COMING CLEAN

 

COMING CLEAN

New fiction by strzeka (09/26)

One

For years, I have hardly thought about my personal history. I believed all the excuses and subterfuges and downright lies were all in the past. I have been gainfully employed as a disabled worker in chemical research, accepted as one of the gang by my colleagues of several years. Suddenly, I find myself confronted with embarrassing twenty‑year‑old scandals raising their ugly heads. I suppose I always knew it might happen but I am disturbed to find myself the centre of attention at work. It is only a matter of time before word gets out to my wider circle of friends, most of whom accept my conventional explanation of why I have hooks.

 

Apparently, a minor altercation in our favourite local bar for after‑work drinks set off the speculation. I was on my way from my seat to the bar to order a couple of beers when another customer deliberately pushed me aside. I was already under the influence of Dutch courage and so I pushed back at him. The extension tabs on my worker’s hooks poked him painfully between the ribs and he let out an especially unmanly shriek. This attracted everyone’s attention. The guy made a rapid exit, having embarrrassed himself and I was left standing by the bar looking ferocious with my hooks raised and my jacket sleeves pulled back to reveal much of my prosthetic arms. Apart from receiving congratulations for daring to stand my ground, talk turned to my disability, namely, how had I lost my hands?

 

Two

There were people present who had known me considerably longer and they answered enthusiastically on my behalf with the version I had adhered to back then before I concocted a more credible story, the one known to my more recent acquaintances. As I sat between two sides suddenly arguing about what exactly had maimed me, I realised that once again I had some explaining to do. The trouble was, I could not remember an accurate explanation of the current version. And how was I supposed to explain to the others that actually, I had been telling untruths about my injury? Lies, in other words. Half drunk and flustered by the dilemma, I remained silent on the subject and concentrated on necking as much alcohol as possible.

 

I awoke on Saturday morning late and hungover, as expected. My hooks were strewn across the bedroom floor. I lifted them onto the bed and swiped them around with my stumps until they arranged themselves. I slung them across my shoulders, jiggling from one foot to the other in an effort to hold on to my piss. I supported my dick between the hooks and hurried to the toilet. Then to the kitchen for the day’s first latte. I sterilised my hooks in a fierce jet of live steam from the espresso machine. I usually had a croissant or sandwich but I had no appetite. Suddenly I remembered the previous evening’s conundrum about my hooks. I desperately tried to remember what I had said. I was still not thinking clearly and I realised it was time for me to come clean about my maiming. I had been living a lie for twenty years and never admitted the truth to anyone, not even my parents. My mother is now dead and my father suffers from dementia so I am free to reveal the truth without their judgment. How it will be received by others who have known me and trusted me as a friend or colleague, I cannot say. I knew only that my confusion and the low‑grade stress associated with trying to stay abreast of my web of lies had finally reached its limit. I decided to write a book about how and why I lost my hands, including what led up to the maiming and all that happened after. With any luck, it would free my mind of the conundrum which preyed on my conscience.

 

I do not wish to give the impression that I generally suffer physically or mentally from my disability. As soon as my stumps were strong enough for me to be fitted with artificial arms and hooks, I felt myself at least equal to my teenage peers. I continued as if nothing had happened, using the remaining year and a half of compulsory schooling before reaching the age of majority and the chance to forge my own future as a bilateral amputee. During that time, I intended to master my hooks.

 

Three

Returning to school was the most stressful episode of my life. Unsurprisingly, none of the school’s five hundred students nor most of the teaching staff had ever encountered a bilateral amputee before. I was intensely conscious of my pristine steel hooks poking incongruously from the sleeves of my sixth‑former’s black blazer. I discovered later that our house master had briefed my classmates in advance about my imminent return. He apparently made me sound like a vulnerable invalid who would need consideration and sympathy from them, who ought to offer me every assistance whenever possible. No‑one was prepared for my good‑natured confidence with my new hooks. I thanked everyone for their kind offers of help but insisted I needed to learn how to do things for myself. My friends soon stopped offering help for everything when they saw how adept I was becoming with my hooks.

 

My schoolmates provided a practical sample of how people in general came to terms with a smarter than average teenager (false modesty be damned!) who might be half crazy because of the trauma he had undergone. Many people were turned off by my hooks on first sight. Others were neutral except they had no idea what to say to me and were obviously uncomfortable in my presence. A few, mostly my old mates, asked me if I was OK and after I told them that I was, we carried on where we left off. They were the ones I demonstrated my artificial arms to, the ones I happily shucked my gear for when they asked to see my stumps.

 

I was allowed to use a small battery powered dictation device which had recently come onto the market. I was unable to write and take notes with a pen, although I had been practising with a biro covered in thick rubber bands so my hook could grip it. I could sign my name and jot down numbers if I was working on some calculation but writing an essay or a report for physics class was beyond me. I had been promised private assistance when the exams came around and that not being able to write was not something I should worry about. Despite all the official reassurances, I continued to practise writing. It was more or less a matter of decreasing the size of the letters I could form with my shoulder and elbow. I no longer had wrists or hands with their oh so useful little fingers. I used one hook to position a pen into the other so I could undertake my writing drills just like when I was five. Up and down, curl around, loops going up, loops going down. I could already write all my letters and numbers. I just had to reduce them from an inch high to normal handwriting size. I discovered that that was for my shoulder muscles to control. My elbows took care of the actual shapes of the letters. My other hook speared the paper, holding it firmly in position. When I perused my mechanical scrawl in despair, I stared at the stationary hook holding the paper in place. It reminded me why I was in my current situation and I felt a surge of achievement and calm. My hooks were everything I expected and I loved them even more than my hidden stumps.

 

The long summer holiday between finishing school and starting at uni was probably the best time of my life. Three friends had banded together and bought an old VW bus to do up the previous winter and quite out of the blue, one of the gang invited me to join them on a tour across to Cologne and down the Rhine as far as we dared push the old van. I soon discovered that there was little point wearing my artificial arms in the van and for the next four weeks, I was pampered by my fellow travellers. They insisted on allowing me to go au naturel, baring my pleasantly rounded stumps to all and sundry. They helped me eat and held my drinks for me and assisted in other bodily functions, except for wiping my arse every morning, a time‑consuming and tedious procedure involving hooks and half a roll of toilet paper. We saw the sights, Deutsche Eck, Heidelberg Schloss and what all. I began to love the sensation of complete physical freedom from hands. The remnants of my arms were streamlined appendages, as if designed by nature to enhance the beauty of the upper male body. My hooks remained in the back of the van wedged into the gaps on each side of the spare wheel.

 

All too soon summer was over and I was reunited with my hooks. I applied for lodgings near the university before learning that there was accommodation available for disabled students on campus at a much reduced rate. Although I hardly regarded myself as disabled as someone in a wheelchair or a blind student, I was accepted and lived in, as we said, for the next three years. My digs became a convenient place for my friends to crash when we had overstayed our welcome at the pub and the last bus had gone. To make matters worse, I had discovered the magic of alcohol and usually had a bottle or two of vodka or gin in the fridge which only served to reinforce my popularity. My university friends were, almost without exception, superficial hangers‑on who I lost touch with almost immediately after leaving uni. I am not bitter. I could easily afford to share my booze. I was compensated with a handsome sum for the loss of my hands from both the school’s insurance and my father’s private insurance which covered injuries such as mine up to two hundred thousand. The school insurance paid out many times more as they were found responsible for the circumstances leading to my maiming, as I had expected. Fraudulent or not, the end result was the same. A healthy and promising senior student had been catastrophically injured by school equipment on school property during school time resulting in the irreparable loss of both hands. The insurance company was forced to concede that I was entitled to compensation for my life‑changing disability and settled for the maximum amount demanded.

 

Four

Despite my reassuring nest egg, I was as determined to land myself a well‑paid position in a worthwhile job with a respected company. I was accepted to read mathematics and chemistry at Southampton University and applied for digs on campus which I was entitled to as a disabled student. The apartment was more suitable for someone in a wheelchair but the plumbing was adapted for someone with limited use of their hands and the tiny kitchen was ergonomically perfect for me. As I settled in and knuckled down with the minutiae of my chosen subjects, I gradually learned the everyday routines which suited my unique situation. I developed some kind of muscle memory. I no longer found myself thinking about how to do everyday things like boiling water for tea or changing bed sheets. I simply did them. Almost unnoticed, my hooks became an intimate part of me rather than a separate entity which I wore. My stumps faded from prominence as the shiny black sockets and steel hooks became more familiar and imposing. I regarded my artificial arms almost as armour, which sounds far‑fetched until one realises that I had a distinct advantage when handling caustic substances in the lab. My hooks were fireproof and impervious to both intense heat and severe cold. My fellow students watched me nonchalantly manipulating test tubes bubbling with some hideous concoction and may even have felt a little envy. As I have mentioned, I had already become so au fait with my hooks that I hardly realised how advantaged I was.

 

Despite being surrounded with intelligent peers, some of whom were enviably handsome, I found myself alone after hours and I found it disconcerting. We got on well enough when we worked on mutual projects but somehow, there was no advance from anyone regarding more intimate friendship or companionship. I did not believe I looked unpleasant in any way. I looked after my personal hygiene and wore clean clothes. The only reason I had no close friends I could imagine was naturally enough my status as a bilateral amputee. What I found perfectly normal and unremarkable was still shocking and perhaps even disturbing to my colleagues. That was understandable enough, if disappointing. After several months of solitude, I suspected that I had gained a reputation for being a loner and that no approaches for closer friendship would even be forthcoming. In the meantime, other relationships and friendships bloomed among my year’s intake. But I remained alone with my phallic arm stumps. It was a new situation for me. I had never imagined myself as other people might see me. There was no way to express that my disability was my greatest achievement which I was intensely proud of and not something distasteful to hide away.

 

Five

Understandably, I became somewhat bitter and short‑tempered with my fellow students. My second year was no more promising, nor was the third. Our numbers diminished each year as unsuccessful students dropped out and the most promising were prematurely snapped up by interested companies. I toiled on, now more enthusiastic about chemistry than mathematics simply because of my prowess in practical research thanks to my hooks. Despite the ignorant rejection by my fellow students, I had attracted attention for the above‑mentioned reasons and during my third year, I was approached with no less than three lucrative job offers from recently founded companies rather than the big three, as I had anticipated. Their wage offers were also enticing and after weighing up the options for a couple of months, I accepted one and concentrated on graduating.

 

I started work at Kinetix Albion after an awkward and expensive move. I am too disabled to participate in something as physically demanding as carrying heavy boxes and furniture, although I managed to dismantle my flat pack furniture well enough. Unfortunately, I had the wrong mindset when I started my job. I expected to be rejected as far as personal relationships were concerned and I may have given an arrogant impression. As a result, I was treated as the runt of the litter, the last person to be invited to a social function, the solitary remaining staff member when teams were assembled. I found the situation frustrating at first but soon inured myself to it. I concentrated on my work and undertook private research against company policy but in the only way available to an outcast such as myself. Once again, I was reluctant to assign responsibility for my solitude onto my artificial arms. I was equally productive as any other team member. My reluctance to socialise was a result of the caution required by my secretive research. In fact, these were mere excuses I invented for myself. My hooks marked me out instantly as the group’s anti‑social outcast. It is a simple fact of my life that my specific disability is visible immediately. Hands are second only to the human face in personal exchange. Humans as a species gesture and clarify, explain and demonstrate, describe and reassure with our hands. I can do none of that. My hooks point at random angles as I enter a room and remain the same for the duration. I give off the same vibes as a cardboard cut‑out replica and receive the same amount of companionship. It seems I am doomed to suffer the same consequences of my rash action a decade previously regardless of where I go or what I do. My hooks are the immediate and most prominent aspect of my personality which outsiders see. Regardless of the fact that I am perfectly attuned to using hooks instead of flesh and blood fingers, their shock value ensures that the same psychological barrier rises between me and anyone I speak to.

 

Six

Despite being subtly rejected by my colleagues, I was successful with my research. I worked on an additive to make lye less reactive to aluminium which may prove beneficial when applied to oven cleaner. My hooks are uniquely suited to handling such a caustic substance. I received a financial bonus and encouragement to continue, this time with a hand‑picked selection of collaborators. My reputation grew after I submitted a report for publication to a science journal and I began to receive subtle hints that my employer’s competitors would be interested in meeting me for a chat. I had never been head‑hunted before and regarded it as a compliment rather than blood‑thirsty competition. I waited for over a year until I finally heard from a competitor whose recent research into chemo‑metallurgy had already attracted my attention. Aethelgard Chemicals’ head of personal relations was possibly the last person in the entire field who did not know that I am a bilateral amputee and was visibly shocked upon meeting me. My hooks were the first topic of conversation, standing in for the more usual small talk topics such as the weather and how the journey had been. I went into considerable detail about rehabilitation and the mechanical capabilities of my artificial arms. I also concocted a highly credible explanation of how I had been injured. It differed considerably from the version all my current colleagues had heard and accepted.

 

I worked for Kinetix Albion for another seven months while we brought the lye additive to commercial standard. I spent a well‑deserved month relaxing before joining Aethelgard. The atmosphere struck me immediately as more convivial and lively. Many of the employees were younger than myself and possessed of an unconventional trait. They were inquisitive and daring and the company benefited purposely from their enthusiasm for exploring new applications for age‑old chemistry. My mood improved as I too relaxed into my new role with new colleagues. They showed me sympathy and interest. As always, I was the first hook user any of my colleagues had met and I patiently explained a shorter version of what I had told the PR chief as I demonstrated how my hooks opened and closed, opened and closed.

 

Although I was employed as a team leader, I found myself participating far more closely on a practical level with my colleagues. They accepted me with all the friendly respect a person in my position could hope for but there was something missing. Simple intimate friendship with any attractive individual evaded me once again. This time I could ascribe my woes to our obvious age difference. I was a decade older than many of my fellow workers and it is a sad truth that in one’s twenties, anyone over thirty is seen as past it, over the hill. I was reluctant to consider the fact that my hooks and their in‑built psychological barrier could play any part in the matter.

 

Seven

I continued to enjoy my work. It gave me a purpose in life. I felt myself to be a productive member of society, hidden away behind the cut-throat capitalist hellscape which ran modern life. While proto‑feudal overlords sucked the citizen’s livelihood dry with every passing year, those who survived could enjoy the benefits of my and my team’s efforts to extend the efficacy of ever‑diminishing rare earths.

 

Aethelgard Chemicals took an interest in its workforce. People’s birthdays were always celebrated, or at least commemorated, in some way. It was a welcome break to be invited to the conference room at eleven in the morning to find the negotiation table overflowing with the best the local bakeries and conditoria could provide in puff pastry and smörgåsbord. I already knew what to expect on my thirty‑seventh birthday and sure enough, the invitation to wrap things up for an hour or so came a few minutes before eleven. I was feeling unusually brazen for some reason and for whatever reason, I wandered into the conference room, already filled with most of the staff, without a jacket. I was wearing a short sleeved shirt, as all my shirts are the same type, which allowed my artificial arms to be fully visible. This was apparently quite a surprise to many of those present who had not seen my prostheses before, although surely no‑one could possibly be unaware of my amputee status any longer. I seemed to cause quite a disturbance before the vice‑president finally spoke, congratulating me and giving those assembled a brief resumé about my team’s recent results and, completely unexpectedly, a brief resumé about my maiming and how I had beaten my disability. I was livid. My disability has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else. However, despite this obvious faux pas, I was shortly approached by an apparently shy recent rookie whose innocent face was adorned by a fiercely dark five o’clock shadow and a full moustache which curled around his handsome lips. He offered me his right hand and held it there while I appraised him to see if he was poking fun at me. He also held his amicable gaze. I glanced down to touch his steady hand with my right hook. He took it into both his hands and held it for three, four seconds, before moving it up and down carefully and releasing it.

 

          – Happy birthday, Jet!

          – Thank you. How do you know my nickname?

I had been known as Jet at K.A. I had never really discovered why but for some reason the name stuck and as it was not offensive, I allowed it to continue.

          – I was at Kinetix Albion in the maths department before I came here and heard about the guy with hooks who they called Jet. That’s you, isn’t it? I’m sorry if I offended you.

          – No, not at all. I was just a bit surprised. This is quite a spread, isn’t it? I was expecting to go out to lunch for a change today but seems I shan’t need to. Those egg and shrimp open sandwiches are my favourite. Can I ask you to help me with one?

          – Yes, of course. They do look good. Let me get a couple before the others cotton on.

He shovelled two onto flat porcelain plates and grabbed a fork. We moved a few steps to the edge of the room. A long shelf holding brochures, books and various objets d’art surrounded it at a convenient height for eating smörrebröd with hooks.

          – You see, I can’t squeeze the lemon onto the shrimp.

          – Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll do it. I hope you don’t mind me asking but what the boss said about how you lost your hands is quite different from what I was told at Albion. I mean, it’s not really any business of mine, but I’d be curious to know how come there are two different stories.

          – I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.

          – Oh, my bad. I’m Liam. Liam Lloyd.

          – Well look, Liam. You are right to say that it’s no business of yours but I don’t want to offend you and you look like an intelligent man. You see, the way I was injured was so distasteful that I prefer to have people believe a less disturbing explanation. After all, as you say, it is not their business how I gained my stumps.

My choice of words was deliberate. Liam raised his eyebrows. His reaction was as I hoped. I had guessed right.

          – So it wasn’t an accident then? I mean, the things people told me behind your back seemed to me unlikely. I know about wanting to become an amputee, see? I was willing to go along with the explanation back then but suddenly hearing a new version here which everyone seems to accept as the truth makes me suspicious.

          – And is that a bad thing? Need I be worried?

Liam laughed quietly. I admired his perfect teeth for a few moments.

          – No, of course not. But I’d love to know what really happened. How you gained your stumps, as you put it.

I held the smörrebröd in my right hook and bit into a combination of dark bread, mayonnaise, boiled egg and lemon‑drenched shrimps. It was a wonderful combination of whatever could fit onto a slice of bread and I admired the Danes for concocting something so delicious.

          – Look, Liam. I think I can trust you not to gossip about my little accident if I tell you the truth.

          – Of course you can. Anything you tell me will stay completely confidential.

          – Tell me, have you every wished you had a hook? Do they interest you in that way?

          – They do. And not just one. I hope you don’t mind me saying so but a man with two hooks has reached the height of masculinity. I admire the look, I envy the prostheses, I yearn for my own stumps and I love the idea of wearing hooks permanently.

          – You certainly seem to know the terminology, Liam. Alright. I don’t want to talk about it here and now. Are you free to meet up on Friday afternoon? We could go for a drink or you could come round to my place if you’d like to see my other prostheses.

          – I’d like that. Thank you, Jet.

 

Eight

Liam’s imminent arrival sparked me into action of a kind. Although the idea of a book had been churning around in my mind for some time, the fact that I had actually promised Liam the truth at the weekend gave me a needed impetus to sort the story out into some kind of logical sequence.

 

In much the same way as Liam had briefly described his own obsession, my own fetish for gaining stumps in order to operate a pair of artificial arms with hooks on the end was emphasised by finding myself in close proximity with a double amputee at an early age. When I was eight years old, I broke my leg playing football and spent three nights in hospital under observation while my injury was x-rayed and casted. I was on a children’s ward where there were five beds, only two of which were currently in use. The other bed was occupied by a bigger boy. I suppose he may have been twelve or thirteen. We did not do much socialising with such a vast age difference. The only reason I remember him is because he had no hands. He had also broken his leg and was unable to use crutches. I was captivated by his long handless forearms. After breakfast, a nurse brought him a pair of pink artificial arms and helped him put them on. For the rest of the day, he wore the hooks, using them to hold his comic books and turn the pages or grab a beaker of water from his bedside table. I watched him all the time and I remember my little boy’s willy being stiff. At home later the same week, I clomped around on a pair of long crutches practising before I went back to school, imagining myself sporting a pair of hooks and carrying on as if nothing had happened.

