I believe his name was Roger. A name like Roger. He was handsome, as I remember him, and short. Exactly how short I cannot say, because I never saw him stand.
Has he ever stood, I wonder.
When I held him (this was while swinging him into position), he was a full head shorter than me, although some of the difference was due to the maneuver, which required him to bend, or for me to bend him, at the knees.
He was persistent in the way certain men are persistent. Having never been this way myself, nor having witnessed it so intimately, I didn’t know how to respond. I tried to laugh it off, to pretend it wasn’t happening, but this failed to deter him. If anything he redoubled his efforts, seeing hope in my passivity.
I don’t recall the specifics of what he proposed to do to me, or vice versa, but whatever it was, it excited him, for his penis rose up and lengthened, settling at a perpendicular angle to his groin.
I found it oddly comical, and sad.
Of course it helped that he was on the toilet at the time and would remain on the toilet until I agreed to transfer him back to his wheelchair and continue our work that morning – our last together, for obvious reasons.