  Most of the week, I worked with my other publisher and agent finalizing the second book.  I’m living an author’s dream which is something that the system said that I couldn’t do.  I have a career.  But something is missing.  There is no one to talk to share these moments with, hug me or pat me on the shoulder.  Someone that makes things better when nothing is going right like the TV jewelry commercial, “she is there for the good times and makes the hard times better.” Emailing my female friends isn’t enough sometimes.  I think about the “sisters,” who I dearly love.  My dad always said that I would regret my modesty.  I knew that he was right, but I hid my modesty for forty odd years.  I’m paying for it now.  So many opportunities lost for women and I blew it.  Stupid!  I know that she is out there somewhere.  Everywhere I that I go I look for her.  Where is she?  I asked God to help me find her tonight.  Without her I will feel empty and lost.