 

I waited for Liam on Friday afternoon before we made our way to my flat. There were only three stops on the train, hardly a commute but a regular feature in my daily routine which I enjoyed. I always stood, preferring to grip a support pole rather than to sit with my hooks on my thighs, on display for all and sundry. Liam and I exchanged quiet observations about our recent work until we reached my home. I used the work hook on my left stump to enter the five digit door code. I had had the electronic lock installed soon after I moved in. I dislike keys.

 

Liam was the ideal guest. I had agreed to come clean about how I lost my hands and he waited patiently for me to reach the moment of truth. In the mean time, we looked at two similar pairs of artificial arms I owned, neither of them currently bearing hooks. Liam studied their construction. His enthusiasm was plain to see. It was obvious that he hankered after owning a similar pair into which he might insert his own handless stumps, preferably sometime in the near future.

 

It was time to come clean.

          – I’ve been an amputee for twenty years. I’ve been an amputee for longer than I had hands. I was only seventeen when I decided I’d waited long enough. You know the certainty you get in your late teens that you know your own mind. You have your own opinions on things and you know you’re right. It’s not entirely unjustified when you consider that the educational system also expects its charges at that age to know what they want to adopt as a profession, what they want to study at university and a whole lot else that I still can’t be sure about twenty years later.

          – But you knew you wanted hooks.

          – That was never in question. I had an encounter when I was very young with a guy who had two hooks. I don’t want to go into detail but I was able to watch him for many hours and he didn’t seem to mind. I’ve never seen him again, although we must have been fairly close neighbours for some of the time. But that is by the by. Seeing a real pair of hooks being worn confirmed for me that I wanted the same thing in the future for myself. I wanted to grow up as a student with artificial arms ending in a pair of shiny steel hooks. I never gave a thought to how disabling it might be to lose both hands or how difficult it would make life. Even something as simple as turning a key in a lock or unscrewing the lid on a bottle of shampoo are suddenly next to impossible. But after I’d gained my stumps, I learned new ways of dealing with things like that. I never accepted that I’d become disabled. I always thought it was an uncaring society which caused me problems. A lack of interest in good design generally. Look around you and see if there is anything which genuinely pleases your eye.

          – I understand. I studied industrial design and ergonomics alongside maths.

 

I was impressed by Liam’s interest in my meandering narrative. He was a patient listener. Everything connects with everything else. It was difficult to stay on track and explain my way to the tipping point, although I had been mulling over the best way to do so for several days.

 

          – So I was determined to destroy my hands which was the only way I could think of as an excuse to have arm amputations. I worried that if I wasn’t brave enough or assertive enough that I’d be left with disarticulated hands and long handless forearms. I wanted to avoid long stumps. I wanted stumps half the length of my forearms so the doctors would have no choice but to amputate above my wrists. You know how they always try to give the patients as long stumps as possible, even though they’re covered in shitty scar tissue and criss‑crossed with cratered skin which festers and stinks trapped inside sockets? I wanted stumps which were much shorter than just slicing my hands off at the wrists.

 

          – Is that what you have now?

          – It is.

          – And are you happy with your stumps? I hope they don’t cause you discomfort.

          – They’re fine. I’ll show you a bit later if you like. Anyway, my next problem was how to arrange a credible situation which would result in me having my hands amputated how I wanted without anyone suspecting that I had done it on purpose. Not my teachers, not my parents, not my friends, and as it turned out, not the insurance companies who were liable if something terrible happened to me.

 

          – It took me a while to research all the potentially dangerous things at school before I was ready. There were things like the guillotines in the arts and crafts room which might slice through a wrist if all the guards were removed. And even so, I would still be left with one working hand. It would be too obvious to lose both hands in an accident with a guillotine. I had been in the metalwork class for a couple of years. The boys had a choice of doing metalwork or domestic science. The girls could do domestic science or woodwork. Don’t ask me what sense there was in all that. The boys learned what raw dough looked like and the girls learned the difference between screws and nails.

          – Haha! That sounds a lot like my school. But you had more variety. So what did you find in the end?

          – It wasn’t really difficult. There was a lathe in the metalwork room and I knew from all the warnings and the stickers pasted all over it that it was a lethal piece of kit. My idea was to attach something fairly irregular in shape and when the lathe was turning as fast as possible, I’d grab hold of it. I knew there were other cases of amputations caused by faulty lathes including one where the guy reached in first with his left hand and then with his right and had them both chewed off in an instant. That’s what I intended to do.

          – That must have been awfully painful.

          – I won’t lie and say it was painless but the injury is so massive that there’s no way the pain matches the injury.

          – So was this during school time or were you alone?

          – No, I wasn’t alone. That would have been fairly dangerous because of blood loss. I had all my classmates around me and the teacher. Of course, I had to keep an eye on him to make sure his back was turned. As it was, there was enough shouting and yelling from everyone else to alert him almost as soon as the fingers from my left hand went flying. Blood everywhere. Even I was surprised and shocked so it seemed like a perfectly natural reaction to lean in with my right hand to rescue the left. Within half a second I was left with two bleeding forearm stumps whose bones were twisted and split. Someone dragged me away from the lathe and sat me down on the floor. The other students were cleared away to the other side of the room and the teacher did his best to staunch the bleeding with a couple of metal clamps.

          – It must have been traumatic for everyone.

          – I dare say it was. Let me take my arms off and you can see what I have left.

 

My stumps are uneven. The left one is a third as long as it used to be whereas the right is just over half. There was so much damage to my bones that it was deemed auspicious to amputate rather than to attempt to reconstruct splintered bones in a slightly longer stump. Prosthetists advised the surgical team that time was of the essence for the patient in question, meaning that I needed a pair of healed stumps pronto in order to sit for my final exams this year rather than the next. I dropped my sockets noisily to the floor.

 

          –  See? Not quite the same length but well within acceptable limits. I can use my stumps when I absolutely have to, otherwise they’re hidden away inside my sockets from dawn till dusk. Longer than that, actually. No‑one sees them.

          – Is that why you wear long sleeved shirts too?

          – That’s just to stop people staring. I prefer wearing short‑sleeved shirts but my arms attract too much attention. So I cover them up.

          – I think it looks great to have just your hooks peeking out of your shirt sleeves. It’s so considerate. Like you are doing your best not to alarm anyone with your disability.

          – Is that how you see me? As disabled?

          – No! I meant in the general sense. I’ve never seen you struggling to do something with your hooks.

          – Well, I do struggle occasionally but that’s when I usually delegate a job to someone else. One of the perks of being the foreman, you see?

          – That’s crafty!

          – I’m glad you think so. Like I said before, keep it under your hat.

 

I put my arms back on and shrugged the harness into place.

 

Nine

          – How are you going to do it, Liam? Have you arrived at a plan already?

          – Dry ice. I don’t have the guts to physically destroy my hands like you did.

          – Ha! I don’t have the patience to sit still for eight hours.

          – Eight? I thought four would be long enough.

          – No! Four’s not enough. You want to make absolutely sure your hands will be amputated without any chance the doctors can make misguided attempts at saving them. If you make absolutely certain that your hands and wrists are frozen completely solid, they’ll have no alternative. They might make you wait a couple of days while they waste their time before they amputate, but you’ll still get your stumps.

          – I see. Thanks for pointing that out.

          – You’re welcome. Imagine the horror of freezing your hands for four hours and then going through reconstruction and skin grafts for the next five years.

          – Is that really what they would do?

          – Follow the money, Liam. What would bring in more cash? Repairing your ruined hands in a series of thirty operations over five years or chopping your hands off, once?

          – Are they really as sadistic as that?

          – Depends largely on the hospital and the head surgeon but I wouldn’t want to chance it. There’s another thing. Have you got someone to sit with you while you’re freezing your hands?

          – No. Do you think I’d need someone?

          – For sure. Your hands will be useless after about twenty minutes in ice, regardless of whether the freeze leads to amputation or not. But if you intend being in ice for eight hours, you’ll need someone to bring you drinks and warm soup to help keep your core temperature up. The dry ice needs to be topped up regularly too, and the room has to be ventilated properly to stop you passing out from the build up of  carbon dioxide. That’s something you don’t wake up from.

          – I haven’t thought about that. I didn’t expect it would take so long, see?

Where would I find someone reliable who would keep my secret afterwards? It would be shitty if word got out that I destroyed my hands on purpose because I want to wear hooks for the rest of my life. People would think I’m mad.

          – They would. It’s happened before too. The guy had to move and take on a new identity and invent all kinds of fake reasons for how he lost his hands. You can always tell a wannabe by the way the back story changes. The best thing to do is to invent a reason before you even start and stick to it. That’s what I should have done too. I changed my story when I started working at Aethelgard Chemicals. I don’t know why any more. It was OK for a while but then problems began to pop up when people who’d known me before began to hear news about me from people who knew me only after I changed jobs. That’s why I’ve decided the time is ripe for me to come clean with everyone and tell the truth.

          – What will your insurance company say? They compensated you for your amputations due to the first cause, right? Aren’t they going to accuse you of fraud when they find out the truth about the accident with the lathe? That you did it on purpose?

          – I think there’s a legal time limit for fraud on insurance claims. I think it’s twenty years.

          – You’d better make sure before your book is published, hadn’t you?

          – I had.

          – And what will people think after they find out the truth? You can hardly expect sympathy and understanding from the general public. What would your family think?

          – Those are secondary matters. The most important thing at this stage is for me to tell the truth at long last. It will be a huge relief to open up after all these years of deceit and lies. People might call me insane but I’m sure it would soon blow over. People soon forget things like that. The media makes a fuss for a couple of weeks then some other scandal crops up to attract people’s attention.

          – Do you know what I think you should do? Your first story was effective enough, wasn’t it? You should simply go back to that. Tell everyone at A.C. that you were telling a fib because you were tired of telling the same old story all the time. You wanted a new story, not realising it would blow out of proportion. After all, it’s not really anyone else’s business, is it?

          – Absolutely not. Actually, I hadn’t thought of that. Well done, Liam. I’ll have to think about it.

 

We spent the rest of the evening discussing the niceties of using hooks with no recourse to hands. I have always lived alone as an adult and have fashioned my lifestyle to something as independent of functioning hands as possible. Liam described his compulsion to adopt mechanical hooks with no tactile sensation whatsoever. He had researched auxiliary devices available for prosthetic sockets to make the wrist rotate or alter its angle but was determined to function as a bilateral amputee with the most basic of prostheses.

 

He wanted hooks which were permanently set at the same position, their rotation possible only by physically twisting the wrist attachment. My hooks are of the same basic design. There is nothing to go wrong with them. The auxiliary devices, in comparison, are comparatively fragile and unreliable. Liam did not mention freezing again that evening. I was reluctant to participate. I thought of the aftermath and the stories which might arise when a bilateral amputee wearing a pair of steel hooks was found in the company of a severely injured man facing imminent amputation of both hands. It was not a situation I wanted to have to invent another story for.

 

Ten

Liam and I became good friends after that initial evening. I offered him my encouragement and advice before his transition and welcomed him to my home when his determination seemed to falter. Watching me function with hooks never failed to return his spirits. He kept his preparations for the procedure secret, even from me. I am not bitter. He froze his hands at home in the company of another successful wannabe found in an internet forum who had frozen his feet up to his ankles two years previously and now walked on standard issue artificial legs.

 

I heard of Liam’s absence from work only after he had been away for two weeks and guessed immediately what the cause was. I called him later that evening and allowed the phone to ring for as long as it might take for a handless man with bandaged stumps to answer. I was correct. Liam had two fresh stumps and the regular company of the same footless friend every evening. He was already suffering from buyer’s remorse, as is so often the case with severe maiming. I had suffered it far less because I had been much younger without the responsibilities of adulthood. I had nursing staff and family around who did everything for me while my stumps shaped up. Liam was alone for most of the day until his friend arrived to feed him the evening meal and tend to the domestic things a double arm amputee cannot do without prostheses. The main problem was not his sudden realisation of what actual disability genuinely meant but the daily tedium waiting for the time to pass, until his friend arrived, until his next hospital visit, until his first fitting, until the next. I paid him a visit when his stumps had healed well enough to remain without dressings and naked.

 

I was surprised to see they were uneven. I thought this unusual considering the method Liam had chosen to divest himself of his hands. I expected to see two stumps two thirds the length of his forearms. Instead, both were less than half. I could understand better why Liam might be suffering from buyer’s remorse. The stumps were nothing like the svelte rounded appendages we both admired. My own were handsome in and of themselves. I was proud of them and sometimes regretted that I was so reliant on prostheses. If I had a companion, I am sure I would sport my stumps much more often, both at home and in public. However, Liam’s stumps resembled the sorry remnants left to an amputee after a particularly harrowing trauma. Their difference in length emphasised Liam’s disability.

          – Why are your stumps so short, Liam? Sorry to sound so brutal about it. I don’t understand.

          – The doctor said I’d frozen my arms for so long that I’d killed more tissue than perhaps I intended. He had no doubt at all that I’d done it deliberately, see? Although he didn’t judge me, not to my face anyway.

          – Well, that’s good. So did you have too much of your arms inside the ice?

          – I suppose I must have done. Too late now.

I was mortified in case I had been responsible for Liam’s short stumps. I had advised him to freeze for eight hours. Perhaps it had been too long. There was no way to be sure.

          – Have you heard when your artificial arms will be ready?

          – Another two weeks. I’m going spare. I can’t do anything for myself during the day. My stumps hurt most of the time but not as much as they did at first.

          – Try to bear it, Liam. It won’t be long now and you’ll be much better off after you get your hooks.

I was exaggerating again but there was nothing for it. Liam looked despondent and lethargic. Nothing like the enthusiastic wannabe from earlier in the year.

          – I don’t even know if I’ll be able to use my hooks properly with such short stumps. They’re much shorter than yours and even yours are shorter than the stumps I was hoping for.

          – Don’t worry about that, Liam. You’ll be able to use your hooks perfectly assuming the sockets fit securely on your stumps. When your stumps are supported like that, their length doesn’t really matter. And it’s a psychological thing too, in a way. You feel a bit hard done by because your arms are so short now and you’ve always been used to seeing longer arms. When you get your hooks, your arms will be back to their normal length and that in itself will be reassuring.

 

I was largely inventing the whole thing. I was relieved and thankful that my stumps were so much longer than Liam’s. He would probably need a socket and pin system to suspend his artificial arms. Without the sockets being physically locked on, his short stumps would continually work themselves loose. I had no such problem. I could enjoy the supreme insensate rigidity of my artificial arms for short periods even with naked stumps if I were too lazy to don stump socks first. I loved feeling the sockets against my skin. It was such an unusual and unnatural sensation, available only to the rarest of amputees, to men like myself. And only a minuscule percentage of us had actively sought out voluntary maiming in order to gain the never‑ending need for complicated mechanical replacement limbs, finessed to perfection with two shining steel hooks.

 

I thought of rallying Liam further with promises that everything would be better when he had his own hooks but it was very much in his own hands, so to speak. It is not unknown for a recent amputee to fall into such lethargy that he never learns to gain all the benefits from his artificial limbs and remains chronically depressed. Many are reluctant to wear hooks in public, unwilling to have their amputee status advertised to all and sundry. They remain doubly disabled—psychologically and physically. Instead, I asked if there was anything he would like me to do for him while I was there but he refused to allow me to do anything.

          – My friend will be here soon. He’ll do what needs to be done.

I left the matter at that. I asked if I should go before the friend arrived and Liam assured me that I was welcome to stay to meet the double leg amputee who had enabled him to disable himself to such an extent,  more than what was acceptable.

 

Eleven

Sure enough, there was soon a knock and the sound of keys in a lock. Liam’s assistant rocked into view on two artificial legs. I have never seen anyone his age flaunt leglessness with such alacrity. I immediately felt an affinity with him. He obviously regarded his own bilateralism with the same proud exclusive pleasure as I did, wielding hooks all day, every day. He had developed a gait which deliberately attracted attention to his artificial legs.

          – This is Robbie Peck.

I reached out my right hook which Robbie took carefully. He held it for three or four seconds before moving my stump up and down once. Releasing my hook, he peered into my eyes with, I felt, recognition of our situations. I introduced myself.

          – I’m pleased to meet you at last. Liam has often mentioned you and the talks you had before he took the plunge. Without your help, he might still be lounging around with hands instead of being about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

Robbie and Liam exchanged a glance which I had seen only once before, between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. Suddenly I understood the entire situation. Somehow Robbie was indebted to Liam and therefore continued to subjugate himself to Liam’s needs and wishes. Liam blamed Robbie for his unsuccessful amputations and was embittered. He had wanted stumps like mine but now faced a lifetime of disability with shorter inferior stumps which did not even match.

 

Liam was momentarily content. Robbie had seen to him in the toilet while he pissed and we had the first lagers of the evening in front of us. Liam was pleased to find himself capable of holding a pint of beer between his naked stumps and we genuinely complimented him on his ability. Robbie and I retreated to Liam’s bedroom for a couple of minutes, where there was some issue with the bedframe. It was an excuse.

 

          – What’s the matter with him? He just gets more miserable every time I see him. Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?

          – No, Robbie. It’s not you. Liam has definitely changed since his transition. His amputations are not what he wanted. You know that. That’s one reason why he’s bitter. Do you know why his stumps are so short?

          – No. Only what he’s told me himself, from the explanation his surgeon gave him. Muscle tissue destroyed past the halfway point, or something. So his amputations are what they are. I know the doctor tried to rescue as much as possible. It’s what they always do.

          – What are we going to do? If he doesn’t buck his ideas up, he’ll have no interest in learning to use his hooks and I know from experience it takes a lot of practice and effort with quite a few bumps along the way before suddenly everything seems to fall into place and you’re using your hooks as if they were a pair of oddly shaped hands.

          – Really? Is that how it feels?

          – Mine do. I can’t speak for everyone. I’d never change back to natural hands now, even if it were possible. But it’s not. It’s not a decision I’ll ever be asked to make or explain my refusal.

          – You like having hooks?

          – I do. I like the way I can manipulate other people simply by manipulating my hooks.

          – That sounds wonderful. I can only rock along on fake legs craving sympathy.

          – You don’t feel disabled though, do you?

          – God, no! I love walking with a pair of stumps. The more basic and primitive my artificial legs are, the better I like them. It’s such a satisfying thing to master. I am helpless without my legs and yet as soon as I strap them on, I’m as capable as any other man.

          – That’s exactly how I feel about my stumps. What was it about the bed you wanted help with?

          – There’s nothing wrong with it. I just wanted a word with you out of his earshot.

Robbie smiled again and this time I recognised a charming hint of male flirtation.

 

Twelve

The odd relationship between Robbie and Liam held until Liam received his first pair of hooks. Robbie messaged me and extended Liam’s invitation to visit again, mentioning that he, Robbie, would again be present. Much as I was interested in seeing Liam’s new kit, the promise of enjoying another evening in Robbie’s company was the deciding factor.

 

Liam had changed beyond all recognition. Again. The depressed apathy was no more. Instead, he gave the impression of a young boy with a brand new train set. Robbie opened the door to me and I immediately spotted Liam behind him, bursting with excitement. I shrugged my jacket off and rearranged my harness before approaching Liam with a extended hook. He carefully stretched out his own, mindful that it need not open. Our hooks interlocked briefly and we tugged each other back and forth in a parody of a greeting.

          – How do you like them, Liam? Are they what you expected?

          – They’re much better than I expected. I love ’em!

He held both arms out towards me. The sockets were black carbon fibre, as were the triceps cuffs. Liam’s sockets differed from mine in one major characteristic, due to the meagre length of his stumps. The sockets extended past his elbows and partially enveloped them, mainly for added security if he should fall but also to help the short stumps function more firmly. The only possible downside to them was that Liam could not straighten his artificial arms completely. The elbow was canted by several degrees. Liam’s arms would be permanently bent slightly. It was not a conspicuous trait.

          – I asked for these symmetrical hooks and I’ve got a pair of worker’s hooks on order.

He demonstrated how he opened his hooks by flexing his shoulders. Fresh rubber bands caused the hooks to snap closed with a reassuring metallic click.

          – The best thing is no‑one can see how short my stumps are. I look like a completely normal guy with bilateral hooks. No‑one need ever know!

          – That’s good, Liam. It’s true. You look like any other man with hooks. Are the sockets comfortable?

          – They’re great. They really hug my elbows and little stumps so it feels like the sockets are all part of my arms. And the hooks are great. I’ve already learned how I need to twist them around before I try to pick something up.

          – Ah! Good. You’re a fast learner. Well, let’s not stand here. Shall we sit down?

          – Go ahead, you two. I’ll bring the wine.

I glanced at Robbie and noticed that he was also peacocking in a pair of knee‑length denim shorts. His flesh‑toned prostheses wore short white socks and black loafers. Something about them still looked odd. They resembled natural legs but were possibly too slender. They also reflected light sources like natural skin would not. They were beautiful and I understood why Robbie enjoyed his amputee status so much.

 

The conversation oscillated between Liam’s prostheses and his prospects for the immediate future and my on again, off again plans for my book. Having an especially knowledgable captive audience, I asked my friends for their opinions on the wisdom of revealing the truth about how I had destroyed my natural hands in favour of wearing a pair of hooks and the lies I had concocted ovet the years as an explanation of my amputations to people whose curiosity won out over courtesy. I pointed out that all of us were voluntary amputees. I asked Robbie first if he was ‘out’ to his friends and family regarding his disability.

          – No. They think it was a road accident. Only the doctors know it was dry ice and they’re forbidden from talking about people’s injuries to outsiders, so I’m safe. How about you, Liam? What have you told your family?

          – Nothing. They don’t know yet. We’re not exactly estranged, but we’re not close either. They’ll find out soon enough. I usually go home for Christmas. They’ll find out then.

          – Oh, you should warn them beforehand, Liam. They might want to buy you gloves or mittens.

          – But would you want them to know that you froze your hands off? What are you going to tell them?

          – I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided. Probably some disease. Sepsis or something like that. I certainly don’t want anybody else thinking that I did this deliberately. They’d think I’m crazy or worse.

 

It was true enough. It was the main reason I’d not yet made a serious start on my book. I had written a chapter or two about the exciting discovery of an alternative body image at a young age and the realisation that the same was available to myself. Regardless of the fact that our deliberate amputations were merely an intervening stage in the process, needed only to create our stumps, it was and will remain an aspect of the human condition which will forever remain a secretive and slightly shameful compulsion. I believe the reason for this distaste springs from the fact that many amputees not only never wished to lose limbs, they also never bothered to master their prostheses. Or they were smothered in confused concern by relatives and friends who understood nothing about limblessness or the field of prosthetics. How appropriate would it be for a teenager to rock a glittering pair of hooks like me when my own diabetic grandfather had recently lost his shitty ulcerated foot to gangrene? As my parents fawned over the old man, I stayed home. I learned how to masturbate with two hooks. When that was in hand, I learned how to masturbate with my stumps.

 

          – So what you’re saying is, I shouldn’t admit to wanting hooks because of the negative feedback I might get?

          – Oh, you’d get it alright. But if you really want to write your story, why don’t you simply turn it into fiction? It would still be just as valid a story and just as fun to read. That way, you could earn a few bucks and in future, if anyone asks why you have hooks, you can just tell them to read your book.

          – That’s exactly what I want to do. I see your point. It’s the same story whether the reader believes it’s about me personally or if I’ve written about someone who just happens to be the same as me.

 

Those were the wise words I heard from Robbie. He was, as I have mentioned, an enthusiastic amputee. He seemed to know as much about arm amputations as his own below knee amputations and admitted to finding hooks erotic and inspirational, which he had always assumed meant the speaker was inspired by seeing a stump to have a wank at the soonest available opportunity. Robbie was still in the dog house regarding his relationship with his old friend but Liam was obviously on the mend. Robbie was an enthusiastic admirer and proposed a couple of adaptations to Liam’s arms which might be interesting, especially in view of the fact that Liam’s stumps were so much shorter than what he had been expecting.

 

          – Do you know what I’d like to see? If you had special short sockets made. They’d be just a bit longer than your stumps and they’d curve inwards

from your elbows. The thing is, the sockets would fix onto your upper arms and you would lose any use of your elbows. You’d have permanently bent arms which you could close across your chest or lean forward to pick up a burger or something like that.

          – Little short arms with hooks? Yeah! I’ve seen photos of a guy with hooks like that. I might like that. That’s one advantage of having little tiny stumps like mine. I can play around with my sockets.

 

It was then I realised Liam was well on the road to recovery.

 

Thirteen

A year later and Liam had taken advantage of his right to have a second set of prosthetic arms made. He had also taken advantage of his overly short stumps. His new sockets completely enveloped his upper arms and included the meagre distance he had available below his elbows. Their shape resembled pool noodles. Black and perfectly curved. All one single unit. Liam had no need of extra steel hooks. It was easy enough to transfer the existing ones to his short sockets.

 

I found it surprising that a man who had been so despondent about finding himself with short stumps was suddenly so enthusiastic again about disabling himself to a degree far beyond anything I could have envisaged for him. Liam was a new man and with his unusual short arms, he became flamboyant and extrovert. He treated himself to a new wardrobe which featured shirts, woollens and jackets all custom tailored with short sleeves. Liam basked in his disability. His arms were conspicuously short and unnaturally curved inwards across his chest and belly. The hooks touched each other in front of his navel. Liam used his shoulders to position his hooks where he needed them and stretching his back muscles operated them. He had no elbows, no wrists, no hands, no fingers. He was completely reliant on his deviant artificial arms and loved to peacock with them.

 

Robbie felt as if he had been released from some kind of psychological bond. Although he had played such a small rôle in Liam’s maiming, he felt responsible for not ensuring that the situation was not checked beforehand. They had possibly not done enough research and Robbie, as a successful wannabe, believed he bore some blame for Liam’s initial disappointment. But as Liam gradually mastered his hooks and then took a creative rôle in designing new prostheses, Robbie’s mood lifted too. We became close friends, sharing an intimate secret which might upend our lives if it were to be revealed.

 

 

Fourteen

I published my story anyway. I had spent so much time and effort on it, I felt it almost obligatory to offer it to an inquisitive public. I altered all the characters’ names and created a nom de plume for myself. But anyone who knew me would recognise me and it was this simple fact which served my original purpose. Writing my autobiography had been cathartic. I was far less concerned about my colleagues’ confusion about how I had lost my hands, especially after becoming acquainted with Liam and the Robbie during the process. Robbie’s friendship was like a mellow retreat into his generous empathy whereas Liam’s extrovert lifestyle was not conducive to a comfortable friendship. His severe maiming and his deviant prostheses were shocking in themselves, without Liam’s accustomed boisterousness. I remained on good terms with Liam and saw him occasionally at work but we are not as close as we were. Liam has possibly rediscovered his independence, or found it for the first time.

 

Robbie and I have formed a symbiosis of two bilateral amputees. I write this in Robbie’s apartment. It is his turn to be pampered. He is taking a holiday from his prostheses all weekend. We retrieved his old wheelchair from storage and every alternate weekend, he airs his naked leg stumps. I push him when he tires if we go out but he otherwise enjoys a release from his artificial legs. On the intervening weekends, it is my turn to bare my stumps. Robbie finds his inner soul as a passionate caretaker. He feeds me, lifts a glass to my lips and tends to my toiletting. My stumps revel in their unaccustomed freedom and I am gradually learning to appreciate the joy of being severely disabled with a handsome willing amputee lover to help.

 

COMING CLEAN

Cousin Fred

 

Cousin Fred

Amputee fiction by S.P.

 

Footsteps rapidly approached the door to my bedroom so I quickly closed my lap top and tucked my cock back into my shorts. The images I’d been focusing upon still swirling around my head.

 

“Jim, you ready?”

 

“Coming mum” was all I could squeeze out of my post-orgasm tightened throat. As a horny, and rather bored eighteen year old waiting for his A-level results, wanking was a welcome and frequent relief.

 

We were packing our cases about to set off for a week in Devon, staying at my aunt and uncles farmhouse which nestled comfortably in the foothills of Dartmoor. We’d being going every July since I was nine years old with me enjoying all the normal activities of farm life; milking the cows, collecting eggs from the hen house and learning how to operate complex machinery and driver tractors.

 

It also brought me closer to my cousin Fred, two years older than me, first team rugby player and young farmer set to take over from his parents when they decided to retire.

 

I smiled inwardly when I recalled the time we’d spent together the previous summer. He’d gained muscle from his sporting activities and the strenuous work required of a farmer. My body, on the other hand, seemed to linger in puberty for far too long. I was just nine stone, five foot six versus Fred’s solid fourteen stone of muscle spanning to six foot two. If you saw us together you’d think there was five years between us, not nineteen months.

 

Fred was my hero, the young man who took so much time to show me how the farm worked; how to deal with my teenage angst, fears and complexes and, as I grew older, how to enjoy the organ that swung between my legs.

 

This visit was going to be difficult for me, and most probably Fred as well. I gulp when I talk about this but you need to know that Fred had been in a terrible accident at New Year when a trailer he was coupling to a tractor broke free and pinned him against the concrete buttress of an adjacent barn. The impact was so severe it crushed his legs and put him in hospital. The limbs could not be saved so he was still Fred, my handsome cousin, but missing both his legs.

 

The most perturbing fact was that the images I’d been masturbating over were those of men with one or both their legs amputated. Fred, my hero, whose new body shape resembled those I lusted after was going to drive me to distraction. I hoped I could keep my cool when I saw him in just a few hours’ time.

 

“OK love, do you want to take the wheel for the first part of the drive?” “Yeah mum, that’s great, thanks!” “You know the route I’m sure; take the bypass around Milton Keynes, off towards Oxford then join the M4?” “Yeah mum, that route’s imprinted on my brain; after all we’ve been doing it twice a year for the past nine years!”

 

“Just remember the speed cameras; you don’t want any points on your license!”

 

I love my mum to distraction. Dad left when I was just five so she brought me up single-handedly and worked many hours each week at her own on-line business designing websites. I don’t think we are actually rich or anything, but I’m just about to take the wheel of a two year old VW Golf which is smart enough, and, for my eighteenth she bought me the latest I-phone 6s!

 

The miles ticked by with us chatting and singing along to CD’s, listening to the news and avoiding talking about the elephant currently sitting on the dashboard in front of us. As we swung off the M5 towards Ashburton mum prodded the elephant and it stirred, fixing its beady eyes on mine.

 

“Jim, we both know what’s happened to poor old Fred” I nodded. “Yeah mum, we do and I’m kind of nervous about that” She reached over and patted my hand. “Yes, I guess you are; so am I actually. I’ve spoken to his mum a great deal and she says he’s doing OK, just frustrated that he can’t do as much around the farm as he once did”

 

“Must be awful for him” “Yes, I’m sure it is but he’s young, strong and determined, his life will be different from now on but he’s not the type to give up” “I just hope I don’t burst into tears” Mum cleared her throat; “I’d be upset if you didn’t shed a few tears, you need to hug him and hold him and treat him just like you did when you saw him last summer”

 

I certainly wanted to hug him but I hoped above hope that my erratic and unpredictable penis didn’t let me down when I was confronted by the emptiness of the space where his legs should have been. Images of regular masturbatory fantasies flooded my mind once again and I fluffed a corner causing mum to shout out; “Whoa!” “Sorry mum, just thinking about how I’ll be when, you know, I see Fred for the first time” Patting my thigh reassuringly I guessed I’d have to ‘grow a pair’ as my mates at school said all the time.

 

Bumping along the old farm track towards their thatched farmhouse I was struck by just how normal everything appeared. The horses trotted around their enclosure; sheep raced around as though demented and numerous chicken clucked and pecked at invisible morsels of food only their eyes could have spotted. My reveries were disturbed when I spotted a Honda quad bike race towards us with a grinning Fred sitting atop the saddle. He made an extravagant swoop around our car and stopped alongside the passenger door just inches from the bodywork.

 

“Jim, Mary, how good to see you again!” He smiled at the sight of his younger cousin and aunty goggle-eyed trying to work out how a boy with no legs could ride such a machine. “Just ‘cos my legs are gone, doesn’t mean I can’t ride this baby!” “Wow!” was all I could think of to say. “Jump on the back and let’s race your mum up to the house!”

 

I couldn’t get out of the car quick enough! Mum could hardly conceal her glee at the way Fred appeared to be dealing with his severe disability and, more importantly, making acceptance of his physical changes as simple for her son as he could.

 

I swung my leg over the saddle and grasped Fred around the waist. “Hold on tight young’un” he shouted over the roar of the engine. With that we sped off across the gravel track the speed forcing me to grip my cousin even tighter than I had planned. Gravel spewed from the rear wheels as they fought for grip and I had to push my hips tight against his firm backside to steady myself as we bumped and weaved across the rough terrain.

 

We beat my mum to the house and as Fred silenced the motor he turned towards me with a smile. “Jim boy, you can see what happened to me now, eh?” “Er, yeah, Fred and I’m so sorry…” “No need lad, most important thing is that I survived. I’m a lot shorter than I was last summer but now realize just how valuable and precious life is. Yes, there’s things I can’t do like I did before, but I’m the same old Freddy you’ve always known” There was a silence, a good one, but a silence nevertheless. There was a level of nervousness to his grin but he then laughed openly; “It’s OK, you’ll get used to it, I promise” I nodded, yet to be convinced, but I was not giving up on the man who I realized I really did love.

 

I nodded and hugged him even tighter. “Freddy, you’ll always be my hero, I really do love you, you know that don’t you?” “Yes, Jim, I do” He paused. “And, young man I really love you” I think we were both shocked by the sincerity of what we’d just shared. Here I was telling my cousin I loved him and there he was agreeing. It was going to be an interesting vacation.

 

Mum pulled up and jumped out the car making a bee-line for her nephew. “So great to see you again Freddy, you’re just as naughty as you were before….” He smiled; “You mean before I got stumped?” Shedding a tear she could find no words. “Mary, look, I’m getting used to what happened to me; soon you will as well. I’m just quite a bit shorter now than I was last summer!”

 

The amputees humour was infectious and before long we were all chatting and gossiping as we normally would; his lack of legs ignored and hardly relevant.

 

“Mary, Jim, come on in for some tea!” Fred’s mum Rita bustled out wearing a pinafore apron dusting flour from her hands. “”I’ve just made some scones and the teas’ brewing” “Lovely, shouted back my mum, strolling across the lawn to embrace her sister. “Rita, so lovely to see you again; I’m in shock seeing just how well your Freddy is dealing with his accident” Her sister nodded; “He’s pretty amazing, none of us know quite where he has found the strength to cope, but I’m not complaining! Come on, you must be thirsty after your long drive”

 

Rita was older than Mary by three years. She’d inherited her father’s broad frame while Mary was petite, like their mother. In fact, you could see exactly how Jim was a male facsimile of his mother, and Fred a masculine version of his. Rita had only vague memories of Marys’ now absent husband but recalled that he was nothing much more than a bean pole, and about as interesting.

 

Jim continued to chat to his older cousin contentedly. “Hey, Freddy, do you know you’re even more handsome now than you were last year!” The older boy blushed. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself!” Freddy had always loved the looks of his slight, slender cousin; the way his narrow frame was lightly muscled and how his soft blue eyes glinted behind blond lashes. Jim had allowed his hair to grow into a bit of a ‘boy-band’ style that obviously required plenty of styling product to keep it in place.

 

Fred, on the other hand still sported a close-cropped dark brown style that he could do himself with a trimmer in minutes. Jim smiled again, taking in his best mate’s dark brown eyes, firm jaw and deeply tanned face. He quivered a little when he renewed his memory of Fred’s broad shoulders, tight pecs and narrow waist. It was still unnerving though to look beyond his hips and find just two symmetrical and painfully short remnants of his once long and muscular legs.

 

“Do they hurt?” he asked, nodding at the truncated stubs, tightly clad in cut off denim jeans.

“Naah, not any more, unless I bump the ends on something hard” Jim nodded, silently. “And, er; do you have artificial legs to walk on?” Fred snorted. “

Yeah, they gave me some at the rehabilitation centre in Exeter but honestly Jim, they’re rubbish. Takes me ages to put ’em on, then I have to use crutches to get around”

“Oh, I’m surprised, I’ve seen guys on YouTube walking well without sticks or anything” Another snort. “Yeah, well next time you look at one of those guys check out the length of his stumps”

 

That word; ‘stumps’ entered Jims’ brain and rattled around like a pin ball caught in the jaws of the machine. Silenced for a while, Fred reached up and took his younger cousins hand in his own. “Don’t be nervous, I’m still the same old Freddy you’ve always know; it’s just that I’ve got these two stumpies now instead of my good old legs. You can look at ’em later if you want”

 

Jim smiled and hugged him back. “Now come on, let’s have a cuppa” Jims jaw dropped open as he watched the double amputee vault from the quad bike and land deftly on the gravel. “Race you to the house” he shouted and with that started to scamper towards the front door, swinging his stumps and butt between his powerful arms. Jim had to pick up the pace and jog to keep up.

 

Turning around with a grin, “Not such a cripple, am I?”

 

They talked non-stop until the light failed, Fred’s father returning from the fields after spraying the potato crop against blight. The five family members sat in the comfortable snug, fire flickering and drinks in hand until Freddy said; “Righto, I’m off, it’s an early start tomorrow ‘cos we’ve got to set up the tanks for the big sheep-dip on Friday” “What’s that then Fred?” “All the sheep have to be dipped against maggot and parasites every summer, just about now. We’re surrounded by smallholders who can’t afford all the equipment themselves, so what dad and I do is open up our farm to them so they can bring their sheep here to dip ‘em”

 

Fred’s dad chortled. “Right bloody carnival it is I can tell you; truck after truck of petrified sheep being unloaded, partially drowned and then sent back to their own farms!” Freddy laughed. “Yeah, and it’ll be even more fun this year, what with me being three foot two rather than sox foot two!

 

The five fell about laughing until his dad said, “Well, make sure you don’t get mistaken for a lady sheep. I hear the rams are very randy this time of year and you’re not going to be able to run away fast enough if one of ’em takes a fancy to you!”

 

“Oh dad, why do you have to bring it down to that level, I’m sure I’d settle down very happily with Robert the randy ram if he was gentle with me!”

 

I just loved the way my farming family talked between themselves. No airs, no graces, no concern for anything other than their farm, their livestock and each other.

 

“Jimbo, grab your ruck sack, I thought you’d rather hang out with me in my cottage than have to listen to these old farts gossiping all night?” His wink was enough. “Yeah, of course, mum, I’ll see you in the morning” “Alright love, sleep well” Silently I wondered if I would.

 

Fred scooted along on his back side, swinging his stubs between his arms. Vaulting back onto the quad bike I followed and plonked down behind him. The warmth of his torso was pressed against mine and I wrapped my arms around his waist reveling in the strength of his back and stomach muscles. “Right oh, young’un, off we go!”

 

I have to admit that I was scared stiff. I’d spent much of the evening with my legs crossed trying not to expose my continually gorged cock. Every time I looked at my cousins empty lap I felt a surge of passion and lust flow through my body. What on earth was I going to do if and when I had Fred on my own, with his stumps exposed?

 

The motor roared into life and we bounced along the gravel lane towards his neat little cottage. I was given the grand tour and viewed the four rooms, all simply furnished. There was just one bedroom with a huge mattress on the floor made up with sheets and a quilt. “What do you think?” asked my crippled cousin. “It’s fab! a space of your own and all so easy to get around no you’ve got no legs!” Fred looked up from the floor; “Glad you can talk about it now, there’s nothing you can say to upset me, you know that, don’t you?” I blushed and Fred brought the conversation back to the banale “Yeah, it works well for me ‘cos I kind of live on the floor nowadays, not so easy for you though?” “Well, we’ll soon sort that. While I’m here with you I’ll be down on the floor with you!”

 

“Deal?” “Deal!”

 

It was only 9 p.m. and neither of us was tired enough for bed, too excited to be spending time with each other, and, for once, completely on our own. Conversation flowed smoothly and I found myself relaxing, peering deep into my best mates’ brown eyes, reveling in his encouragement to talk and regular subtle compliments.

 

“Jimbo, do you fancy a bath?” I swallowed, realizing that this could only go in one direction. Was I brave enough to take the lead set by my beloved cousin?. “Er, yeah, I’m all sweaty from the trip” “Follow me then” “Er, what?” Fred looked at me and caught my eye. “We bathed together last summer, you nervous about seeing these?” and with that the young amputee gestured at the jean-clad remains of his once hunky thighs. When he grasped his stumps in each hand and massaged them, eyes narrowing noticeably, I was transfixed.

 

“Er, I guess so and, er Fred, I’m worried I might make a fool of myself” Fred looked puzzled, “fancy a beer before we take a dip?” “Yeah, please” He nodded at the fridge and I walked over grabbing a couple of tins. Sitting cross-legged in front of him I struggled with the ring pull just as he did likewise. “Still biting your nails then?” I nodded. “Can’t seem to give it up, still no one seems to care and I quite like to have a good old chomp on them from time to time” “Me too!”

 

The atmosphere was tense, but Fred, being the more confident of the two soon had his younger cousin at ease.

 

“Come on, tell me, what is it” I felt Fred’s hand squeeze my thigh reassuringly.

 

Tears fell from my eyes; I just could not control it. “I don’t know where to start Fred” “Why not try from the beginning?”

 

“Don’t be angry with what I’m going to say, please?” “Well, the only thing that would make me angry is if you told me you’d fallen for a girl!”

 

I laughed, and shook my head in the negative, however I crossed my fingers almost certain that I’d be spending the rest of the night back at the main farmhouse having been ejected and rejected by my amputee cousin for my inappropriate comments or reaction to what I was certain he was going to reveal.

 

“OK, here goes. Last summer I fell in love” I hesitated, trying to avoid Fred’s brown eyes boring into my own. “Go on” “Well, I fell in love with you, but I didn’t realize it until mum and I went back home. There was a cold emptiness in my heart and my stomach ached for you, your looks, your touch, your friendship and, well, just everything”

 

The older boy smiled, grateful that there was no mystery woman, or man for that matter in his younger cousins’ life.

 

“All I could think about was you and when we spoke on the phone I just melted inside. When I wanked off it was to the image of you and, I have to admit, some of the photos I’d taken of you sneakily during our holiday”

 

“I’m flattered” it was Fred’s turn to look a little shy. Jim looked up and felt his face start to colour up.

 

“Then the news came about the accident and mum told me you’d lost both your legs. Although I desperately wanted to come and see you she advised against it, thinking I was too soft to cope, and anyway I was deep in my studies for A-levels”

 

“I did wonder about that, I mean your mum came down twice after the accident, I always hoped she’d bring you, but you never came” The double amputee looked sad. “I thought you didn’t care, or worse, you’d be disgusted at what had happened to me”

 

“Believe me, I was desperate to see you but she just kept telling me to be patient and to wait until you were back home, she does know that I’m a bit of a wuss when it comes to hospitals” “Well, yeas, she is a bit over-protective” Jim nodded; “Yeah, I guess it’s ‘cos it’s just her and me, I cannot imagine what she’ll do when I leave home”

 

“Well, that’s when it started to happen. Mum told me that you had lost both legs above the knees, but she always ‘forgot’ to take a photo of you to show me” Fred nodded, urging him to continue. “So, I googled ‘double above knee amputee’ and was shocked by what came back. Pages and pages of photos of men; most of them ex-army, so fit and good looking, missing their legs in the way I imagined you had”

 

Fred took a slurp of beer, Jim followed suit.

 

“That’s when it happened” “What happened?” I was desperate for a wank so I flicked up the photos of you I’d saved onto my laptop and started jerking off. I clicked onto a YouTube page where a fit young bloke was being measured for artificial legs. Somehow the image of him and the photos of you merged together and I shot my biggest load ever”

 

Fred nodded, not wanting to halt the stream of consciousness flowing from my lips.

“Well, that was it, every time I got horny it was about you and the thought of you having stumps like the guy on video. Nothing else turned me on”

 

Fred wiggled his hips until he was close enough to embrace his younger cousin. “Oh god, Fred, I bet you hate me now don’t you?” He smiled so warmly I felt secure and safe. “I’m not the slightest bit angry, in fact I’m delighted. I was afraid that these stubs of mine would turn you off and that I’d never get the chance to love you as I really wanted to”

 

“You don’t mind?” “No, not at all” Jim look relieved. “Now why don’t we take that bath we promised ourselves?” Jim followed his cousin like a pet dog, bursting with excitement at the thought of what might happen. “That’s a cool set up!” “Yes, dad helped me sink the bath half way into the floor, makes it a cinch to climb in and out!”

 

Fred lit some candles and placed them on the tiled floor. He then dimmed the ceiling lights with a remote control and leaned back, taking his weight on his elbows, his jean-clad thigh stumps spread wide apart. “Go on then, strip for me, show me your sweet little body, I can hardly wait, you know how much you turn me on!”

 

Jim was initially shy but soon lost his inhibitions.

 

Shucking off his trainers then socks, the younger man twisted and turned sinuously in front of his amputee mate. His machinations were clearly having an effect on Fred as Jim watched his cock grow inside his cut-down jeans. Getting bolder, Jim then slipped off his T-shirt and flung it over his shoulder. He posed as a body-builder would even though his frame was slight and wiry, trim, but not heavily muscled.

 

“Hey, matey, you’re filling out nicely!” said Fred, “Come down to my level and let me cop a feel of your chest. Jim dropped to his knees directly in front of his cousin and reveled in the feel of the younger farmers’ hands trace out his muscles. He drew a sharp breath as he watched the older boy pop the waist button on his jeans and ease down the zipper. Straining against tight briefs, Jims cock thrust forward, reacting to the attention his body was receiving. “Slip them jeans off, my boy” said Fred in a low voice, “and come lie down with me” Pulling a towel onto the tiles Fred lay back and beckoned the now naked lad to lay beside him.

 

“You are one cute kid, let me tell you” With that the older boy flicked his tongue across his lovers’ lips and pulled him into a close embrace. Jim was lost in lust and love as the legless farmer penetrated his mouth and made love tongue to tongue. After what seemed an age Jim pulled back; “I wanna feel your flesh on mine” “Ok, you up to undressing me?” “Yeah, I reckon so”

 

Jim sat back on his haunches and slowly unbuttoned his mates’ shirt to reveal a perfectly honed upper body with tight muscling and hugely developed shoulders and biceps. He let out a soft sigh; “Jesus, Freddy, you’re so hot and fit!” “It’s ‘cos of me swinging around on my arms; they’re doing the job of my legs now”

 

“You don’t need to be scared, they’re not going to bite you” and with that Fred reached down, taking each stump into his hands, rubbing them gently in a most sensual manner. “I really love to touch ‘em you know, they’re so fucking sensitive”

 

Jim looked deep into his lovers’ eyes and saw just how much the amputee seemed to be enjoying touching the truncated remains of his once superbly muscled, lithe lower limbs.

 

“So, you enjoy touching your stubs?” he asked, “Oh yeah, it’s a fucking magical feeling, I never imagined it would feel so good before the accident happened” Jim made a mental note, he’d come back to this point later. It was a somewhat inappropriate comment but exciting nonetheless.

 

Feeling braver, the youngster quickly dispensed with Fred’s belt, and worked on the buttoned fly. His short bitten nails made the job a little tougher than it might have been, but as the fastenings gave, he hesitated. “Go on, pull ‘em off”

 

Slowly, carefully, he eased the denim down revealing first the tight and sublimely narrow waist of his mate, then the tops of his thighs and eventually the bulging briefs that contained the amputee’s genitals.

 

He rubbed his friends cock through the cloth and found it to be solid, like wood. He continued to ease the jeans from the young man’s body until he was naked bar his briefs.

 

He sat back and stared in silence. This was the first time he’d seen the result of amputation up close, rather than on the screen of his PC. His cock strained and his heart beat fast. Freddy, with his eyes closed, smiled in anticipation of what was to come next.

 

Teasingly, he flexed first the right, then the left stump up and then outwards. The severed muscled moved sinuously under the skin which was scared and puckered in a myriad of seams of stitching. The left had a ragged line of scars that formed a zig-zag from Fred’s thigh down the inner edge and across the base until rising again along the outer edge. The stumps were partly covered by fine brown hairs, but the scars; white and raised, were hairless.

 

The right stump was different again; the upper surface was smooth, but what appeared to be a broad flap of skin had been wrapped around the end and sewn closed towards the back of Fred’s severely shortened thigh. Jim watched captivated as the scars bunched and puckered as his lover tensed and then relaxed his stubs.

 

Smiling, Freddy opened his eyes and allowed them to pierce deeply into his younger mates own. “Fred, I’m speechless mate, your legs, I mean your stumps, they’re, they’re…..”

 

“Fucking beautiful?” came forth the response from the double amputee. “Yeah, I mean they’re all scared and marked, but well, I just love ‘em” “Rather than make a speech, why don’t you just touch ‘em, you know I’ve been waiting months for you to make love to ‘em”

 

With that Jim placed first his left, then his right hand on Fred’s corresponding stumps. He felt the warmth emanate from them and felt the muscle groups that had been cut, shaped and tethered beneath the healed skin. He traced his fingers along the scars and reveled in the sensation of his lover’s firm truncated limbs transmitting their power into his hands.

 

“Oh that is so fucking good” purred the amputee, I’ve been dreaming of this moment” Both boys cocks were full to bursting, Fred’s now free of its confines, drawn tight against his stomach while Jims flopped and bobbed sensuously across his thighs as he continued to massage his lovers short leg remnants.

 

Both were lost in lust and love. In seconds Jim was atop the legless lad, driving his tongue deep inside his mouth and squirming his torso against his mates groin and stumps. Fred flexed his stubs against the younger mans’ cock and balls, the sensation driving them both wild. In moments both increased the fierceness of their rubbing until they simultaneously orgasmed sending sprays of cum juice between their torsos and across their respective thighs and stubs.

 

Recovering their breath Fred was the first to speak; “That was amazing, thank you so much, you know I’ve worried every day that you would hate me now I’m crippled” Before answering Jim slid across the floor and took his mates stumps in his hands. “I was as worried, I thought you’d freeze me out” “Could never do that to you pal, love you too much”

 

“Fred, I just love your stumps, I mean they’re so exotic and the way you get around without legs just makes me kind of jealous” Fred’s eyes opened wide and he fixed the younger man with a deep stare.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” “Er, yes, of course” “Sure?” “Yeah, you’re my best mate and I love you”

 

“OK”

 

“OK?”

 

Fred cleared his throat and in a slight whisper said; “I did it to myself” It took a few moments for the words to sink in. “What?” Slightly bolder now, Fred repeated his words; “I did it to myself”

 

The penny dropped and the younger man sat bolt upright. “You mean you arranged to have your legs cut off?” There was an air of angst in the younger man’s voice and Fred started to panic. “Yeah” he replied softly. “Bloody hell Fred, why?” “Cos I wanted a pair of stumps, I hated my legs and now they’re gone I’m finally happy and you seem to be pretty happy I’ve got these too!” and with that, he grasped both short thigh remnants and rubbed them sexily.

 

“I’ll get some more beer and you can tell me all about it in the bath”

 

Jim watched in awe as his legless mate lifted himself into the warm water and splashed the empty space in front of him. Lowering himself in Jim found it best to slide his legs either side of Fred’s stumps.

 

Both drank deeply from the fresh can of Fosters.

 

“You ready for this?” The amputee asked.

 

“You bet”

 

“It goes back to when I was at boarding school in Exeter” Jim nodded. “I always knew I was gay and mucked about with some of the rugby lads, no kissing or anything like that, just wanking each other off; you know” Jim could imagine, but he’d never experienced anything like that himself.

 

“Well, our gym master was a real bastard and he was always driving us to go faster, harder and to be tougher. I guess it worked, we regularly won the regional sports events and even represented Devon in the under fifteens rugby tournaments” “Yes, I remember seeing your trophies” “Out of the blue at the start of the winter term when I was just fourteen, this strange guy turns up school with the gym master. Everyone stared, including me ‘cos he was a really fit bloke but in a wheelchair with no legs!”

 

“Wow! who was he?” “Turns out he was some kind of war hero who’d lost both legs in Iraq but was now doing all super-human things. Apparently he was a mate of the gym master and was going to spend a term at the school showing us how to excel in sport and reach beyond what we were currently achieving”

 

“You must have been all over the place!” “Well, not just me, I tell you in just a few days he’d become the school hero and everyone wanted to be seen with him. I guess I was a little shy to start with, but after a while Kevin, the double amputee and I got really friendly. He’d drive me forward in the swimming pool, show me how to lift weights and prepare myself mentally for competition”

 

“Wow that must have been so exciting!” “Yes, well, during one late session in the pool he got cramp in his hip; something he said happened when he got too cold. We got out of the water and he lay on the apron and asked me to massage some warmth back into his stumps. I guess I hesitated but he said it would be OK, so I took his two short and scarred stumps in my hands and rubbed ‘em” Fred went silent for a moment. “Well, then I noticed that his cock was getting stiff, as was mine”

 

“Jeez!” “That’s what I thought, but then my form master walked in and spotted what was going on. We never saw Kevin again although I did track him down on the web, seems he’s doing motivational talks all over the world!”

 

Fred topped up the cooling bath with hot water. “So young’un, from that moment on I was hooked on amputees, and not just one leg, no, both off close to the hip just like Kevin’s,….” “Just like yours?” Interjected Jim.

 

“Exactly, so I planned and thought it through, experimented, searched the internet and then narrowed it down to four options”

 

“What were they?”

 

“One – lie on the railway track at Newton Abbot where the intercity passes through on its way to Plymouth”

 

“Two – freeze my legs with dry ice”

 

“Three – shoot myself through the knees with one of dad’s rifles or shotguns”

 

“Four – set up an accident”

 

“And clearly option four was the one you chose” “Yeah, I reckoned that the train would most probably kill me or worse, I’d lose an arm or my ‘wedding tackle’ as well, if you know what I mean” Jim nodded, horrified at the thought of his cousin being cock-less as well as legless.

 

“Freezing was my favorite option for a long time but a) you can only buy frozen CO2 with full ID that would trace it back to me and b) even on the moor the temperatures never reach much less than minus ten degrees so any excuse would seem phony”

 

“You really did your research eh?” “Had to mate, it was a matter of life or death – literally”

 

“I ruled out the gun as everyone knows I’m a crack shot and although I might trip and hit my foot or something, no one would buy the idea of me shooting through both knees simultaneously, and, anyway, that would leave me with really long stumps, just down to the knees which is what I just did not want”

 

“Yeah, I understand that, some of the YouTube guys I’ve seen had long and spindly stumps that look, well, kind of pathetic” “I agree, and I wanted to mimic what I’d seen of Kevin’s stumps”

 

Both boys took another swig of their drink and Fred reached over, gently ‘high-fiving’ his mate.

 

“So, I settled on option four, it was easy actually, almost too easy and could never be mistaken for anything other than a tragic accident”

 

Jim nodded eager to hear the rest of the story.

 

“I’d agreed with dad that I’d load up the trailer with hay ready to drive out to the sheep the next morning. Bear in mind it was early January, dark, cold and snowing. It took me two hours to fork-lift the bales onto the trailer which was locked onto the towing hitch of the big JCB tractor unit. Once I’d finished I just pulled out the steel hitching pin, walked calmly to the rear of the trailer and watched as it slowly rolled towards me, gathering pace”

 

Jim took a deep breath, transfixed by the calmness of his cousin under such circumstances, but also by the sheer audacity of his plan.

 

“The trailer picked up speed so I turned my back to it, pressed my knees and thighs into the barn buttress and waited, my mobile ‘phone clamped tight in my pocket. It hit me with a real thump and I felt my femurs crack, it bounced off and hit me again in the same spot, only this time it stayed put, trapping me between the steel frame of the trailer and the concrete of the buttress. I suddenly felt cold and tired but little pain, I dialed my dad’s mobile and hearing my cries he came rushing out into the yard. He actually saved my life by not moving the trailer, he left it where it was and dialed 999”

 

“Oh god, Fred, you are so brave and why did that save you?”

 

“The pressure of the trailer on my legs acted as a tourniquet so I actually bled very little. The rest really is a bit of a haze, I remember being winched up into a helicopter and landing on a roof somewhere with snow flurries all around us, next I was waking up after the operations”

 

“Let’s get out of here, I want to hear more of your story, it’s making me think”

 

“Oh shit, me and my big mouth!”

 

With that the two lads dried off and the older of the two hand-walked to the bedroom followed by his younger lover.

 

The lads continued chatting until they drifted off to sleep. Jim curled into his mate’s embrace, one hand resting gently on the short remains off his left thigh stub.

 

“Wakey wakey!” Jim rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took the cup of coffee proffered by his amputee cousin.

 

“What time is it?” 5 a.m. Get your clothes on, we’ve got the first load of sheep arriving at six.”

 

The younger, more slender lad pushed up from the floor level mattress and regarded his friend with a quizzical stare. “Mate, you’re standing!” Fred smiled mischievously; “Yeah, meet my better half – these are my stubbies!” “Stubbies?” “Yeah, when they first got me ready for prosthetic training I was given a temporary set, all made out of leather and wood, then once I’d learned how to balance and move around I was given this pair. “They’re really just a pair of short stilts, much more comfortable than the old training pylons”

 

“Wow, show me how you walk” and with that Fred started along the corridor lifting each lifeless rounded-off non-slip substitute foot with its associated pole from the floor. Swinging it forward he followed with the other so he made a simple motion forward, waddling a bit like a duck but nevertheless moving quite efficiently. “Keeps my ass off the ground and believe me we’re going to get plenty wet today with all those sheep splashing around in the treatment troughs!”

 

Fred rocked over to the hall cupboard on his stubbies and offered Jim a set of coveralls. “Jim, look at these; this is what I first started off in, like something from the First World War eh?”

 

Suddenly the younger man was holding one of a pair of training pylons as Fred had described them. “Wow, they’re crazy!” was all the younger man could find to say. “Yeah, they’re made in such a way that they will fit any DAK person, just so they get used to standing up for the first time. See, the leather sockets are open ended and laced so they fit any size or length of stump” Jim handled the smooth and lightly worn leather between his fingers. The older man continued; “Then these metal bars are riveted to the sockets and can be adjusted to height. They’re then bolted to these ‘back to front’ wooden rocker like feet covered in non-slip rubber”

 

Jim nodded, taking in all this new and slightly un-nerving information. “And what’s this?” he asked fingering a broad padded strap that seemed to consist of a waist sized belt. “OK, once you’ve got your stumps firmly laced into the sockets you fasten the band around your waist – gives to some extra stability when you’re swinging the pylons forward” “Amazing” said the younger man; “Do you still use ‘em?” “Naah, as you can see my stumps are really too short to get much leverage in those old things so I’ve got suction sockets” With that he pulled up the hem of his shorts for Jim to see.

 

“I put on a rubberized liner on each stub, spray it with alcohol and push them into these carbon fibre sockets. Once the alcohol evaporates I shove in this bung and it keeps my stumps firmly in place. I don’t half sweat though; can stink like an old pole cat after a full day on these babies!

 

Jim nodded thoughtfully; a plan was forming in his head. “Right-o matey, shove ‘em back into the cupboard; mum’s meeting us with bacon sandwiches up at the yard”

 

On occasions such as these everyone on the farm leant a hand. Mary and Rita were there with thermoses full of hot drinks, sandwiches stuffed with bacon and sausages and plenty of snacks for later in the day.

 

They were blessed with dry weather and a little sun but all involved in the sheep dipping emerged drenched as beast after beast was shoved into the troughs and guided back to their owner’s trucks. Four hundred and seventy‑five animals were treated that day making Fred’s mum and dad a cool twenty pounds per animal; Jim calculated that to be nine thousand five hundred pouns for a full day’s work.

 

The afternoon light dimmed and the last of the animals was dispatched back to its owner’s farm. “Who fancies lamb chops?” There was a collective groan; all the family had seen enough of wet and smelly sheep for a lifetime. “Only joking, I’ve got braised beef waiting back home” smiled Rita as she clambered back into her Land Rover.

 

“Give us thirty minutes, we want to get showered” “OK love, see you in a bit” With that Fred launched himself up onto the quad bike, followed by Jim who clamped himself to the broad back of his amputee lover.

 

“Do you want me to wank you off?” ask Jim as they headed for the wet room. “Thought you’d never ask!” “Let’s do it together but we better be quick, mum won’t want to wait for us for long before dinner” As gently as first time lovers but as fiercely as horny young men they grasped each other’s cocks and soon built up speed, gently murmuring their thoughts and desires into each other’s ears; “Yeah mate, when you rub my stumps I get so fucking hot” whispered Fred to his lover. Jim nodded and smiled; “And when you lick the scars I get all worked up in side” “Me too” Jim answered. The young man could see his amputee lover getting closer to orgasm so he whispered softly; “And when I’ve got a nice pair of short stumps like yours we’ll fuck and suck all day”

 

With that Fred shot rope after rope of hot sperm across his mate’s chest. Regaining his breath and ability to speak he opened his eyes and stared deeply into his best friends; “You mean, er, you mean you wanna be like me?” “Yeah Fred, I wanna be a legless cripple just like you”

 

With these words released from his lips, Jim spurted hot cum over his mate. Smiling in their secret conspiracy, they quickly showered off, turning up at the farm house just as Rita and Mary placed a heaving tray of fresh seafood onto the table. Followed by tender beef in red wine sauce, fresh fruit and cheese the family groaned collectively, stuffed with food and satisfied with the results of their days’ hard endeavours.

 

The two lads buzzed back to Fred’s cottage on the quad bike leaving their respective mums to chat; Fred’s dad had made his excuses, wanting to wallow in a hot bath to ease his aching limbs.

 

“I’m so pleased you’re both here” smiled Rita as she reached over to pat her sister’s hand. Mary smiled; “Well, we’re having a great time and it’s so good to see the boys getting on so well” Rita smiled and tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I wanted to talk to you about that..” Mary pricked up her ears. “What’s on your mind, sis?” “Hmm, well, when Fred was still heavily drugged we had a very odd, but interesting conversation” “Go on” urged her younger sister. “Well, I don’t judge at all, but he told me he was gay”

 

Mary swallowed. “How are you both dealing with that?” “Dad and I don’t mind at all, after all he’s our boy and we love him to bits, what he does in bed is no issue for us” “Nor me” replied Jims’ mum. “What are you saying love?” Mary shifted in her seat. “I found some porn magazines in Jims’ room, I mean I wasn’t spying, they just fell out of his wardrobe, but they definitely featured men, not women”

 

Mary caught Rita’s eye and both burst out laughing simultaneously. “Oh dear, so we’ve produced a couple of gay lads then!” “Looks like it” replied her sister.

 

Topping up their glasses with a deeply aromatic Rioja, it was Rita who found the words to open the next topic. “So, what do you reckon’s happening down at Fred’s cottage while we sit here?” “I really don’t want to think about the detail but I guess we both know” “Hmm, isn’t it meant to be illegal between cousins?” “Only if you’re boy and girl, as far as I know” “Do you want to discuss it with the boys” Rita smiled, looking thoughtful. “Shall we leave it for a few days to see how things pan out?” Yes, I think that’s best”

 

The women continued to chew over the situation and finally concluded that they might not be blessed with grandchildren but at least their respective kids would be happy if they’d actually found love and friendship together.

 

“I’m knackered mate” said Fred as he stumped into the cottage. “Me too, but look, its Sunday tomorrow so not much on, how about a lie-in and then a drive over the moors?” “You mean you can drive?” “Yeah, of course, I got the car set up with controls I can use with my hands” “Wow!” replied the youngster.

 

Their evening concluded with a deep kiss, cuddle and lots of snoring, during the next day more was to be discovered between these two handsome young men; one a severely disabled high-thigh bilateral amputee, the other a man harbouring dark yet deeply exciting thoughts.

 

Fred picked up the ‘phone; “Mum, morning, we’re going to take the car up to Bideford this morning if that’s OK?”

“Of course love, do you want me to drop it down to the cottage?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, I need to lay off the stubbies today, my stumps are a bit sore after all that work yesterday”

“No problem sweetheart, see you in twenty.”

 

Rita dropped the new Land Rover Discovery down to Fred’s home. It was the latest model with loads of options and shimmering in freshly washed metallic silver. “Have a great day” said Rita as she rode off back to the farm house on the quad bike.

 

“Right-oh Jimbo, you’ve seen me walk on my hands and bum, seen me on my stubbies so today you’re going to experience what it’s like to have a wheelchair-bound boyfriend” Jim swallowed; “Boyfriend?” Fred smiled and looked up at his mate from the floor. There was at least a two and a half foot difference in height between them. “Well, there’s only one lad in my life and his name’s Jim” Their kiss lasted long enough for erections to rise in their respective trousers. “No! We’ve got to get moving or we’ll lose the sun!”

 

Jim was an observant lad; he looked at situations from many angles just to make sure he understood what was what. Watching Fred prepare for their outing was fascinating; first of all he listened as Fred explained his choice of clothes; “So young’un, when you’ve been amputated like me you’ve always got to remember that the only thing keeping you in your chair is your stumps” Jim nodded.

 

Well, mine are pretty short so to brace against the cushion when I’m wheeling I need them to be as firm as I can get ‘em” “How do you do that?” “Well, lots of exercise to start with, keeping the muscles working in the stumps and around my hips and pelvis, then I have to choose the right shorts” “Why does that matter?” “Well baggy shorts allow my femur bones to just flop around as there’s no knee at the end to hold them steady, so if I stuff my stumps into really tight jeans it forces them to become cylindrical and braces the femurs tight” “Ah, I see now” Fred continued; “I could wear the stump shrinkers they gave me at hospital but they’re made of rubber and silicone so I sweat like a pig in this weather”

 

Jim watched in awe as Fred lay back on the bedroom floor and lifted his stumps upwards. He then grabbed the neatly tailored jeans with their sewn up ends and worked his stumps into the closed off legs. “Going commando?” asked Jim, “Yeah anything to keep me cool and it shows of the crown jewels pretty well!” They both giggled with Fred reaching out suddenly to grab Jim’s left, and then right calf; “Reckon you could spend the rest of your life without these?” Jim started, shocked by the directness of Fred’s question. “Er, well yes, if my legless mate was by my side”

 

The said nothing more, just exchanged smiles as Fred slipped on a tight cropped top T-shirt that showed of his well-toned torso to perfection.

 

Jim continued to observe his best friend as he lifted his legless body backwards into the awaiting sports wheelchair and settled himself against the backrest. “Wow, that’s impressive!” exclaimed Jim; “With you ‘sitting’ on your stumps they’ve nearly disappeared, looks like you’ve got just bumps either side of your hips, barely any stump at all!” Fred smiled; “Yeah, that’s the image Kevin projected in his chair, it’s a really sexy look don’t you think?”

 

“Now, let’s get on the road”

 

Jim continued to observe how his lover dealt with mounting the car and placing his wheelchair behind his seat. It looked easy but Fred explained it had taken time to work out the best method. “First time out alone mum chucked my chair in the boot behind the dog guard so I couldn’t climb through the car to reach it. Instead I had to hand-walk through the mud around to the back of the Land Rover!” “So I soon learned to take off the wheels, chuck it all behind me so I can make a quick and dry exit wherever I need to”

 

“Did you ever regret losing legs; you know dealing with practical things like that?” “Once” Admitted Fred. “I was out in Torquay with some of the lads one night and we ended up at a mixed bar; you know some gay, some stylish types all preening and showing off” Jim nodded for him to continue. “Well, the boys had taken over a booth and I was sat in the middle. My chair had been taken off to the store room and I looked just like any twenty‑one year old sitting with his mates”

 

Jim kind of knew where this was heading. “So as the night wore on we’d had a few drinks and this guy kept giving me the eye. He was a good looking man and I kind of fancied him. When my mates got up to dance he walked across to the booth and started chatting me up. It was all going well until he asked me to dance, so I just nodded at my lap and told him to take a look”

 

“Go on” urged Jim.

 

“Well, next thing I was covered in the remains of his white wine and being told in a loud voice ‘that cripples like me shouldn’t be allowed out in nice places like this’ “I was fucking furious and so were my mates. The creep was chucked out of the club but then I realized that I no longer fitted into the conventional gay scene, if someone was going to go out with me they’d need to know I was legless and not just through booze!” His humour covered his clear upset.

 

Jim leant over and kissed his mate on the cheek. “Well that is not going to happen again, you’ve got me now”

 

Fred engaged gear and deftly controlled the big 4x4 using hand controls on either side of the steering wheel. They listened to music, chatted, gossiped and told each other dirty things they were going to do with each other when they got back that evening.

 

The day was spent on the beach soaking up the sun. People did stare at them, and children in particular would come up and ask why Fred had no legs. The curiosity was touching and Fred handled it superbly. Just as they were packing up to go Jim noticed a wheelchair purr by with a fit looking young man seated in it. Because he was wheeling behind the sea wall it was not possible to see anything but his top body. Nudging Fred he said; “Look another wheelchair stud!”

 

“Oh yes, he’s a bit of a looker isn’t he?” Jim nodded; “Why don’t you place my chair on the paving over there and I’ll hand walk to it, maybe he’ll spot us” Jim did as he was told and as obviously as he could assembled Fred’s chair with exaggerated movements. Sure enough the wheelchair stud flicked his eyes towards him and slowed right down. Jim could tell he was scanning the beach for signs of someone who might need a sports chair like his own.

 

By that time Fred had reached his chair and heaved himself up into it. The other man stopped and brazenly swiveled his chair until it faced directly the path which Fred had no option to take back to where they had parked. His own body was still concealed behind the harbour wall.

 

The stranger then wheeled forward sufficiently for the two lovers to see make out that he, too, was legless. There was a quizzical smile, a slight nod of the head and then he was gone, pirouetting through a hundred and eighty degrees and off in the opposite direction without even glancing back. By the time Fred and Jim had made it back to the promenade there was no sight or sound of the mysterious DAK.

 

“Well that was odd?” “Yeah” replied the double amputee, “Why on earth would he run away from us like that?” “Dunno young’un, people are strange, especially when they’ve been through something that makes them so obviously disabled. I mean, I was so self-conscious when I first went out in public, I just hated it when people stared so brazenly”

 

“Oh well, maybe we should come back to Bideford next weekend if the weather holds out?” “Why not, I really enjoyed our trip out, good to swim in the sea again”

 

The trip home was uneventful; both boys pondering silently on a whole range of subjects, but not yet ready to share them.

 

“Hi mum” answered Fred as the Bluetooth connected his mobile to the farmhouse. “Well if you’re sure, Jim, do you fancy supper with the old folk tonight?” Rita exploded with mock outrage on the loud-speaker. “Well only if we can get to bed by 8 p.m., you know us old codgers need our rest!”

 

“What are you cooking?” Rita reeled off a mouth-watering menu and both boys groaned with pleasure, their tummies now pleading hunger. “7 p.m.? We’ll be there!”

 

Showered and dressed in clean clothes they bumped along the track in the silver 4x4 knowing that they’d swap back to the quad-bike for their return to the cottage. The evening passed pleasantly and as usual dad made his excuses and went for a hot soak in the tub.

 

The four settled back with coffee and all seemed to be normal. Slowly the mood began to change; Fred and Jim becoming aware of the direction their mothers’ conversation was heading.

 

“Mum” said Fred; “What exactly are you trying to say?” Rita blushed and swilled the dregs of coffee around in her mug. “Boys, err, how can I put this, are you an item?” Fred laughed and Jim looked at his feet, wishing they weren’t there.

 

Fred reached across the sofa and took the younger mans’ hand in his own.

 

“Yes”

 

“Yes?” replied Mary. “How long has it been going on?” “Since last summer when you were with us for four weeks” “I would have never guessed” Rita having found her voice.

 

“Boys, first of all, neither of us have any problems with you having a relationship; I looked it up even cousins can enter into a civil partnership but, well, it’s just we all think that you’re both just a little young to settle down and anyway Jim is due to start university in September” Her words trailed off.

 

“Mum, I don’t want to go to uni, I want to live here with Fred and learn how to farm” The room fell silent for a few moments. Mary spoke again; “I can understand that, I do, really, but in the long term I really think you’d be sensible to get a qualification and spend a little time ‘growing up’ with people your own age, I mean I know Fred is only twenty‑one, but honestly what harm would it do if you spent three years amongst other students? Rita says you can always visit during the holidays and there would be no problem you two meeting up whenever you’ve got free time”

 

Everything she said made sense. Rita agreed that there was no need to rush their relationship because if it was really as solid as they pleaded they would wait for each other. Jim was a bright lad and his first choice of University; Sheffield, had accepted his application. Yes, there were two hundred and fifty miles between them but there were trains and Fred was more than capable of driving.

 

The discussion was earnest, honest and pleasant. The four people in the room loved each other and only wanted what was right for their sons. It was just the impetuosity of youth that coloured the emotional responses and pleadings of Jim.

 

“I tell you what” said Fred, we’re all a bit knackered and this has been a pretty heavy conversation, why don’t we all turn in and think it over” All agreed that was sensible. Rita was secretly extremely proud of her son, not just how calmly he’d dealt with the hugely disabling injuries he’d endured just eight months ago but also for the incredibly mature manner he was dealing with the understandably emotional and mixed up emotions of her sisters’ son.

 

Jim burst into tears as soon as they crossed the threshold of the cottage. “But I WANT to spend the rest of my life with you!” he exclaimed, stamping his foot. “I know, I know, and I want to do the same, but let’s look at this properly” Jim wiped his nose and sat cross-legged in front of his amputee cousin.

 

“You’re just eighteen. I’m the first person you’ve ever made love to and you’re bright. It would be a terrible shame if you gave up on your education now, when you have such a bright future ahead of you” Reluctantly the younger man nodded. Fred continued; “Now, I went to agricultural college for two years and learnt a hell of a lot, not just about farming but about life, too. Yes, I messed around a bit, drank too much and had a few fumbles with other blokes but I did grow up”

 

Another nod.

 

“Moreover, to tell you the truth, the time away from home allowed my thoughts about becoming an amputee to develop. If that’s what you ultimately decide upon you’ll be clearer in your thoughts after two or three years”

 

“But what if you find another lover while I’m away?” Fred smiled; “Well maybe that would happen, but maybe it wouldn’t. I could ask you the same question and in fact I’d encourage you to experiment a bit. You know, find out if loving a man with legs is better than one without?”

 

“Never!” exclaimed Jim. “You’ll not know unless you try, and frankly if we’re going to be life-long partners I think I’d like you to have grown up a little more, matured, experienced new things. If we’re going to succeed as lovers and partners I want an equal, not someone who looks up to me just as his older cousin”

 

Jim looked defeated; “So you want to get rid of me?” Fred smiled; “Come over here young’un and be cuddled” The boys embraced and kissed; “No, I want you to have time to grow up so you come back to me as a man, not a boy”

 

“OK” “Look at me” Jim raised his head and stared deep into his cousins eyes. “Deal?” Jim sighed; “Deal”

 

“So what are we going to do for the rest of the evening? It’s too early for bed!”

 

“Fred, I was wondering, er, no I’m being silly” “Go on, what were you thinking?” Jim blushed. “Well you know the training pylon legs you showed me this morning?” Fred looked up with a slight smile; “Do you think I could possibly see if they fitted me?” The older man giggled; “Well, I’m going to have to cut off your legs first and that might be a little messy!”

 

“No listen, your thighs are so broad because of your rugby that the leather sockets are really wide, I dunno, but perhaps if I double up my legs under me they might just fit?”

 

“Well, we’ll not know unless we try” came the reply, “go get ‘em from the cupboard and tucked in the back is a pair of short crutches I was given by the re-hab centre” “OK” said Jim, his voice trembling a little. Fred shouted after him; “take ‘em to the living room and I’ll join you” He scooted off on his butt and hand-walked to the bedroom. “Where are they, where are they?” Rummaging around in a drawer he finally found what he was looking for and rump walked into the room where Jim was waiting with the strange and faintly exotic prosthetic devices.

 

Fred sized up the situation, recalling the first time his physiotherapist got him strapped into the pylons.

 

“OK, go sit on the sofa with your legs folded underneath you” Jim did as he was told. “Yes, that’s it. My, even your doubled up legs are not much different from my thighs when I had ‘em!”

 

Jim nodded, licking his plush pink lips nervously. “Pull these stump socks over your legs” Commanded the older man. With trembling fingers Jim opened each package and gently rubbed the material of the socks between his fingers. “Feels like really soft lambs’ wool” he stated. “Yes they’re made of a mix of wool and cotton to cushion your stumps against the leather sockets and help wick away perspiration” “That’s clever” “Yeah, well as you know, I sweat a lot more now as I’ve lost about a third of my skin since my legs were amputated”

 

Jim pulled the footless socks over his legs, drawing them right up into his groin. Fred let out a low sigh; “Jesus, looks like you’ve just given yourself a neat pair of stumpies!” Jims cock twitched which Fred noticed; “Turning you on is it?” “Yeah” the younger man whispered. “Now the hard part; position the pylons in line with your stumps and slowly lift yourself up so your legs slide into the sockets” Jim did as he was told and felt a strangely secure and erotic sensation roll over him as his sock clad thighs disappeared into the sockets.

 

“Looks like you’re nearly there” Said Fred as he watched the boys folded back limbs disappear. “Now reach around and bring both halves of the waist band around your hips, that’s right, now fasten the buckles loosely”

 

Fred scooted on his hands to sit directly in front the youngster who was visually trembling with excitement. Jim was perched on the edge of the sofa, his thighs buried deep in the warm, smooth sockets of his mates training pylons. The leather and canvas waist band hung loosely around his slender hips and he looked down in awe at the metal struts that substituted for his lower legs and, more excitingly, at the rounded wooden block rockers that would soon become his false feet.

 

“Now what?” he asked his amputee lover. “OK, I’m going to tighten up the laces on the sockets so they’re really clamped onto your stumps” Just hearing the words; ‘Your stumps’ made the younger boy’s cock twitch. Fred busied himself with the laces and satchel-like straps. “Tight enough?” Jim nodded. “Are your feet OK back there?” Fred was checking that the boy was comfortable in this unique form of bondage. “Yeah, they’re kind of numb, but they’re fine”

 

Fred nodded, satisfied that the laces were sufficiently tight. “Now, tighten the waist band so it’s firm across the top of your hips, oh, there’s something missing; I need to get the shoulder straps” Jim looked on puzzled. “They’re like braces to hold up trousers, they fix onto the back and front of the waist band and go over your shoulders to make sure your pylons don’t slip off your stumps”

 

Scooting over the cupboard on his bum the stubbed young man returned and applied the padded braces so they were tight over the youngster’s shoulders. “You’re good to go, push yourself forward and see if you can balance, I’ll sit in front of you so you can steady yourself on my shoulders”

 

“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” hissed Jim. “I’m an amputee!” “Well, not quite, but this is how it was for me the first time, and I loved it!” Jim was a bit wobbly, struggling to keep upright. “You need to lock your hips as tight as you can and brace your stumps backwards; it feels really unnatural to start with but use your stomach muscles to keep your torso from flopping forward”

 

The younger man nodded, and took the proffered underarm crutches that Fred had adjusted to fit. “You ready to take a step?” Another nod. “OK, swing one pylon forward and the opposite crutch” Jim did as he was told and took a short step. He felt the waist band and shoulder straps dig into his flesh and heard the creak of stiff leather as he transferred his weight from side to side. He reveled in the sound of the wooden rockers as they clunked against the tiled floor.

 

“How does that feel young’un?” “Fucking amazing, I never want to take them off!” Fred looked on as his young lover, naked bar his pylons and associated straps and belts, struggled to master his prosthetic legs. Slowly and with much effort Jim started to get the hang of the technique required of a double above knee amputee to walk on stubbies. His pace quickened and he was soon looking more confident and taking longer strides. “Why don’t you make your way into the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror” Jim nodded, licking his lips. “I just love the sound they make, ‘clack, clack, squeak, squeak, and the smell of the leather as it gets warm from my skin”

 

Fred grinned and scooted off on his bum to the bedroom. Quick as a flash he stripped off his clothes and slotted his pitifully short stumps into his own hi-tech stubbies. Joining Jim in the bathroom he stood beside his younger mate and looked at their image reflected back faithfully by the mirror.

 

“Jeez, look at us!” exclaimed the young pretender. “Sweet!” exclaimed the real amputee. “I can see wearing my pylons has done wonders for your erection, let me sort that out for you”

 

Fred stumped a little closer and enclosed his mates cock with his broad, firm hand. A little spit and he was soon actively massaging his lovers’ fat rock-hard penis. He leant in closer and whispered; “Just imagine the two of us in Bideford, walking around the town in our stubbies, little crutches helping us to swing our lifeless pylons around, enjoying the stares we get as people look on with pity at the two poor young cripples” “Ugh, ah, ah” was all that came from Jim’s lips. “You with your short thigh stumps encased in warm tight leather sockets creaking and the sound of your wooden rockers striking the pavement with a dull thud”

 

That was enough; the youngster shot streams of hot sperm against the mirror while Fred finished himself off with a couple of deft strokes.

 

Sheffield

 

Jim was apprehensive as his mother drove away from the halls of residence at Sheffield University. This dormitory would become his new home for the coming year. The summer break in Devon with Fred and his farming family had come to a swift but pleasant end and the boys had reached an agreement that they would keep in touch, but spend time alone; principally to give the younger man a chance to experience more about life.

 

Boxes unpacked, Jim was keen to escape the hub-bub of new students and their parents moving suitcases and pot plants into the chicken coup bedrooms provided by the college. The campus was close to the city centre so he took the tram into town to explore. He had chosen Sheffield for the quality of the course he was taking, but he also was intrigued by the history of the area and the modern developments that had been so creatively integrated into what had been a steel milling and coal producing city. It was so different from the modern town he’d been brought up in, and the rural retreat of his cousins’ family.

 

His interest in amputees had not diminished; in fact it had grown in depth and complexity. He was equally obsessed with finding amputees on the street, on line and in personal ads. Of course, he had to be discrete as he did not want his secret to become public. He wanted his mother and Fred to think he was just a normal nineteen year old finding his way in life.

 

Saturday shoppers were out in huge numbers, encouraged by the warm September weather and the start of the autumn sales. This would be a good hunting ground for amputees Jim thought to himself. Like a seasoned explorer the young man walked the town searching for his quarry. The bus and train stations, cash points, MacDonald’s and shopping Centre’s might find an amputee begging or perhaps wandering around like everyone else. He had to be patient but he had high hopes of finding someone to follow and someone whose physical condition would excite him sexually.

 

After an hour the lad was beginning to become a little despondent. He spotted an old man with a built up boot; two guys wearing plaster arm casts; a middle aged guy in a wheelchair who was most probably paraplegic and a youngish guy with a leg splint – the kind that’s used to restrain movement in a limb when a ligament has been pulled. There was a young woman with an arm missing but she did nothing to excite Jim.

 

Grabbing a sandwich and a juice from Marks and Spencer’s he sat in the wide central square watching the people go by. There were plenty of handsome men and he was aware of being cruised a couple of times, but what would he do with a fully-limbed bloke? He could never share his special secret nor persuade someone to pretend to be an amputee if he didn’t want to.

 

As time went by he thought about returning to college and getting to know some of the other students in his residence, perhaps there’d be an amputee starting university at the same time as him.

 

Absentmindedly, he looked from the tram to the street hoping to spot someone to fantasize over, he didn’t even realize that he was giving his fingernails some pretty tough treatment; ripping each nail off until the smooth pad and the quick were revealed. He was awoken from his reverie by a soft, but deep voice coming from behind him as the tram slowly made its way home. “Hey, stop that young man, you’re making me jealous!” “Er, what?!” replied Jim swiveling on his heal towards the person who’d just woken him from his daydream. “I said, stop biting your nails” “what’s that to do with you mister?” replied Jim just a little annoyed at being corrected by a stranger. Rather than reply, the man nodded downwards towards his hands. “Maybe now you’ll understand” he said with a broad grin.

 

Jim was close to falling backwards but he caught himself on a nearby handrail. He took in the short cropped dark hair, neatly trimmed beard, deep blue eyes and wide grin of this stranger. He lowered his eyes to take in the broad frame, tight white T-shirt and grey wool cardigan loosely buttoned at the waist, then the Levis and Converse All-star shoes. Then his eyes flicked back up to the bit that was just so wrong, so odd. The smiling stranger did not have hands; he had two shiny hooks in the place where his hands should have been. Jim looked up and into his eyes, then back down to the hooks.

 

“Now you know why I’m jealous of you biting your nails, until my, erm, accident, I bit mine down even harder than you’ve just done”

 

Jim was not going to blow this opportunity, no chance. He smiled broadly and held out his right hand; “Hi, I’m Jim and I’m just starting Uni in Sheffield” A flicker of uncertainty flashed across the smiling strangers face. He said nothing but slowly raised his right hook and put it into Jims’ open and waiting palm. “Good to meet you Jim; I’m Bert and I work at the Uni”

 

Their eyes linked and something flowed between them, it was an electric feeling for Jim and later Bert was to share the fact that he’d felt the same. The cold aluminium of the hook in his warm palm sent shivers through the younger lad’s scalp and down to his toes. “Have you joined any of the Uni societies yet?” No, I was going to take a look at what’s going on before deciding” Bert then nodded towards the rainbow wristband that Jim wore twenty four seven. “Same club?” asked Bert and he nodded to the very discrete enamel rainbow flag that was pinned to the hem of his cardigan. “Yes, I’m treasurer of the gay society on campus”

 

The link was now complete, both men acknowledging their sexuality but Jim was still puzzled as to why he’d been approached by such a young and handsome amputee.

 

They bumped along for two more tram stops when Bert said; “This is where I get off, fancy a coffee at mine?” “Yeah, that would be good” Bert was a good four inches taller than Jim and his frame was well-filled, but his arms unnaturally thin. When they approached a modern apartment block Jim watched in silence as the arm amputee shrugged his left shoulder so the hook and lower arm rose to the horizontal. The metal hook deftly tapped in a code and the door swung open with a hiss. The hooks followed Bert’s bidding and the lift was swiftly called.

 

As the doors closed Jim looked up at his new friend and asked; “Why did you single me out from the crowd?” Bert smiled; “Well, first I saw your rainbow wrist band so knew we had something in common” The doors opened smoothly and they walked down a long well lit corridor; “Then” Bert continued with a slight hesitation, “I realized I had seen your face somewhere before” Jim looked on, puzzled. “Yes it took me ages to work out where ehile I followed you around the city centre” “I still don’t get it” replied Jim. There was a pause while Bert tapped in another code and pushed the door open with his shoulder. “Welcome to my humble home” he said with a smile. “Are you going to explain?” urged Jim as he playfully punched Bert’s upper arm. It struck something solid so he stepped back looking shocked; “Sorry I shouldn’t have done that” “No matter, you’ll hear my story soon enough” Jim relaxed.

 

 “Does ‘Ampudate’ mean anything to you?” Jim blushed and hung his head a little, nervous of where this conversation was going. “Er, yes I’m a member” Bert’s smile grew wider. “Me too” Jim wracked his brains to think of what he’d posted about himself. ‘Shit’ he said under his breath, I ticked the boxes ‘pretender’ ‘devotee’ and ‘want to be’

 

“It’s funny, but when I read your profile and saw your photos I kind of fell in love” Said Bert. “You were, I mean are, so cute and sweet plus intelligent, that means a lot to me” Jims’ head was spinning, what was this stranger saying to him?

 

Bert continued; “You made it clear in your profile that you wanted to meet a leg amputee, but, when I saw you on the street I thought; ‘what the hell’ he can only say no”

 

Jim flopped down on to the sofa, his brain trying to digest what Bert was saying and the implications of him revealing too much on-line, he’d need to delete the profile as soon as he got back to college. Finding his voice he stuttered trying to organize the words jumping around in his head. “Er, Bert, er, I don’t know what to say, I mean I thought the chances of a friend or family member finding me on line were close to zero and I never imagined that anyone on that dating site would ever see me on the street” “Serendipity, young man, serendipity”

 

“Now I reckon a glass of something stronger is in order, don’t you?” Jim nodded. “Beer or wine?” “Wine please” “Coming up” Jim wandered into the kitchen following his new and most surprising friend. Bert chatted away happily telling the youngster about his life at Uni, his family and what he liked to do in his spare time. Strangely enough they shared a lot in common. Bert was a lecturer in the same department Jim was about to join. He was a specialist in tree husbandry something Jim was going to learn about in his agricultural science degree.

 

Jim looked on fascinated as the older man retrieved a bottle of chilled Soave from the ‘fridge. He sniped off the foil cap with the edge of one hook while holding the bottle steady in the other. Jim was conscious of the effort involved and aware of how much shoulder shrugging and torso movement was required to achieve what was really a quite simple task. The foil expertly cut, Bert reached into a cupboard and pulled out a silver electric cork screw that quickly removed the cylinder of dead bark. “Glasses over there” said Bert nodding towards a pine cupboard. He then dispensed an equal amount into each glass and beckoned Jim toward the sofa.

 

“I have to say I’m pretty impressed at what you just did; I mean how long did it take you to learn to use your, erm...” “Hooks?” proffered Bert. “About three months to get the basics right, then another year to become as competent as I am now. Every day I learn a new technique and a different way to do what I need to”

 

Jim fell silent, thoughts whirring around and found, more interestingly; a slowly building warmth in his groin. He had never paid much attention to arm amputees but sitting here next to a real one – and a double at that, his mind started to imagine all kinds of possibilities.

 

“So tell me Jim, what got you into amputees?” Taking a deep swig of wine the youngster told the whole story about Fred and their affair and that they had decided to take a break from each other so Jim could complete his education.

 

Bert nodded throughout the tale and took occasional sips himself using a combination of shrugs and neck movements to get the glass to his lips.

 

“So when are you going to do it?” Jim looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, “I don’t know, I’ve gotta work out a way” “Yeah, it took me a long time to set things up for myself but it worked like clockwork” “Oh my god! You mean you did it to yourself? Cut off your own arms?” Bert nodded. “And it’s just as good as I thought it would be”

 

This was all too much for Jim, he needed time to let this all sink in. “Bert, you may have guessed, but my head is full to bursting. I can’t believe I’m sitting here with another guy who chose to become an amputee, if you don’t mind I think I’m going to go and get settled in to my room” Bert nodded, his smile broadening and his deep blue eyes sparkling. “But” said Jim, “Do you fancy dinner tomorrow, my treat?” Bert understood, not so long ago he’d been through the same set of emotions when at age nineteen he’d met his first amputee.

 

“Sure, what kind of food do you like?” “Oh anything, but I’m not too keen on Chinese” “Me neither, chop sticks and hooks don’t mix!” “Well, there’s a good Italian just off the main square – it’s called La Dolce Vita, 7 p.m. OK?” They parted with a hug and Jim found himself walking on air as he made his way towards the tram stop.

 

The dormitory was noisy with young students showing off to each other and making friends. Jim was not interested in any of their shenanigans so locked his door and fired up his lap top. He searched profiles on ‘Ampudate’ and duly found Bert’s profile. It confirmed his story and interestingly had three photos; a face shot which didn’t really do him justice; a shirt on shot showing the hooks poke out from each cuff and a shirt-off photo confirming that his prosthetic arms were both above elbow. Jim drifted off to sleep with his cock in his hand. He rubbed the sperm into his tummy and dreamt about good things.

 

 

 

Jims’ First Lecture

 

Three years to study agronomy together with one years’ practical experience split between three different agricultural establishments. These would be chosen later in the term. Today, however, was the first formal lecture from Professor Hardy who was to be his course tutor as well as lead the group in arable farming methods.

 

One hundred and fifty students, mainly men, seated themselves in the semi-circular auditorium. Hardy was witty, urbane and engaging. He quickly won over the mass of young students and had them entertained with anecdotes about farming disasters, mishaps and weird experiences. The lamb born with two heads, the combine harvester that ran over its’ driver and left him with just one leg and the farmer who gassed himself to death with the fumes of a slurry pit he was attempting to drain.

 

The moral of the lecture was simple; farming is a dirty, dangerous and often thankless career. ‘Get used to it or get out’ were his parting words.

 

This struck a chord in Jims’ mind. Both Bert and Fred had used their agricultural careers to further their desires to become amputees. Other than working on the railways Jim could think of no career more appropriate than this to achieve his aims. He smiled inwardly as he imagined what accident he’d stage for his own transformation into an amputee. Little did he know but his dreams would be fulfilled, and in full measure.

 

Dinner with Bert

 

Jim felt anxious about the dinner he was about to share with his new armless friend. He was sure they’d get on fine, but Bert seemed a bit ‘full-on’, like he was angling for a relationship. Jim was not interested in two-timing his legless lover back in Devon, and he didn’t want to negotiate terms around an ‘open relationship’ with Fred as that would only give his lover and soul mate an excuse to explore new pastures as well. Nevertheless, he did want Bert as a friend as long as the ground rules were fully understood.

 

“I’m going to have mussels in cream sauce followed by lasagna” said Bert as he raised his glass towards the younger man. “Hmm, I think I’ll go for the minestrone soup and sea bass” “Good choice, I had the fish last week, it was delicious!”

 

Conversation was easy and Jim gave up worrying about staring at Bert as he manipulated his prosthetic arms. “I guess you’re wondering why?” asked the older man very much aware that his new friend could hardly take his eyes off his hooks. “Yeah, but I don’t want to pry” came the response.

 

“It was my dad’s fault, I guess” Jim looked up into Bert’s’ deep blue eyes. “He had this mate who lost his arms in the first Iraq war, both just below the elbow” “OK” “Well, his name was Christie and he loved to fish; fresh water stuff, you know, carp, dace and the like” “Yes, I’ve done a bit of fly fishing with my cousin, it’s fun and very relaxing” “well, since I was about sixteen Christie and I went off to fish on a number of weekends and became quite close. I guess he was something of an older brother to me” Jim nodded. “On my eighteenth birthday mum and dad threw a surprise party at our house to which Christie was invited. It went well but he’d had a little too much to drink and could not drive safely. All the guest rooms were occupied by other family members so it was either the sofa or my double bed for Christie”

 

Jim smiled; “Go on” Bert smiled back. “It just happened, I mean, he took off his arms showing me his stumps for the first time and I just reached over and touched them. Next thing I was wanking him off and rubbing his stumps” Bert paused, allowing the information to sink into his younger friends brain. “He knew he was gay but had had no success meeting anyone who could cope with his armlessness. I’d been the first guy to sleep with him and it was, I have to say, an awful lot of fun”

 

“What happened to him, I mean, why aren’t you with him now?” Bert dropped his eyes to the table and whispered; “He killed himself” “Oh Bert, I’m so sorry” There was silence for a minute or two. “Yeah, he killed himself because I rejected his advances. He wanted to settle down with me but I was only eighteen and planning to go to Uni, just like you, so I feel responsible for his death” “That’s not fair” replied Jim, there could have been any number of reasons he took his own life” “Yeah, the inquest came back with suicide induced by post traumatic shock” “There you go, it’s hardly your fault and anyway, at eighteen you’d not have the chance to complete your education nor grow up”

 

The first course arrived and both men ate in silence, thinking through the implications of what had just been said. Conversation stumbled on and eventually Bert looked up and smiled. “Jim, I’m sorry, I should not have put all that grief on you” Jim smiled back and reached across the table, placing his warm right hand onto the cold metal of Bert’s left hook. He continued; “It was many years ago and I guess I’m still dealing with the trauma” “Of course you are, losing a close friend, particularly one with whom you have been so intimate, is going to put a big dent in your confidence”

 

“Thank you for being so understanding, by the way how’s your sea bass?” Laughter and smiles returned to the table and soon they were sipping on espressos and lemon liqueur.

 

“You know, I’m very impressed with the way you are dealing with me, my story and my amputations. You don’t ask impertinent questions, stare nor act as if there’s and thing different about me” “I guess I was brought up properly!” replied the nineteen year old. “Having spent time with Fred and observing how an amputee has to adapt to his surroundings I prefer to leave it to them to tell me about their lives. I’ve a million and one questions I’d like to ask you but in time I’m sure you’ll tell me”

 

Bert nodded; “Why don’t we continue this discussion at my flat?”

 

They settled down with another coffee and a final glass of wine. The younger man cleared his throat. “Was there ever a time when you wished you still had your real arms?” Bert smiled. “Yes, once” Jim nodded for his to continue. “My sister handed me her new-born son and I had no way of actually touching him. All I could feel was his weight bearing down on my locked elbows and the tightening of the straps across my back and shoulders”

 

“Any other times come to mind?” “Hmm, perhaps right now, I’d like to run my fingers through your hair and hold your head gently as I kiss you on the lips” “What’s stopping you?” The older mans’ face lit up and he asked; “Are you sure?” “Oh yes, I’ve wanted you to do that from the moment you accosted me on the tram!” Jim licked his lips; “and, believe me, I’d much prefer you to do it with those shiny hooks rather than hands”

 

That was enough. Bert shuffled close and went through a slightly awkward manouvre in which he shrugged his shoulders and slowly raised his lifeless right forearm until it locked into a right angle, the elbow stable with an audible click. He then reached across and traced the shiny hook around Jims’ chin, across his cheek and then up to his ear. The inanimate metal and the sight of the lethal hook caused Jims crotch to balloon. When the metal ran though his hair he felt his scalp tingle and his body vibrate. “Like that do you?” whispered the amputee. “Too much, too much!” was all the younger man could squeeze through his lips. “Well, let’s see you undressed and I’ll do the same all over your body” In a flash Jim was out of his clothes. He lay back on the sofa and looked up as Bert knelt over him. Ten minutes later the boy was writhing in ecstasy, especially when the hooks brushed across his rampant penis and balls.

 

“Can I fuck you?” Jim’s eyes opened wide. “Er, I’m not sure, I’ve never done it before” came the reply. Bert smiled. “Well, young man, we’ll leave that for tonight, I’m not going to be the one to take your virginity”

 

Jim was relieved; he actually wanted it to be Fred to do this most intimate of acts, not someone he barely knew.

 

“Do you want to see me without my prostheses?” Jim nodded. “Show me what to do” Bert took him step by step through the procedure and soon Bert was sitting naked on the sofa bar his artificial arms. “Wow, they’re really something” he said. “Yeah, I had ‘em made with a few extras to make it easier to use ‘em, see; I can drop the wrists to get a better angle to pick things us, and, if you look carefully if I flex my left shoulder it lifts the forearm on my right side”

 

“I think you really like being armless?” “You bet, and sometimes, just sometimes when I see a good looking leg amputee I think I could imagine losing these babies as well!” With that the metal and plastic forearms dropped forward and Bert tapped his thighs with the shiny, menacing hooks.

 

Jim tried to imagine Bert sitting there with four stumps instead of two; the image nearly blew his brain apart.

 

“You want to take these off of me?” Jim nodded. “OK, just loosen that Velcro strap a bit, then that one and watch. With that Bert lay back on the sofa and slowly shrugged his way out of the sockets. The arms remained where they were, like a kind of obscene and shocking sculpture but Bert was now sitting upright again, his tight stomach muscles making it easy to do a sit up from the horizontal.

 

“I can get these off and on with my teeth, but I guess you’d like to do it for me?” said Bert nodding to the socks that encased his bicep stumps.

 

Jim smiled and nodded. He had memories of slipping Fred’s neoprene stump socks off his short thigh stumps and relished the idea of doing the same for this severely disabled arm amputee. Bert, near naked, now looked extremely vulnerable. Denuded of his prosthetics he was a man with two full lower limbs, and two short stumps that dangled somewhat awkwardly from his shoulders.

 

“OK with this?” asked Jim. Bert nodded nervously. With deft fingers the younger man caught the edge of the amputees left stump sock and eased it down. Bare flesh was revealed, as were the neat scars that a surgeon had used to skillfully close of the site of amputation.

 

Without saying a word, Jim took the truncated limb in his fingers and gently massaged the naked flesh. Bert shivered; “That’s good, like that a lot” was all he could say. With the second sock removed, and the remaining limb almost an exact copy of the right, Bert’s huge disability was obvious. He flexed his stumps up, out and sideways and smirked when he just managed to touch the tips of each stump together across his chest. “I was pleased they could save enough of my arms so I can touch my stumps together – gets me hot when I look at myself naked, stumps rubbing each other” Jim nodded. “But now I’m nearly helpless; can’t reach my cock, can’t do anything much” “You want me to help?” Bert nodded, his eyes boring into the younger mans’ own.

 

With that, Jim leant forward and took the amputees cock into his mouth. It didn’t take long for him to be rewarded with a huge gush of sweet tasting sperm. Likewise when Bert grasped his lovers cock between stump and armpit the younger man soon blew his load across the armless mans’ chest.

 

 

 

 

A friend on-line

 

‘Ampudate’ was a peculiar dating site. Jim was fully aware that there were plenty of people posting pictures of amputees claiming that it was actually them, but mostly they were just sad pretenders or voyeurs sitting in dingy bed-sits wanking over any amputee photo they could find.

 

‘Authentic’ and real amputees were few and far between but Jim slowly realized that there were plenty of disabled guys looking for friends and lovers, but they were just shrewd enough not to post photos of themselves to satisfy some faceless pervert. He therefore took to reading what the photo-less members had to say about themselves. This often revealed more than any photo – genuine or not, would have done.

 

He kept flicking back to two entries, both posted within the last month. The first was from ‘Happy-go-lucky’ entitled:

 

‘Less is more’ with a description that seemed fairly convincing:

 

“Back home now after a difficult few months; a bit bored because my parents want to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool but I’m tougher than they know! I like cars, cooking, trips to the countryside (although that’s a bit of a challenge currently!) my X-box and meeting up with friends. I’m based in Leeds but can’t drive yet and can’t easily accept visitors at home. I’m looking for a friend around the same age who’s cool with being gay and who can cope with someone who looks a little different from everybody else. Sorry, but I won’t send photos over the ‘net, but I will reply to everyone who contacts me”

 

The second was a little more straightforward from a man with the nickname ‘Bits ‘N Pieces’:

 

“Hi there, ex-army guy here, not sure what I’ll find on this website but guess it’s worth a try. Got well messed-up in Afghanistan but fighting on – that’s what my army training taught me. Gotta take a new direction in life and finally stop pretending I’m straight. I’m a bit of a handful, like a joke and a drink but deep down I’m just a pussy cat who’s looking for a soul mate and a bit of loving. I realize that I’ll be a bit of a challenge for anyone to take on, but if you’re game for a laugh, so am I!”

 

Jim typed out messages to both, tailoring his words to reflect the recipients’ attitudes. He attached three photographs; one of his face with a big smile, another of him helping to dunk a sheep into the dipping trough and the final – this was a bit of a gamble – of him sitting behind Fred on his quad-bike. If you studied the latter photograph carefully it was easy to make out that the guy driving the quad was missing his right leg, the left being concealed by the bike’s frame.

 

It was now 8.45 a.m. and time for Jim to go to his next lecture. He decided not to check his emails until he got back to his dormitory later that afternoon. When he did he was delighted to see an email each from Happy go lucky and Bits N’ Pieces. Both were quite restrained but asked questions that indicated to Jim that they were interested in getting to know more about him.

 

Happy go Lucky: Hi Jim, thank you for contacting me. I was really surprised because you seem so ‘normal’! All the other people who have contacted me were real weirdoes! I arranged to meet one bloke who told me he was twenty‑two but when I saw him he was about fifty and really odd. Couldn’t get away quick enough! Now, I don’t know anything much about you but I get a feeling you’re genuine. I was also interested to see that you already have an amputee friend, guess you’d not be shocked if you met me LOL! Anyway can we chat on line one day? Best from Rick.

 

Bits ‘N Piece: Mate!!!!! So pleased to get your ‘mail!!!!!!!! You seem normal!!!! (Well, apart from the fact you’re a poof like me and like amputees!!!! LOL!!!!!!

 

Jim was clear in his mind that Bits ‘N Pieces was an extremely anxious and nervous guy hiding behind his profile, but he quite liked the air of vulnerability his word exuded.

 

So, you need to know I was well fucked-up in Afghanistan and am missing a few bits of me – luckily not my brain!!!!!!! Nor my sense of humour!!!!!!

 

The exclamation marks were a little annoying but Jim persisted;

 

Jim, mate, I’m off to Headley Court next week for a bit more re-hab (great fun down there, but loads of crips like me!!!!!!) so if you wanna meet up email and we’ll sort it out. I’m not back driving yet, but I live in Leeds, not far from you in Sheffield. Mum and dad are on hols, so I have the place to myself” See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!!!!!!!!! Cheers Lee

 

“Hmm” thought the young amputee devotee and want-to-be. “It worked, the real amputees are

there; but nervous of what they’ll find the other side of a laptop screen”

 

Meeting Lee

 

The exchange of emails helped both men to build up a profile of each other. Jim found himself reassuring Lee that being disabled was no barrier to friendship and a sexual relationship, but his new friend was incredibly insecure. Deliberately, Jim asked no questions about Lees’ physical condition. He thought it impertinent and unnecessary. By default, Lee, by explaining what he did and how he did it, was slowly revealing the extent of his crippling. He used a wheelchair, had suffered some fairly severe internal injuries that were healed but had a lasting impact on his daily life. Then the email came:

 

Bits ‘N Pieces: Jimbo, I dreamt about you last night, wanna meet up tomorrow? LOL  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Jim replied: “Yeah, that would be nice, where?”

 

Bits ‘N Pieces: Café in Marks and Spencer’s, centre of Leeds 11.00 a.m.?

 

“That’s where my mum shops!”

 

Bits ‘N Pieces: Mine too!!!!!!!!!!!! But they’ve got a lift…………..!!!!

 

“How will I recognize you?”

 

Bits ‘N Pieces: Blond crew-cut, blue eyes and er …….. wheels!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

“’K, my mobile: 09970 565443, Lee, really looking forward to it mate, see you tomorrow”

 

Bits ‘N Pieces: Mate, mine’s 08790 432291, I’m really excited but very nervous. If you don’t like what you see, just walk away OK????!!!?? I’m not good at grief at the moment xxxx can’t wait!!!!!!

 

Lee, I’m cool and not easily shocked. Can’t wait! Xx

 

Jim was out of bed at 7.00 a.m. Leeds was forty minutes away by train but as he did not know the city he thought that an early arrival would make sense; he’d get to know the layout of the shopping centre, grab some breakfast and position himself strategically so he could look on at Lee’s arrival at the café. He needed to prepare himself as it was clear that Lee had underplayed the extent of his disability.

 

Marks and Spencer’s had two entrances but only one worked for a wheelchair user; the east facing entry point had three steps – a huge barrier to anyone using wheels instead of legs. There was a MacDonald’s directly opposite the main entrance so at 10.15 Jim ordered a coffee and positioned himself at the window, concealed yet with a perfect view of the department store. The minutes ticked by slowly but a movement on the pavement caught his eye. It was the speedy passage of a wheelchair passing by. The occupant was a fit looking, tightly muscled man with, yes, a blond crew-cut.

 

The wheeler looked neither left nor right, just making a bee-line for the stores’ front door furnished with a ramp. The angle didn’t work well for Jim, but it was clear that this man was Lee and clearly missing both of his legs. Although the view was fleeting Jim thought he’d seen something other than a left hand; more a black paw, and the right hand gloved in black leather.

He was also conscious of there being a small back-back swung over the seat back and another black bag hung from the front of the chair seat.

 

“Oh Jeez, that’s him, he’s gorgeous!” Jim mused to himself. “I must not appear too eager, I’ll leave it until 11.10 a.m.” Swirling the dregs of his coffee he took a final gulp and walked across to the store. He took two escalators and slowly worked his way around the menswear section, concealing himself behind display stands until he spotted the wheelchair occupant sitting impatiently at a table, his lower body concealed. His ‘Ampudate’ friend sat chewing the nails on his right hand, checking his ‘phone every few seconds.

 

“Lee, you in the café?”  He texted. An immediate response; “Yeah mate, nervous as fuck, you nearby?”

“Look to your left”

 

The blond swiveled around and connected immediately with his younger web-friend. The smile was devastating and both grinned like silly little kids.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Latte”.

“’K”

 

“Fucking hell!” thought Lee, he’s gorgeous! “This is going to be a disaster” he sighed. “He ain’t going to want to know me. ‘Mate, cancel the coffee, you’re too bloody lovely to want to be seen with a bloke like me, I’m on my way out of here’.”

 

“Shut it, don’t even think of leaving, you’re too good to miss out on xx” replied Jim.

 

“Oh god oh god oh god!” hissed the amputee. “Shit, shit, shit!” mumbled the nineteen year old student. Both completely overwhelmed by the image of each other and the stirrings of lust in their loins.

 

Jim spilt about an inch of latte on the table in front of Lee. Grabbing a napkin Lee mopped it up with his gloved right hand. Immediately it was obvious that Lee’s right hand was damaged. He possessed a thumb, an index finger and three stumps for the remaining digits. The glove had been tailored to fit. His left arm was something different altogether. There was no hand; just a rubberized block attached to a carbon-fibre socket that passed around his forearm and up close to his elbow. It was best described as an extension of his missing hand, equalizing the length of his arms, perhaps functioning as a counterpart to his one remaining limb. Although Jim could not see Lee’s legs he knew from his earlier sighting that both were missing, where and how high was yet to be confirmed.

 

Lee was so agitated that his new, younger mate took the initiative. He reached across and gently took the amputees truncated hand in his own. “Relax, it’ll be fine.” Lee smiled and found his tension unwinding slowly from his over-tensed body.

 

An hour later, with both men chatting nineteen to the dozen, a peace fell upon them. “Hungry?”

“Yeah”

“What do you fancy?”

“Let’s take a look” Lee pushed back on the wheels of his chair and led Jim to the cafeteria display.

“Fish and chips?”

“Perfect”

“Have you got any tartare sauce?” asked Jim.

“OK posh boy – I’m having ketchup!”

 

Food demolished, the boys quietened, passing time just looking into each other’s eyes. “Well Jimbo, what next?” The fully-limbed man was cautious.

“You tell me” There was a silence that chilled the space between them.

“Er, Jimbo, you’ve seen me now, in my full glory, ha ha!”

“Yes, but I like what I see”

“K” Lee fell silent for a moment. “You can see that I’ve lost a bit of each of my limbs?” “Yes, but that’s fine, I like what I see” Silence again.

“I also, er, I also, lost another bit of me; a quite important bit...”

“Well, you can tell me. I’m not easily shocked” Lee leaned forward and whispered something that unnerved and excited his younger friend.

“We can still have a lot of fun eh?”

“Not sure mate, I’m terrified.”

“We’ll not know until we try.”

 

As they left the café, Jim became quickly aware of just how disabled his new mate was. Doors, curbs, pavements all proved to be obstacles but Lee was a determined SOB and fought his way through the city towards a taxi rank. The boys needed to wait for a specially adapted car but, once loaded in, with the wheelchair stowed in the boot; they clasped hands and drove towards Whitehills where Lee’s family resided in a large Victorian property.

 

“Well, here we are” stuttered Lee. “Can I kiss you?” Ten minutes later, with tongues untangled, both men were inflamed with passion. “This way” Lee wheeled himself towards a room that had clearly been prepared in haste for his return from hospital. “Home – for now” said Lee with little passion.

 

The twenty‑two year old ex-soldier and his nineteen year old new friend lay on the bed facing each other fully clothed. Jim was conscious of Lee carefully tucking a small black cloth bag into his waist band before lifting himself on his arms from the parked wheelchair. He’s find out what this was later. Lee cleared his throat. “Jimbo, er” “What is it mate?” “I er, never did anything like this before, even when I had all my limbs” Jim smiled. “Well, matey, I’ve only done it a few times with my cousin” Lee smiled. “Tell me about him” Jim then recanted a short potted history about his cousin Fred, how he’d helped him grow up and how he’d shown him what to do with the piece of flesh hanging between his legs. Lee laughed out loud. “So you know how it works then?” “Yes indeed, and I also know how to make someone else enjoy it as much as I do”

 

Lee frowned. “Yeah, well, as I said, I’m a bit modified down there” “Well that’s where I come in, there is always a way to have fun, always a way to give each other pleasure” Lee grinned. “Well, mate, as I said this is the first time for me. We’ve got as long as it takes”

 

“Would you like to see me naked?” teased the younger man. An eager nod was all Lee could do. Jim slipped off his trainers, pulled down his socks and slowly slipped out of his T-shirt. “Oh Jimbo, you are so cute, I just want to cover you in kisses” “I’m not stopping you, be my guest!” Lee pushed himself up to a sitting position and shuffled on his bum towards the semi-naked youth, the black bag bulging slightly from his waist. That was it; the amputee soldier nibbled Jims’ perfectly smooth neck, nuzzled his shoulders and gently tongued his erecting nipples. Jim, in turn, felt a shudder go through him as he felt the truncated and gloved hand caress his torso and the rubberized arm extension brace against his shoulder. The cold inanimate prosthetic was somehow incredibly erotic and exciting.

 

“More?” questioned the nineteen year old. Lee nodded enthusiastically so Jim completed his strip-tease shucking off his jeans but leaving his briefs in place. “Take ‘em off me Lee” was all he whispered, and with that he looked on in fascination as the stumped and gloved right hand breached the elastic at his waist and slowly descended. Again the prosthetic arm extension was put to work and in seconds Jims’ rigid erection bounced free.

 

“Wow, you are just so pretty, so gorgeous Jim, what on earth do you want to be doing here with me?” Jim smiled. “Well, I think you are so fucking handsome it makes me swoon, on top of that your personality just lights me up and finally your body modifications intrigue and excite me” “It’s not pity or something like that is it?” “No, not at all, its friendship, attraction, lust and a touch of love all rolled into one”

 

A flash of anxiety crossed the amputees face. Jim caught it immediately. “Lee, if you don’t want to undress that’s fine, we can just lie here, chat, kiss and cuddle. I want you as a long-term friend, not just a one-night stand”

 

“No, it’s OK. I’m not ashamed of what’s happened to my body, but I’m scared of how you might react when you see it. I mean, er, I’m getting my shit together OK, like going into town on my own and ignoring the stares, but, well, even my mother looked horrified and nauseous the first time I came home, and it was even worse when she had to help me into the bath and saw me naked”

 

“What would you think about me undressing you bit by bit and telling you what I think?” Lee swallowed, “Yeah, that would be OK and you can stop any time if you find it too repulsive” Jim said nothing more; instead he took Lees’ right hand into his own and gently massaged the palm through his leather glove. He tickled the bared thumb and forefinger and ran his fingertips over the severely shortened nails that Lee had bitten back hard. “Umm, that’s nice” muttered the multiple amputee.

 

Popping the wrist button that secured the glove to his deformed hand, Jim slowly pulled it off, careful not to snag what lay beneath. Jim smiled inwardly; Lees’ hand was fully revealed and bringing it to his face he caught the faint odour of leather and manly perspiration, caused by Lee pushing vigorously on the rim of his wheelchair. “Sweet” he exclaimed and then gently drew his lovers’ thumb to his lips. He sucked the digit in gently and tongued it in such a manner that Lee let out a little sigh. Next it was Lees’ remaining intact forefinger which elicited a similar sigh from the amputee’s lips.

 

Becoming braver Jim then planted his lips on the array of finger stumps that formed the remainder of his mates’ hands. All three ended at the proximal phalange, but the little finger had just a remnant the middle phalange which Lee flexed so it rubbed and prodded his lovers’ sensual tongue. Lee was clearly enjoying this intimate examination and groaned contentedly. Jim, on the other hand, was struggling to contain his erection which bounced and flexed with each new physical stimulus he earned from the amputees truncated hand.

 

Letting the stubbed hand fall to Lees’ side Jim then became more adventurous. He reached over and took his lovers’ left arm prosthetic into his hands. Lee visibly flinched, but Jim quickly weighed and examined the prosthetic from the rubber clad fixed terminal device which was, on close examination, something of a rocker with a grooved notch to hold things steady while they were manipulated by Lee’s real hand. His fingers reached the flange where human flesh started at the edge of the socket before the stump, or whatever remained of the amputees arm plunged into the depths of the cavity.

 

He felt the strength that remained in the flesh of Lees elbow and bicep, marveled in the musculature that wrapped itself around his shoulders and plunged down to his pectoral muscles. Whispering he asked; “How does this come off?” Dreamily, Lee murmured, “You pull, I’ll flex” and with that, and a gentle tug, the socket slowly slipped off the remnant of the amputees arm. A thin elasticated fingerless sock remained which Jim took to his face. There again was the sweet masculine scent of sweat, generated by the confines of the socket and the effort Lee had to exert to use this foreign body as a means to stroke the rim of his wheelchair.

 

The amputee had developed a level of trust in his fully-limbed mate so the next move he made was less shocking than his initial contact with the truncated hand. Jim slipped his finger under the hem of the sock and gently rolled it down to mid-forearm where the limb came to a sudden and cruel end. Lee’s bare flesh glowed in the subdued light of the bedside lamps, it was well covered with fine blond hair that grew over the remains of the limb but which stopped either side of the neatest of scars Jim had ever seen. It was almost as though the limb was as the creator had intended, but it contrasted markedly with Lees remaining hand and Jims perfectly formed digits. Lee tensed, but gurgled contentedly when he felt his lovers tongue lap against his bare flesh. With probing fingers and active oral attention Jim set himself to love the stump in all ways unimagined. The sweet saltiness of the truncated limb sent jolts of pleasure through Jims body; Lee reciprocated with little whimpers and he responded by flexing the stump under Jims ministrations. Jim was absorbed completely by the sight of ulnar and radius flexing and rotating over each other in a kind of uncontrolled fashion. When he took four inches of the stump into his mouth and sucked and massaged it with his tongue, Lee threw his head back and let out a guttural moan.

 

“I’m stiff” was all he said. “First time since the IED exploded”

Lee cracked open his eyes and smiled brightly. “I’m glad, but be patient, I’m not finished yet”

“Jimbo, I’ve never trusted anyone like this before”

“Well matey, I’m falling deep for you, never planned it, but shit, you are so hot it’s driving me insane”

Lees eyes snapped open. “Bloody hell Jim, what’s happening to us?”

“Not sure yet, but it’s feeling pretty much like a huge dose of lust laced with first time love”

“Oh fuck, maybe you’ll change your mind when you go lower”

“Naah, that isn’t going to happen”

 

Lee was completely in Jim’s control. Letting Lees’ stump arm free itself from his grasp he leant forward and began a gently pulled off his form-fitting T-shirt. Lee’s upper torso was magnificent, defined, chiseled and marked with various random scars, clearly obtained when he’s been blown up.

 

He started to manipulate the broad leather belt that secured Lees cut-off jeans to his waist. Jim had already worked out that his amputee friends’ thigh stumps were of uneven length, but he could not really judge to what extent. “Oh, Jimbo, I need to do so something” Lee sat back on his haunches and watched as Lee fiddled around with the black cloth pouch that was attached to the waist band. Suddenly a plastic bag was revealed, part filled with yellow piss and Jim spotted a tube snake beneath Lee’s briefs ending, presumably, in his penis. “This is just a temporary fix Jimbo, next week I’m back under the knife to fix my bladder” His mate just nodded, fascinated by the exotic medical device that clearly served to help Lee from wetting himself.

 

As Lee lay on his back, writhing like a cat on heat, the jeans came off. Suddenly Jim realized just how crippled his new mate was. The left leg, or remnant of such, was a thick muscular cylinder of blond haired thigh, perhaps six inches in length. The right evidenced no stump at all; just a smooth yet scarred and puckered rounded pad of warm flesh which appeared to be the gluteus maximus muscle profiled, trimmed and skillfully sewn, cut and molded into a slab of muscle and skin protecting and encasing the ridged architecture of Lees’ pelvis.

 

“My oh my, you are one beautiful soldier” was all that slipped from Jim’s lips. Lee, on the other hand, looked on petrified, anticipating rejection, worrying about humiliation until, until, he sensed the warmth and moisture of his lovers’ lips suck in the scared end of his short thigh stump, teasing the flesh, nibbling the place where sutures had previously resided while massaging his stomach, pectorals and shoulder simultaneously.

 

“You don’t need to do this” Whispered Lee hoarsely.

“Oh yes I do, if you and me are going to enjoy our time together you better get used to it”

The simple implication in Jims’ words urged Lee further; his brain over-working and his mutilated genitals swelled with desire. Unexpectedly his jockeys were dispatched in a jiffy, and the plastic tube that hung from the remnants of Lee’s penis could be seen.

“In my bedside table there’s a small plastic syringe, fetch it for me would you?”

“OK” Lee then inserted this into a valve at the tip of the catheter and it rapidly filled with clear water. Once filled, Lee gently tugged on the tube and it slowly exited his body. The length was quite extraordinary to behold, the medical nature of this intervention was a new kink that intrigued and excited the younger man.

 

Lee then experienced a warm sensation at the heart of his groin. Jim had taken into his mouth the full extent of what remained of the amputees sexual organs. Jim didn’t look nor examine; all he felt and tasted was sweet salt, an element of soy sauce and a warmth and hardness he really did not expect. What Lee possessed did not fill his mouth in the way Fred’s over-large cock did, but it was good to chew on and it responded with perhaps three inches of stiff cylindrical flesh. There was an increasing dribble of pre-cum, mixed with perhaps a dribble of urine, which Jim lapped up; juicy, warm and salty, it swilled around his mouth promising more.

 

He reached down to his amputee lovers’ scrotum and found just one testicle; loose in its sack, but throbbing with anticipation. The fully limbed boys manipulations and lustful actions had captured the now disabled soldier; there was not much warning, but as Jim massaged the empty hip and stroked the severely shortened stump thigh, Lee began to groan; an animal groan, a guttural utterance, a cry of desire when, without warning, the nineteen year olds mouth was filled and coated with male sperm. His amputated, disfigured and cock foreshortened lover had finally cum for the first time in eighteen months.

 

Lee shuddered, writhed and moaned for what seemed an age. Slowly he regained his breath and opened his eyes, letting them bore deep into Jim’s own.

“That was just too good, I feel like I’ve gone to heaven”

“Well, let’s take that trip together again very soon”

“Hey, mate, I’m being so selfish!”

“What?”

“You’ve not cum yet!”

“Well you know what to do about that!”

“Why don’t you rub me off with your hand while I rub your stumps?”

“Sure, you really like ‘em, don’t you?”

“Yup, I do, I’d not object if I had a pair myself!”

Lee’s head jerked up from the pillow.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit freaky I know, but I’d swap places with you any day mate”

“Wow, I think I should be annoyed or angry but actually having an amputee as my lover would be kind of weird but then again comforting, he’d understand what I’ve been going through and we’d be kind of equal then, eh?”

“Exactly” And with that Jim sprayed his lovers truncated leg stumps with copious amounts of hot youthful sperm.

 

Happy Go Lucky

 

Lee and Jim spent the weekend together. It was to be his last in Leeds before a six week tour of medical facilities where various operations, interventions and prosthetic fittings were to be made.

 

“Yeah, well” Said the soldier. “There’s this new device from America which they fit in to my bladder that’s like an on-off switch. Apparently I’ll just need to press a little button in my scrotum to take a piss and that’s being done at St Thomas’s in London. “That’s good” replied Jim, vaguely regretting the fact that his lover would no longer be penetrated by the deeply invasive catheter. “Then I’m off to Headley Court again where they reckon I’ll be able to walk again once I’m fitted for prosthetic legs; C-Legs they’re called all computerized and such, cost fifty thousand a piece!” “Wow, said Jim, silently mindful of Fred’s comments about stump length being critical to success with these new-fangled limbs. He crossed his fingers that Lee would not be too disappointed when he found out that with one empty hip and another pitifully short stump thigh, he was more than likely going to be spending the rest of his life reliant on a wheelchair.

 

Settling back into his room Jim fired up his PC and scanned his emails. He’d not responded to ‘Happy Go Lucky’ and hoped he was not too pissed off by three days of silence. Tapping back a friendly and chatty email he was surprised to see a response within minutes. “Yeah, I’ve got Skype” he replied. This was going to be strange, he was about to meet on-line his third amputee in the space of just two weeks of living in Sheffield.

 

The screen flickered into life and Jim surreptitiously pressed ‘record’ on his laptop. He was keen to capture ‘Happy Go Lucky’ onto his hard drive.

 

Rick had very carefully positioned himself so only his face was visible on the screen whereas Jim was fully revealed above the waist.

 

“Hi, good to meet you!” “Likewise!” “Tell me, when did your interest in amputees begin?” Jim smiled and shifted in his seat, clearly Rick was ‘in your face’ as a person, there would be no pussy-footing around with him!

 

Jim recanted his tale about Fred his amputated cousin, how it coincided with his growing up and puberty. “Well that’s alright then, clearly you’re just ‘hard-wired’ into amputees!” “Yes, you could say that, but I’m actually looking for a mate, a friend and well, to be honest, a lover who’s an amputee”

 

Their conversation continued amicably with more a more confidences being shared and personal details revealed. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me about my disabilities?” Jim blushed and hoped that it was not too visible over Skype. “Er, well, I’d like to know but honestly it’s for you to tell me when you’re confident that I’m just a normal guy, not some kind of nutter!”

 

“Hold on” said Rick. The screen went blank and flickered as Jims’ new friend adjusted the position of his laptop and no doubt himself. “Here you go” was all he said. Jim fell silent as he took in the full form of his on-screen mate.

 

“Bit of a shock to start with, isn’t it?” Jim opened his mouth and not much came out. Rick continued; “Septicemia eighteen months ago, my arms and legs started to die off so the surgeons just kept on cutting until they got to live flesh” “Jesus Rick, that must have been terrible for you” “Well I didn’t really know much about it at the time but I was well shocked when I finally came around.”

 

“Are you living at home still?”

“Well, today is the third day in my new gaff, got it from the council and they adapted it for my needs”

“That’s great, you manage OK?”

“Yeah, I’m getting there but there are still things I’ve got to learn how to do”

Jim was not surprised. Sitting in front of him was one of the most disabled men he’d ever seen before. Nothing on-line, apart from some of the American quadruple amputees who’d come back from Afghanistan could compare to the extent of Rick’s crippling.

 

He made a quick audit; Rick wore two prosthetic arms, one seemed to be above the elbow, the other below. Gleaming chrome hooks replaced his hands. His torso was trim and looked in reasonable shape, revealed in part by a reasonably tight T-shirt that only partially concealed the tops of his arm sockets.

 

There was a gap of about two inches between the hem of the shirt and the shorts beneath. They were bright red and the legs, empty, just lay as loose cloth on the padded seat of his motorized wheelchair.

 

“You’ve gone quiet” said Rick, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice. “No, don’t take offence, I’m just in awe of you making a life independent of help and trying to imagine how I’d deal with being, well, so severely disabled” Rick smiled. “You know, once I was out of hospital I had a long and serious talk with myself. I may have lost my limbs but I still had a good brain, a good sense of humour and a constant raging libido!”

 

Jim smiled; “You got anyone in your life to help you out with that?” “Not anymore, my boyfriend left me and most of my so-called ‘friends’ just drifted away. I guess I don’t blame them, they all enjoyed sports, hiking and sailing, things I’m hard-pressed to do now” Jim nodded, “But there’s still a bunch of things you can do and enjoy, limbs or no limbs” Rick smiled; “Yes, I’ve got to use what’s left of me, I’m twenty‑two for god’s sake. I intend to fill the remainder of my life with as much fun and pleasure as I can!”

 

“Rick, its 5 p.m. and I’m getting a bit peckish. What do you say about me coming up to yours with a few pizzas and some beers?” Rick grinned broadly, his dark eyes glinting and his perfect teeth flashing. “Great idea, I’ll type out my address” Jim looked on in awe as Ricks hooks effortlessly tapped away on the keyboard. “See you about seven” “’K”

 

Overdosing on amputees

 

The bungalow was a tern minute taxi ride from Leeds station and Jim, carrying the makings of supper in two carrier bags, rapped on the door. He was more than a little nervous. The door hissed, opening under electric power to reveal perhaps, the ultimate amputee.

 

“Welcome!” exclaimed Rick, “Great to meet you!” replied the nineteen year old. “Come on in!” and with that Rick did a one hundred and eighty degree turn and powered his wheelchair forward, right hook clamped over the machines’ joystick.

 

Jim was in shock, not only was Rick the most amputated man he’s ever met, but he was fucking gorgeous! Brown almost black eyes, long dark lashes, pert pink lips, a fine profile with a dimple in his chin and broad shoulders that tapered down across a well formed chest, flat stomach and, well who knows what below?

 

Rick was forceful, confident and eager. He spoke of so many dreams and aspirations, of family and friends, of what he’d been through and what he planned to do. It was like Jim was sitting under a waterfall of facts, thoughts and emotions. It was exhausting but beguiling. The younger lad was transfixed as Rick waved his hooks around and shifted his weight from time to time on the deeply padded cushion of his chair.

 

“Jim, I get a little sore sitting down all day, do you mind if we retire to the sofa?” Not at all” The wheelchair eased forward and Rick slowly rump-walked onto the sprung cushion which was perfectly level with the chairs’ padding. “That’s better!” he sighed with a grin. “Have you had a boyfriend since your, er, illness?” “Naah, I met a couple of guys via Skype but they seemed completely put off by this” With that he waved his right hook over his torso. “I mean, it’s not as though I’m going to grow my limbs back is it? I think most gay men would be just too embarrassed to be seen alongside such a crippled guy”

 

“Well I’m not, I think you are just awe inspiring, I mean I’m sitting here watching you deal with everyday items and almost forget that you’re missing the most-part of all four limbs. Rick smiled. “Do you like me?” Jim reached out his hand and took the cold metal of Ricks’ left hook in his hand. “Yeah, I like you, I like you a lot”

 

“Prove it” whispered the quad amputee.

 

Jim said no more but shuffled closer to the severely disabled young man. He leant forward and let his lips brush against Ricks’ luscious pout. Slowly, gradually the two men became more frantic in their oral manipulations with tongues darting in and out, Jims hands exploring every contour of his face and scalp, and gradually, as he became braver, the mechanisms that controlled Ricks artificial arms.

 

“Undress, I haven’t seen a male body in the flesh for nearly two years” Jim obliged, quickly shucking off his clothes until he was naked. Rick then shocked the youngster by reaching across and gently rubbing his bursting erection with his hook. “Like that mister?” “Oh fuck, yes!” “I guessed you would, I read that all amp-freaks like you want to be touched with the cold steel of a hook” “I’m no freak, Rick!” exclaimed the nineteen year old, somewhat angry. “I’m just a normal gay guy who has something for amputees!” “Sorry, mate, no offence, it’s just I always liked talking ‘dirty’ with my last boyfriend and I hoped you’d like it as well.”

 

Jim relaxed and said softly; “Well cripple boy, when do I get to see the rest of you?” Rick smiled, “Yes, that’s good, tell me more” Jim cottoned on immediately. “So you want me to rub my perfect body on your crippled torso?” A sigh emerged from Ricks’ mouth. “You want me to pull off those arms and carry your limbless body to bed?” Nothing more than a gurgle came from Ricks’ lips. “How about I strip you naked and worship your pathetic stumps?” “Oh god, Jim, keep going”

 

Jim got into his stride; “You like being a cripple don’t you?” Rick nodded. “You get off on people staring at you as you roll through town in your chair” Another nod. “You like having those metal and plastic arms rather than flesh and bone” A sigh. “You love it when you jack off with your hook and see your sperm splash all over your pathetically short leg stumps” Rick opened his eyes and whispered; “What stumps?” he replied playfully. Jim caught his eye and looked on quizzically. “Might as well find out mister!”

 

Jim sat back on his haunches and examined the two artificial arms carefully. With a little help from Rick he was able to unfasten the control strap to the left above arm limb and slide it off. As it was connected to the right limb this came off as well. Jim then gently removed the thin elasticated socks that protected Ricks’ stumps from their sockets. The amputees’ upper body was now naked, only his shorts remained. “Wow!” was all Jim could say. “You like what you see young man? You like my stumps?” Jim nodded and without speaking he took the longer below elbow stump in his handles and caressed it tenderly. “That feels so good, I’m getting stiff” That was a relief to Jim as he’d coped with Lees’ truncated penis, but he really wanted something more substantial to play with.

 

He lay his quad amputee lover down and knelt over him. He reveled in the feeling of the truncated limbs trying to embrace him and loved the sensation of blunt fleshy stubs massaging and rubbing his naked body. “Love your stumps Rick, wish I had some of my own” Rick smiled back at him. “You’d enjoy being like me?” “Yeah, I would, I’d like to be your live-in limbless lover, just two lads sucking and fucking rubbing their stumps on each other all day” “Oh fuck, Jim, I’m close to exploding!”

 

“Well, let’s see about that” Jim was intrigued by the suturing that had been carried out on Ricks’ arm stumps. It was puckered and a little raised, almost like the early attempts a trainee seamstress would achieve on her first go with a sewing machine. “Yes, it’s because the amputations were initially guillotine” Proffered his lover. “Guillotine?” “Yeah, the surgeon left the wounds open and kept trimming more off as the flesh died. Once they’d cut out all the diseased flesh they just tacked ‘em closed, hence the uneven scars”

 

“Now, what are you planning to do to this helpless cripple?” Rick said with a smirk. “I’m going to love him until he screams for mercy, but first I need to make him naked” “You sure you’re ready for this?” Jim nodded. Slowly and gently the nineteen year old pulled off his mates’ red shorts. This revealed a pair of white cotton trunks whose legs fell flat and concealed the flesh beneath. Jim immediately spotted that Rick was wearing a jock-strap that held his not unsubstantial genitals up close to his groin.

 

‘Here goes’ said Jim to himself. The white cotton trunks slipped off easily and Jim could see why. There was nothing, nothing at all apart from smooth flesh that somehow had been shaped and pulled to cover his pelvis. There were scars, all random, that had been fashioned by a highly skilled surgeon. Ricks’ bottom was still evident and his puckering ass ring completely revealed and open. Jim slipped off the jock-strap and watched in awe as his mates’ genitals flopped forward onto the cushion. There was absolutely nothing to prevent them from doing so.

 

Rick looked up at Jim, anxiety spreading across his face. “My god, Rick, you are just beautiful. I cannot believe that you exist, you’re perfection” Rick looked relieved. “Well prove it to me then”

 

The rest of the night was spent with a giddy mix of sex, massage and dirty talk. Both of the guy’s heads were spinning and bodies aching by the time Jim finally made it back to the station. There was a fond and honest farewell between them and a promise to meet up in the very near future.

 

Taking matters into his own hands

 

As winter approaches, work on any farm turns into long grey days where machinery is repaired, barns swept clean, and animals fed with the hay and grain harvested in the summer months. There was no denying that there was a lot more leisure time as well so this was when Fred’s mum and dad took off to their house in Florida. The property was nothing grand, but it was close to the beach, the restaurants were good and sun was guaranteed day in, day out.

 

During this quiet period, Fred Skyped with mates and spent a long time chatting and texting with his long-distance lover, Jim. There were no secrets between them so Fred encouraged his lover to give him the full story of his encounters with Bert, Lee and Rick. There was also no denying that both lads enjoyed fantasizing about their own wishes and dreams of amputation.

 

One wet and windy Friday Fred decided to pop into Newton Abbot to do a supermarket shop. Not his favourite activity to be sure, but an essential one now that mum and dad were away. Without much thought he purchased five tickets for the Euro-Millions lottery which was a triple roll-over. The top prize was an unbelievable eighty‑eight million pounds. Returning home from an uneventful trip the double amputee settled in to his cottage and lit the open fire. Logs were plentiful and he let the flames build with the addition of each piece of wood.

 

By 7 p.m. the young, severely disabled man, felt pangs of hunger surge through his stomach. Lasagne, salad and garlic bread were soon on the table and he swung back to his easy recliner once sated. Alone and conscious of a storm building in strength Fred remembered that his parents garden furniture was still on the patio so he raced across on his quad bike to retrieve the umbrella and stored it in the shed. Next he realized that the hen house door was banging so he re-bolted that as well.

 

By the time the legless lad got back to his cottage it was raining heavily with the temperature dropping. Suddenly he heard a loud snap and the wooden pylon that carried telephone cables to the house was down, ‘never mind’ he thought ‘I’ve got my mobile if needed.’  He was cold, tired and aching so ran a bath and filled it with bath salts that smelled of pine. Luxury! Bobbing around in the soapy water Fred reminisced about life before and after his amputations. He still could not believe that he’d achieved his dream and no-one, apart from Jim, was aware that it was anything else than an accident.

 

‘Tonight’, he thought out loud, ‘I’m going to shove that big fat dildo up my arse and wank until I can’t cum anymore!’

 

The storm raged on but the amputee felt safe and secure in his private domain. Unbeknown to him the remnants of hurricane Betty were making landfall at the tip of Cornwall, over the next six hours it is was to wreak havoc across Britain’s southern counties bringing down trees, power cable and ripping roofs off many a building. “Jeez” though Fred, “this is getting serious! I’ll see how Jim’s doing up North” He pressed Jim’s icon on his i-phone only to hear no dialing tone. The mobile network was clearly out of action. Just a few minutes earlier the fully limbed Jim had tried to dial his lover to tell him about the decision he’d finally reached. No connection was possible, and a quick scan of the BBC news channel showed why; Devon, Cornwall, and the rest of the West Country were simply out of touch while the storm raged. Jim was not too worried about his lover figuring he’d be holed up in his dreamy cottage. But the time was right and the hour was approaching.

 

The Sheffield Super-tram system is pretty amazing; it winds its way through complex topography spanning old and new areas as well as pedestrian zones. One awkward corner; between Granville road and Sheffield University forces the tram to slow right down and take a tight right turn. After much research and plenty of observation, Jim had decided this was just the right spot. Fueled with two glasses of wine he tripped on a cobble and fell neatly and gracefully in front of the tram as it passed by at three miles an hour.

 

There was not much pain; no it was more of a cerebral relief. He remained completely conscious as the fire-fighters and ambulance crews rushed to his assistance. He only closed his eyes when he heard the faint voice of a paramedic say; “Get Dr. Brian Harvey into theatre as soon as you can, this lad’s going to need all the help he can if they’re going to save his limbs”

 

He hoped Fred would be pleased at what he’d achieved, and that his newly acquired amputee friends; Rick, Lee and Bert would understand why.

 

To be continued.

 

(Strzeka: But it never was…)